Actually, hard in more ways than one, because after we had said quick goodbyes at the airport (why prolong something sad?), I ended up waiting there for more than nine hours.
If you've flown recently you've probably heard the TSA announcements, orange alert (whatever the hell that is), suspicious people etc. It may be an annoyance if you have to hear it three or four times, but try hearing it every ten minutes or so for nine hours!
The only good thing was that because the trouble was mechanical difficulty, we got meal vouchers and such. I purchased 24 hours worth of wireless and hung out online. It was comfortable enough.
It was a big plane though, lots of people in exactly the same situation as I was, using their laptops to entertain themselves. That's to say that competition for electrical outlets was fierce.
My electrical outlet requirements forced me to hear a rather embarrassing conversation!
There was a French priest with visa problems, and a bilingual (but originally French) nun there interpreting for him. But she was not traveling with him. And then somehow or other there wa a Southern business man of some rather strong Protestant faith who spokes no French but had undertaken to use his business connections in China to help the priest. To cement their new connection, they embarked upon a theological discussion. Because of the language barrier involved, the conversation was undertaken at high volume and was completely impossible to ignore.
The businessman proudly owned that after his wife married him she quit her job and stays in the home teaching the Bible to their sons. Yuck. He then pointed out with the profoundly rhetorical air of a preacher that of course one must believe in things even though we can't see them--like air. You want proof that something exists beyond that which you can see? Close your mouth and plug your nose. Ah, God is like the air. Etc. Which makes me ponder how dominant the sense of sight is among our senses. Also, we can't see a fart. But there is all kinds of evidence for the existence of farts. Well, and air for that matter. Evidence for God: only that people really WANT one to exist.
But then the irrepressible businessman went on to discuss the importance of the Word, entering, I believe, into rather shaky territory with the nun and the priest, but they were being patient. He was being pushy. "If a person dies on an island and no one is there to give him Last Rites, will God hear his prayers? God will not forsake him!" The nun was looking edgy and gesticulating as she made her translation. Fortunately, I had thought to put on my headphones and much of this dialogue was being drowned out by the chorus of, "Pablo Picasso is not an asshole", a song I am not usually fond of but had come up randomly on my playlist and was quite welcome.
Still, they were so loud I couldn't drown them out entirely without damaging my hearing. The businessman liked to use names, so I know that that the nun was named V and the priest is named Father A. V the interpreter eventually departed, which I thought meant I would be able to put away my headphones. But businessman pushed on in much-simplified English to explain that "I've been to China and I've seen what it's like--the children need you Father A. I can't help the children, but I can help you, so I will be helping you help the children!" "I understand I understand," Father A says, and picks up his book. "Thank you." Then he stared into space, turned to a marked page, crossed himself, and began to read. Father A had been to Africa. He must know a lot about the needs of children. He looked profoundly weary.
Priests, real ones rather than the naughty ones you always hear about, are a bit interesting to me, but only because they strike me as rather tragic.
Nothing tragic about the businessman, who can have his cake and eat it too.
Soon after, somewhat wilted by Father A's relieved silence, the businessman began recounting the whole story to someone else on the phone. "They're real traditional!" he said, crowingly. They were rather, all dressed up in costumes as if for a play. Well all the world is a stage. Father A certainly had enough English to know he was being talked about, but he pushed on and huddled into his book.
Me, I was glad when the long-delayed boarding process caused me to lose sight of the both of them.
Of course, all this was all more than a month ago. I wonder if Father A ever got his visa sorted out, and if he's helping Chinese children somewhere. I don't have to wonder what the businessman is doing--he's helping someone Chinese make a lot of money, and making a bit himself into the bargain. I overheard him explain to V--with WAY too much sleeve-grabbing and arm-patting, which she stoically tolerated for Father A's sake no doubt--all about his business arrangements. In fact, it's amazing how much you can learn about people from overhearing them getting to know one another. When you are freed from the necessity to participate in the process, your attention is much heightened, even involuntarily, even when you're trying your hardest to drown them out with loud music.
Here is a picture of the side shining down on the polar ice as we crossed over again. It's banal to say so, but it's really true--quite a lot has happened since I first saw that ice back in August. It was hard coming back to Beijing, but not as hard as going there to begin with. At least I knew where I'd be staying, knew the basic shape of my life here. And only a few more months to go...
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