You are Here (musings from the Beijing airport)

Observations from five hours in Beijing Capital International Airport (BCIA):

•  Christmas Carols.  Arranged and recorded, I’m sure, to be the least offensive (or most widely tolerable) versions of what are otherwise Christmas classics, these tunes play incessantly in the airport terminal.  The volume is low enough that the songs creep up on your consciousness.  The voices are soft—either children’s choirs or high-pitched female singers. The lyrics are familiar, but the presentation is not.  A version of ‘Jingle Bells’ repeated the chorus “Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle all the way; oh what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh” at least six times before allowing the arc of the story to continue onto Grandma’s house.  Also, it turns out that Santa Clause is coming to town (in China), and that Rudolf is not far away either if the children’s choruses at the Beijing airport are being truthful.  Perhaps the Rudolf news is not surprising since neighboring Mongolia has a thriving reindeer breeding industry.

• You are Here.  Throughout the airport are signs explaining: You are Here.  This was reassuring to me as a weary traveler recovering from a 13-hour flight; I was happy to know that the airport wasn’t a complete hallucination, but otherwise I didn’t find the signs very useful.  Why am I here?  Answer me that riddle.  But only to repeatedly confirm my existence? Seemed like a waste of a good sign.  Until, that is, that I finally noticed there was more to these signs.  They actually provided terminal information, but only after an awkward space following the text.  Something like: You are Here     3C.  My existence was intact, and I was on track to reach the gate for my next flight.

• What time is it? Unfortunately, it seems the overabundance of “You are Here” signs must have cut into the airport authority’s clock budget.  As any traveler knows, it’s not only important to know where you in the airport, but also how long you have to get to your gate before the plane takes off without you.  Luckily, I had 5 hours to reach my next gate, so I wasn’t overly worried about the clock.  But I did find it interesting that each time it occurred to me to check the time, it required a concentrated effort to hunt down a clock.  To make things even more interesting, most of the shops in my terminal closed late in the afternoon leaving only duty free and two small restaurants open while I was wandering the terminal in the early evening.  And it was dark outside, so between the closed shops and my jetlag while I was wandering the terminal it could have been 3am or 7pm.

• Terminal shuffle. Navigating new airports—even relatively small airports—can be difficult (no matter how many signs let you know that You are Here).  Beijing Capital International Airport certainly isn’t the most difficult airport I’ve ever been in, but I seemed to make more wrong turns and missteps there than I have elsewhere.  Three separate times, after getting fairly clear directions and instructions from a very helpful airport employee (with good English), I promptly went in the wrong direction until the next person turned me around.  After three failed attempts, I was finally heading in the right direction—on a shuttle from Terminal 3E to Terminal 3C.  At Terminal 3C, I was able to get a boarding pass for my next flight after a bit of a wait—first in a freezing section of the terminal where even the warmth of Starbucks didn’t bring much comfort and then in a section that was warmer but was deplete of comfortable chairs.  After getting my boarding pass, I was directed back to Terminal 3C via shuttle.  My previous wanderings in Terminal C paid off upon my return and I strutted confidently in the right direction, sneering at the foreigners who drifted aimlessly with confused looks on their faces.

Reflecting on FY12

The United States Government fiscal year 2012 ends on September 30; FY13 starts October 1.  Happy New Year! 

Now is a fine time to take a quick look back at the last 12 months of this Unimpossible Life. 

• FY12 opened with news that funding had been suspended for the project that paid my salary, triggering our premature departure from the truly welcoming city of Ramallah in Palestine.  During the month of October, in the weeks leading up to our departure, my darling wife and I squeezed the most out of the West Bank—visiting new towns, picking olives, and spending precious time with friends.

• By early November, after a quick stop in Texas for a windy but wonderful wedding, we were back in Baltimore.

•  Because my house was occupied by tenants, we found temporary Baltimore housing—first at a corporate apartment, then at the unoccupied house of a generous friend, and finally at a well located apartment that was never meant to be filled with boxes and furniture from a three-bedroom house.

• In March, we learned that our Unimpossible Family would grow by one unimpossibly cute and lovable little one that so far we’ve only seen via the imprecise lens of an ultrasound camera.

• In April, I received a job offer that would take our family overseas again.

• In July, I left my employer of more than 7 years to join a new but familiar employer.  After a one-week orientation and a 2-day safety and security seminar, I moved to Tunisia—the country that is widely credited as the spark of the Arab Spring and an example of a successful revolution.

• Through the month of August, I endured a hot and hungry Ramadan before welcoming cooler weather and, more importantly, a much appreciated visit by my darling wife.

• In September, after protesters and looters wreaked havoc at the US Embassy and American School in Tunis, I was forced to leave Tunisia, at least temporarily, while the security situation was reassessed.

So, the year started and ended with the unexpected departure from an overseas post.  In between, other than the highlights noted above, I went downhill skiing twice (once in Kyrgyzstan, once in Maryland), traveled internationally every month of the year except August, attended my first roller derby tournament, climbed the hills of Devil’s Lake, strolled on Caribbean and Mediterranean beaches, became an owner of the Green Bay Packers, and shared countless laughs with family and friends.

The tally for FY12 includes the following stats: I lived in 3 countries, housed in 5 different residences, and (helped) reproduce 1 new life. 

It’s been a tumultuous, exhilarating, uncertain year: full of promise, joy, and love for a beautiful belly.  I anticipate that FY13 will be tumultuous, exhilarating, and uncertain in ways I can’t yet fathom.

Adventures in Tunis

On a recent weekend afternoon, I ventured from my residence 20 kilometers northeast of Tunis to downtown Tunis with two friends.  We met at the terminal train stop of La Marsa Plage (plage is beach in French) and paid our 40 cent fare for the 40-minute ride into Tunis.  Our ride traversed the entire length of the train line—from La Marsa to Tunis.

The Tunis-La Goulette-La Marsa (TGM) train.

The ride started out pleasantly—the train cars are not fancy, but they are clean and fans mounted on the ceiling and the open windows keep the air moving and relatively cool, even on a hot day.  As the train made brief station stops on the way to Tunis, I chatted casually with my traveling companions about inconsequential topics.  Soon, though, our attention turned to the commotion at the other end of our train car.  The train was just leaving a station stop; without fully understanding what was happening, I saw two young men stumbling and trotting off of the train.  I initially concluded that they barely made it off the train before it started moving, having not realized at first that they were at their intended stop. 

Quickly, though, it was clear that something else was going on—these young men were not awkwardly tripping away from the train because they were absent minded; in fact, they took advantage of a woman standing near the exit door of the train, stealing her purse and slipping out of the door as the train was leaving the station, making it impossible for the victim to react in time before the train left the station.  The victim and her family frantically exited the train at the next stop, and several passengers in our car shouted out window to the personnel at the station, explaining what had happened at the previous stop.  I was powerless to do anything but clutch my bag a bit tighter for the remainder of the ride, even though my bag contained nothing more than a water bottle.  It was a good reminder to me that even as an experienced traveler I need to be cautious and attentive when I’m out and about.

There was no more excitement on the train for the remainder of the ride to Tunis.  My fellow travelers knew how to get from the train station to our destination, the market (or Souk) in the old city, so we started the 20 minute walk down a broad boulevard to the entrance of the Souk; along the way, we passed cafes, stores, a theater, and several side streets with more of the same.  The scene had a very European feel—even on the last day of Ramadan when the cafes were closed in respect of the day-long fast.

The market is prominently announced with what once was the gate to (or from) the old city of Tunis.

Gate at entrance of old city of Tunis

Once in the old city, we followed a maze of narrow streets past vendors of souvenirs, clothes, carpets, shoes, and sweets.  After walking the narrow streets for 15 minutes, we faced a “T” intersection and paused to decide where to go next.  As we paused, a Tunisian man suggested that we should go see the panoramic view of the old city that was nearby.  He showed us the location on a map mounted on a nearby wall.  The three of us walked in the general direction that he suggested, without a great deal of interest in reaching the precise spot he showed us.  Soon, we realized we were on a dead-end road and when we turned around, the same man was there and offered to take us to the location he had suggested.  Knowing that he would soon become our tour guide that we would be obligated to compensate, I told my traveling companions that we could refuse his services and go our own way.  But we all agreed that it would be worthwhile to get a tour through the maze of streets in the old city.  Our guide spoke some English but was much more comfortable speaking French; my traveling companions spoke limited French, so even my limited French proficiency came in handy as he explained things along the way and as we had questions about the significance or age of the sites we saw.  Our first stop was a panoramic view of 9 mosques (and much of the rest of downtown Tunis).  Other stops included a museum that held the tombs of many prominent ‘kings’ (called Bey) from the Ottoman Empire, a local carpet cooperative, and a perfume vendor.  Despite high-pressure selling, none of us bought carpets or perfume.

After spending roughly 2 hours with us, we compensated our guide generously—probably a bit too generous in retrospect, but with an important holiday—Eid al Fitr—around the corner, it felt like the right thing to do.  (Eid al Fitr marks the end of the holy month of Ramadan.)  Also, the experience not only provided us with a good information tour of the old city of Tunis but also gave me an opportunity to practice speaking French.

Once again on our own, the three of us enjoyed the narrow streets of the market at a casual pace and spent a considerable amount of time in one welcoming shop in particular. 

The narrow streets of the Tunis Souk

 

Finally, late in the afternoon, we left the old city and returned to the train station for the ride back to La Marsa.  Back in La Marsa, we tromped down the long beach as the sun settled over the horizon.  Walking in close proximity to the Mediterranean was pleasant enough, but negotiating the sand made for a bit of a workout and even with the sun beyond the horizon, the combination of heat and humidity made it a sticky, sweaty affair.  The rolling waves just a few feet away mocked me as I nearly swam in my increasingly saturated clothes.

It had been a nice day but I was ready for the comforts of home, so I decided to leave my traveling companions for the night.  My 30-minute walk home was lovely—there was a faintly festive mood in the air.  Tunisians had just recently broken fast for the final time this Ramadan.  I imagine they were experiencing a mix of emotions—proud to have completed another month of fasting; saddened but also relieved to leave behind the strict routines mandated during Ramadan.