Touch Down

I come to as the ferry gears down and approaches the dock. The city is growing up the edge of the river. We get off and claim our bags then walk into immigration. A crowd waits for their turn to board the ferry. I don’t know if it is just me or if everyone really is looking at me. In immigration, I look around for a clue as to where I should go. After a bit, I receive the come on from one of the officials behind the desk. Through immigration and I put my bag through the x-ray, then claim it and head through the no declarations line. I don’t think I have anything to declare, I hope I don’t. Out the door and a man in an ATL rushes up to great me. Ca-rawk he says. I am pretty sure that is me. Ni Hau, I say, my first Chinese in the mainland, and probably worse than my name was. I try the “what is your name?” dialog. After some work I figure it out. A-hau. He dials a number and hands me the phone. I get a warm welcome from Ken Wang, the plants general manager. “Do you play basketball? If you are tall, we want you on our team. We have a game on Sunday night.” Unfortunately, I am not tall, nor am I good at basketball. So much for stereotypes.

We weave our way down the street, not because the road is windy, but because people, cars, and bikes dodge in and out from anywhere. Everything moves slowly, but still moves, as if there were protective force field around everything, even if it is only three inches thick. There are no stop signs, and lanes are only suggestions. The right side is the rights side to pass on because it is the right, leaving the left side the left side to pass on, and just as viable of an option. Traffic lights at big intersections are suggestions that help the big streets keep from slowing to a standstill, and physical dividers keep things going in the same direction on the same side of the road.