The Far West: nineteen days in China by Carrie King

China is west of Los Angeles (I think L.A.'s opposite longitude runs somewhere through western Afghanistan). Also, we were flying west to get there. So when comparing my current location with home, I automatically thought in terms of China as west and L.A. as east. I wonder how much of that has to do with living on and being aware of the Pacific Rim.

The tour company, Overseas Adventure Travel, routed us all through Vancouver. I wonder if Canadian airlines are the only North American carriers allowed into Beijing. This meant a predawn awakening in Los Angeles, and overnight stays in Vancouver for those who didn't live in cities where direct early morning flights were available. It was a beautiful partly sunny day in Vancouver; I was pleasantly surprised. The landscape around the airport was a flat valley leading all ways to mountains, mountains, mountains. I'm a sucker for good mountains. Even west towards the ocean, there were the peaks of the offshore islands.

I also liked the Vancouver airport. It had two or three levels of glass-railed walkways, and I could look down from the top level as I wended my way along, and see other people navigating different segments of the maze. It only looked like a maze; directions were very clearly marked. It even had a natural history museum-style display room, where multiple paths met, with artifical waves gently lapping against a simulated lake shore and a colorful wooden canoe.

Gradually all of us OAT people found our gate, and we discovered there were four different groups of 15-16 each. As I expected, I was far the youngest in my group, although in another group there was a mother-daughter pair from New Jersey and the daughter was about my age. I talked with a woman who had also brought many rolls of film. "More than me? I brought 60," said I, expecting to startle her. "More than that," she said, but was too embarrassed to give me the exact number.

We boarded, and when I tried to fold up my little black luggage cart I got the first taste of what traveling with it was going to be like. It refused to fold up, not for the last time oh no, and I had to stow it in its L-shaped form.

I felt a bit sorry for our pilot when his name was announced to be Captain Lockerbie. This was not a serious omen; it simply meant that about 45 minutes into the flight, we had to turn round and go back to Vancouver because, despite troubleshooting help from maintenance in Montreal, they couldn't get the engines up to sufficient airspeed to reach our cruising altitude. So then we all sat round the Vancouver gate for several more hours, giving me time to buy from Burger King with American money and get change in Canadian. Canadian Airlines had put out drinks and snacks for us (mainly sweet-cracker type cookies) but I mostly stashed those for later.

Once they rounded up a different plane and a different crew -- why a different crew? our first one had been planning to go to Beijing, and this second group hadn't, why bother switching? -- we departed again. This time my cart had been temporarily scared into submission, and folded properly. But I discovered, over what seemed an interminable time (what a spoiled child of the 20th century I am! think of your pioneer ancestors, girl!), that I cannot sleep much in only two seats' worth of space. I had ignored most of the first two movies, Where the Money Is and Heaven Can Wait. I was curious enough about U-571 that it helped me spend some time, but I and my legs sure were impatient to arrive in Beijing.