The Airport

I get to the airport with my friend who is accompanying me, two checking bags, a backpack, a chest bag, my passport, visa, invitation letter from Shanghai University, i-pod, computer, camera, extra underwear, phone, health forms, swiss flag, and I think I am all set until I reach checking and everyone is Chinese. Dugh!

Of course they are. But the fact that I am already surrounded by gibberish-chatting, bag-hussling, pour teethed and black-haired people, makes me question whether I am making a mistake. As I turn to my tall, white, ginger-haired friend with a look of panic, he reassures me that I will be alright. Will I be alright? Before I can even start to think about the answer, the airport staff yells "next" and I am whisked off to the counter.

WenZhou Qui is checking me in today. He looks at my overweight bag, frowns and talks to his superintendent in Chinese. Meanwhile my thoughts are racing. I knew it my is too heavy. How much will I be charged? Will I have to pay extra? What if I have too many bags? What if they are too big? Finally Mr. Qui looks at me, hands me my ticket and with smile and his best English says "Nest time bwing a smawlla beg".

With a feeling of gratitude and relief, I hug my friend goodbye and I walk away with my passport and the gold ticket to my next great adventure!