#3 Letter from China

亲爱的旅行伙伴

Haha, fooled you! You thought I’d had too much champagne already, didn’t you? That means Dear travelling buddy—and you’ll be pleased to know I’m still sober enough to type in English.

It’s only been about twelve hours since I left home, and here I am sitting in the China Southern lounge at Guangzhou Baiyun Airport, comfortably parked for my epic seven-and-a-half-hour layover, feeling a little hot (30 degrees outside) but definitely not legless.

Darling daughter Ange delivered me to Brisbane Airport after a small domestic drama—our end of New Farm lost water thanks to a burst mains pipe. I had visions of presenting myself for international travel slightly grubby. Thankfully, the water gods relented and civilisation was restored in time.

So to begin my report on China Southern. Inside departures, faced with miles of hoardings, I asked a woman in a white shirt and lanyard if she knew where their counter was.

She looked at me, paused, then said, ‘Floor 2.‘

‘Floor 2? But isn’t it in departures?‘

A grimace with eye-roll. ‘This is floor four. China Southern is on floor two.‘

Down I went in the lift to floor two—straight into Arrivals.

‘Can you tell me where I’ll find China Southern, please?‘ I asked at the information desk.

‘Upstairs. Departures,‘ the helper replied, as if I were a little slow.

At check-in, I told the girl I’d dreamed I’d been upgraded to first class.

‘I would if I could,‘ she said. “But there's no first class on China Southern.‘

By the way, have you seen the new security section at Brisbane International? A gleaming, futuristic joy—I sailed through. Except for THE jacket, which of course lit the radar up like a Christmas tree.

I made straight for CS's shared Escape Lounge. Huge plate-glass windows overlook the tarmac and nice comfy chairs. The only disappointment? The bubbles weren’t French. As determined as I am to be a proper francophile, I postponed my celebration.

At the gate, an older male flight attendant (Australian) looked me up and down and said to his colleague, ‘Now there’s a snazzy traveller. That’s what travellers are supposed to look like.‘

I took that as high praise. Except I’m fairly sure ‘snazzy' went out of fashion sometime around 1987. But consequently I nearly fell over going down the airbridge.

Aren't those sandbanks in Moreton Bay beautiful? See the two tiny little boats in that channel?

All this time I was carrying a single rose—a parting gift via Ange from John at the airport. My new travelling companion. By the way, do you like my new orange soft bag?

On board, a discovery: no Wi-Fi.

No wifi?

I coped. Quite fun really, trying to decide what to do without a phone.

I placed the rose in a paper cup with some water. I rearranged my cubbyhole.

You know how I was not to sleep until the Paris leg? After a couple of champagnes and the entire big bottle of water, I went straight to sleep and slept for two hours. Turned out to be a blessing.

When I woke, I went to the galley to ask for more — water, that is. The hostess handed me a glass of hot water.

‘Could I have cold, please?‘ I asked.

She laughed as if we were sharing a private joke and said, ‘You go. I bring it to you.‘

She arrived with a glass of Chinese Coke and the rest of the can.

Close enough.

I watched a beautiful film called Ms Hu’s Garden—about a darling Chinese woman who runs a tiny hotel in a slum and has created the most magical garden out of rubbish and found objects. She was so ridiculously kind that she kept giving away her own meagre savings to anyone who needed it more. Proper tear-jerker feel-good stuff.

I followed it up with the documentary about Celine Dion and her illness. Poor girl.

Just before landing at Guangzhou, a hostess noticed the rose.

‘First time I see flower on plane,‘ she said. ‘Very romantic. You very elegant.‘

I felt I suddenly had a reputation to live up to. Except Guangzhou was 30 degrees. With smog. In the China Southern lounge, with mediocre air-conditioning, my bags and jacket in a locker, perspiration wrecking my coiffure, I approached the drinks barman, holding out a glass.

‘Water please?‘ I said, indicating the rose.

‘Ice?‘

‘No, thank you. Water please.‘

We negotiated for a while until a passing Chinese man kindly translated my requirements. The rose was duly installed in its whisky glass and came with me and my champagne to my seat.

When I returned from a failed attempt to join the Wi-Fi, the rose had vanished.

I asked an attendant in the tone of voice you‘d use if you lost your toddler. This set in motion an eight-man search for the cleaner, who had already consigned it to his rubbish bin. The entire team had a conference. I begged, washing was performed, and so the rose continues its travels.

Céline Dion, or an African wise man, once said, ‘If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.‘

At that point, I appeared to be travelling with a slightly sad rose and a whole team of the China Southern ground staff.

Later: Paris leg next.

After a layover of seven and a half hours, a blissful shower, and no wifi that I could manage to connect to, we boarded and took off just as I was about to start screaming. I went without dinner, took a sleeping pill and slept for nine hours. I kid you not. The bed was about as hard as every other lie-flat bed known to man. Side note: I adored the Airbus from Brisbane to Guangzhou. The Boeing 777? Not so much. Take a bow, France.

Oh I forgot to show you the soft bag. And the rose before it came to grief. When I woke we were flying along the Gulf of Finland, just west of Latvia and Estonia — meaning we sailed right over Russia and St Petersburg, then over Copenhagen.

Breakfast arrived on a white tablecloth with proper napkins, real cutlery, china, and actual glassware. By the way, CS's Flying Breeze perfume is delightful, and the flight attendants are an absolute joy. A real threat to Singapore's supremacy. The food is ok. The Chinese options are better than the European dishes.

Would I fly CS again? Definitely.

Did I mention Nicolas from Paris rang me in Guangzhou to casually announce I could have a 9.30am check-in? You can imagine the noise I made.

Had to wait until after breakfast on the plane for coffee. No coffee has ever tasted so hot, so strong, or so necessary.

Before landing in a CS plane, there‘s a series of Baduanjin exercises on the screen which involve most of the passengers waving arms in the air like drowning swimmers. Actually it was fun.

Bises mon amie, or ami, as the case may be.

I‘m now in Paris, and like Dora, I’m off to explore.

Until I report next, my dear buddy, 等你啦 —I wait you.

PS I'm sorry to tell you that somewhere between Guangzhou and Montmartre, the rose escaped my bag and has gone off on an adventure of its own.