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I did have a pleasant stay, but am glad to be on my way home, getting paid to convert kerosene into carbon dioxide, and only a toss of an aluminium tube away from my bed.  I got up at 7:45 and stayed in my packing schedule quite well, leaving the hotel at 10:30 in another taxi.  The hotel porter was great – answering my “thank you” with “my pleasure” and then wishing me a nice day.  The drive wasn’t that great.  I remember discussing with a beltway friend how annoying drivers are who can’t take their lumps when the make navigational errors but have to switch lanes at the last moment or wait in awkward positions in the middle of intersections, but that’s D.C.  If I let all such misdemeanors annoy me in Beijing, I’d be permanently annoyed, because you can’t drive without seeing people driving on the shoulder, switching lanes without using indicators, and generally opportunistic and aggressive driving.  An hour later I was at the airport, and upon walking in the door saw a counter that said “Customs / ATA.”  Great, I thought, this should be easy – except that the hall, as usual, was packed with people and carts and suitcases and moving about presented a challenge.  I got to the ATA counter only to find it unoccupied, with a note advising me to go to the counter on level two, at gate four, for the Chamber of Commerce to collect 60 RMB and put a stamp on my Carnet.  I had just walked through a door number 4, and walking about seemed to indicate to me I was on level two.  So where else was I to go?  I ended up walking straight to customs and showed them the Carnet A.T.A. 
“You had better get it stamped by the Chamber of Commerce,” the official said. 
“I tried, but there was nobody there,” I replied. 
“I guess it is Saturday,” he said, and I hoped they wouldn’t hold that against me.  Instead, his colleague asked me to show her the items on the Carnet A.T.A. list and then stamped and signed it – without the 60 RMB fee. 

As usual in China, I set off the metal detector and got patted down, then sat around in the lounge.  I may have mentioned before that new terminals are being built in Beijing, and they are overdue.  The Beijing Capital Airport is one of the most crowded I’ve experienced.  At least I got to skip the line at boarding time with a wave of my magic card. 

I sat down in the wrong seat, H instead of G, not expecting the letters to run that high with only seven seats across, but I did feel a little dumb when the rightful occupant pointed it out.  He quickly suggested I stay where I was and he took mine opposite the aisle, what turned out to be a wise choice on his part, because my reading lamp didn’t work.  For that reason, I watched more movies than I had intended to: 3:10 to Yuma (good), Frantic (still a delight after all the years), and Heartbreak Kid (worse than unsatisfying).  It was at the end of 3:10 to Yuma (which felt like it ran for 3:10) I started to bemoan not having an individual control over my movie but only a choice between several channels on a fixed schedule.  And then there was a line at the loo… 

We got to “see” ourselves land when the pilots turned on the onboard forward camera, which was fun, especially with it being a night landing.  But as I said, one more landing and I will be home, so I’m giving my blogging notice until I pick it up again in two weeks. 

Now I know: the driver who brought me to the resort overcharged me 25%.  That’s not too bad, considering what he charged was more than fair by Swiss standards. 

At breakfast, I once again noticed how much of a disregard for others some smokers have here.  One guy puffed right at the buffet, as though that was normal.  That was one reason for sitting outside, the other being that I enjoy having breakfast outside, especially in January.  This time I sat next to the water lily pond, replete with “bud-weis-er” croaking frogs. 

Today’s driver drove better than the one who brought me to the hotel, but at daytime, with more traffic, and seeing more clearly that yes, he did just cross a double solid line, the drive was at least as harrowing.  On the dash he had a picture each of Mao Zedong and Lei Fong, though I don’t know if they would have approved of the feats to which they apparently inspired him.  We drove past a number of smelly, smoky old cars the motors of which, instead of purring, growled a death rattle that indicated to me they might fling mortal coils or other parts through my open window any time now.  I was glad to get to the airport unhurt. 

People stood in disorder in front of the check-in counters.  Once I figured out that a counter with people in front of it was in fact free, I got checked in quickly, though the mileage card seemed to bewilder the young agent.  I showed him my case with my clothes and asked if it was okay as a carry-on.  He looked over his shoulder at his colleague, who nodded her head yeah-yeah.  Once I saw the line waiting to get on the plane, I realized she’d said “yeah-yeah” to everyone else, too.  I sat for three and a half hours with my laptop backpack between my legs. 

I read George MacDonald on the flight, too easily distracted by a subtitled Chinese movie that required much less attention.  Before we landed, the purser advised us that temperatures in Beijing were -2°C and that we might want to prepare for that.  I wanted to until I opened the overhead bin and visualized getting out the case, opening it, and fishing for my clothes.  I decided I’d brave a few minutes of cold and change on the tarmac, but it seemed to me I was the only one who decided against changing in a cramped plane.  I had a Russian lady’s posterior uncomfortably close to my head for an uncomfortably long time.  It was even more annoying when we pulled up to a finger dock and didn’t even have to get out into the cold.  I could step out of the way in the terminal and put on pullover and jacket, and it made me feel better to see a few Chinese men doing the same. 

At the baggage claim, I was once again confronted with what is fast becoming my pet peeve.  Why can’t everyone stand two meters away from the belt?  We’d fit more people, see just as well what was coming, and those going for their bags wouldn’t have to worry about injuring those waiting.  It hit me that this is how the British must feel about Swiss queuing abilities. 

I also observed that on domestic Chinese flights, or at least this one, most the checked baggage comes as cardboard boxes or plastic crates, none of those fancy embossed suitcases. 

One of our partners in Beijing waited for me at the exit and led me to a taxi.  Our driver looked young, but spoke like a Chinese Louis Armstrong with phlegm in his lungs.  He honked far less than the Sanya drivers, but at the toll booth, when he tried to switch from one lane to the other, the Chinese girl in her little white Suzuki wouldn’t let him in, to which he reacted not by braking and getting in after her, but by driving closer and closer to her, rear-views touching, until at last he had to give in, but not without his rear-view bumping her car several times as she pulled past.  Two things I concluded from this, three I deduced:
(a) Not all Chinese girls are the docile tiger lilies of lore. 
(b) My driver was an idiot. 
(c) I am still loath to speak a word of conflict even when it is to correct someone who’s obviously wrong.  It wasn’t until our driver, still angry, sped after the girl on the far side of the booth and fishtailed around next to her that I meekly said “Stop.”  I should have said it much earlier – but I don’t know if it would have changed his foul mood, which made him a scary driver for a good ten minutes after that.  I thought Sanya was bad: this was worse. 

So, tomorrow I need to prove to a customer that I can get our microscope to do what our brochure says it can but I’ve never personally done and all our tech guys agree is difficult.  It’s like trying to prove the top speed of a fast car, but nobody really makes good tires for that model and it takes a special type of road for it to go fast.  Oughta be fun…

As I expected, today was much slower.  Either people had already left, or were hitting the beaches, or had decided the coffee wasn’t good enough to bother.  The tea was bad enough I tried the coffee, which was either bitter or, when I added too much condensed milk, tasted like that icky stuff.  But the fruits – starfruit, dragonfruit, papaya – are fresh and tasty, so I get those, and force down the tea because I don’t want to fall asleep. 

I walked in on some nanomaterials presentations.  The first I heard was by a Chinese guy.  All he did was read verbatim what was on the overheads, clearly struggling with the English language and, I suspect, at times unsure of what it was he was saying, a bit like me in some of my Japanese presentations.  When the chair opened the floor for questions, he couldn’t understand what the audience members were asking until they switched to Chinese themselves.  The chair, as chairs do, asked a question himself, but the chair’s Scottish accent was even more lost on the poor speaker.  The experience also revealed to me the disadvantage of abbreviations, because several speakers kept referring to their figs and tabs.  Furthermore, I noticed that some speakers even when speaking English revert to their native language for their “ums.”  (Or is that “um”s?)  Toward the end of the day, an American gave a talk on nanoswords, and although it was easier for me to follow him, I doubt the Chinese could.  I also noticed how often he went ahead and used “go ahead and” or “went ahead and” as fillers.  That alone must have thrown many a Chinese for a loop. 

Back at the booth, another one of the organizing staff walked up to me with “Hi, you want a candy?”  They mean well, they’re just being kind, I know, also when they ask if I’m not going to lunch, and then warn me that I “will miss something delicious.”  I think that deep down what bugs me is that I think of myself as self-sufficient, and their constant care sometimes seems to imply I’m not.  In this case it is I who needs to learn. 

I took some pictures of the resort again, this time with a little more light. 

A nice little swing under the palms trees.

Sanya’s Yalong bay beach after sundown. 

The naval vessel and its lookalike rock out in the bay. 

After the pictures I went to the conference banquet.  It wasn’t my Korean neighbor’s fault I was bored, nor was it the fault of the professor who presented the best paper awards, although he should have had amuch tighter rein on the proceedings.  It was that all I was doing was waiting to sneak out and call Janet on skype.  So I snuck out and despite partially poor connection we got to hear each other and my, was that ever good.  After Janet had to leave for class, I got the added bonus of a short chat with Alain before he leaves for India, which brings me back to my original point: Mannheim Steamroller loves his fudgemaker. 

And, by the way, someone must have stuck a Durian in my minibar fridge.  It reeks.

Well, for a conference it was par for the course.  The exhibition table stands right next to the coffee table, so half the delegates queued in front of our microscope for their coffee, and by the end of the day, a third of our brochures was gone.  An unrealistic linear extrapolation would have all our brochures gone by the end of the third day, but I think the lure of the beach will be too strong for many a delegate. 

Unfortunately, most people just took brochures and left no means to contact them, which means a significantly reduced chance at something coming of this contact.  That said, at least we’re getting our name out to folks who, for the most part, have never heard of us. 

During the sessions, nothing happens at the booth, except that the registration gals start talking to you.  It goes something like this (my thoughts in italics):

“Hi Stephan!”
“Hi?!”  How the – oh, right, I’m wearing a badge.
“Where are you from?”
“Switzerland.”
“Switzerland?”
“Switzerland.”  Better draw the Chinese characters for Switzerland – I’m not sure she knows what I’m talking about.
“Yes, yes, I know, Switzerland.”  I guess she did know.
“I have a friend in Switzerland.”  Oh no.  Not that one.  I feel like a Canadian.
“There must be too much snow in Switzerland.” 
“No, where I’m from, there’s no snow.  It’s only cold.”
“Really?”

Later, in the afternoon, it continues:

“May I have your e-mail address?”  How can I say no?  I can’t, can I?
“Here,” I say, and hand her my business card with a look of bewilderment.  “Do you want to visit Switzerland?”
“Yes, my friend say is very beautiful country.”  The unanswerable statement.
I nod and say something non-committal like “I like living there.” 

One of the guys on staff is wearing a T-shirt with a droopy peace sign and the lettering beneath:
Dieu est amour
Il dio è amore
The label of the shirt said Révolution Française.

I went for an early lunch with the thought of being around when the delegates go for lunch break.  I only got in because the conference manager showed up and told the hotel staff it was okay for me to go early.  I’d almost finished eating when a Chinese delegate stood up form his table, placed his soup next to me and sat down, introducing himself.  So I gave him my business card and made a little smalltalk before extricating myself.  I needn’t have.  On the way to our booth I think I met the better part of the delegates walking toward the food.  I spent a very quiet lunch break. 

After the second coffee break we took down our booth.  At least we could store our goods in the secretariat room, because I didn’t want to lug the heavy suitcase across 300 meters of flagstone again.  It was half past five, and I hoped I could get a swim in one of the fancy pools, but I had in mind that they closed at 7:30 pm, which turned out to be wrong.  6:00 pm is the cut-off.  So, unless the show is super-slow, no pool for me. 

I went for dinner at the bar, once I found out that I could order sandwiches there.  When I asked what kind of sandwiches were available, the young lady called across the bar to her colleague, who said “beef sanwich an ke-rab sanwich,” as far as I understood.  “Crab?” I asked, making the Japanese sign for crab, two hands like scissors.  “Huh-rab,” he said, mimicking my scissors. 
“I’ll have crab, then!” I said, which had her call her colleague over.  He explained again.  “We have beef sanwich and horizon sanwich.” 
“What’s in Horizon?”
He ran off a list of ingredients that ran far too long, and I ordered the beef sandwich, with soda water. 
The sandwich came with fries and just barely enough ketchup.  After the fries, i realized that I had no napkin, and raised my hand.  The girl came over. 
“Excuse me,” I said.
“Yesyou.”  Odd, but never mind, just keep on going, Stephan. 
“Could I have a napkin, please?”
She laughed and turned to get one, and suddenly it clicked.  It wasn’t “yesyou,” it was “tisyou.”

After dinner I took a few pictures of the pool and of a gecko that got lost in my room.  Here are two:

The pool by night, one second exposure, handheld.

The gecko, and a corner that avoided the cleaning lady.

I walked out to the welcome reception, where i found an assembly of mostly Chinese delegates and a few whose faces gave away that they must be English speakers. I chatted with four or five different people about things like quantum-dot cellular automata and modeling interferometry measurements, ate a few spring rolls and some dessert, downed an ill-advised coke, heard the same Hawaiian tune multiple times, and returned to my room. There I changed into my trunks and a T-shirt (sans cussword) and walked outside for a dip in the pool.

It was easily warm enough for walking around in shorts and a T-shirt, even after 7pm, but the big news I want to brag about is that I walked barefoot. Yes, I too can walk barefoot, though I suppose walkways, boardwalks, and manicured lawns don’t really count as heroics. I hoped to get in the ocean, but the lifeguard was off duty and even though it’s a public beach and I suppose technically I could go in whenever I wanted to I obeyed and went to the pool instead. The water was a bit of a shock at first, colder than expected, but it didn’t take long to get used to it. Unfortunately, the fun pools were closed, so I puttered about, with the sounds of the Russian Christmas dinner droning in my ears whenever I came up. I hadn’t known that “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” belonged into the Christmas karaoke repertoire, but you never stop learning.

I took a dip in the other pool that was still open, over toward the reception area, and felt a little sorry for the lifeguard, sitting on his chair doing nothing besides watching a mediocre swimmer make waves. At least he got some action when his colleague inadvertently turned off the lights and he had to yell to get him to turn them back on. He never left his perch.

Tired of swimming and tired of Hawaiian muzak, I dried off and walked back to my room. Here’s hoping I find sleep soon.

I figured out a few things. 

First, I am the only exhibitor.  That could be either really good or really bad.  The trouble is that only in the former case do I deserve to enjoy lazing about the Horizon resort, but only in the latter case do I have any time for it.  The resort sprawls across a large area and includes several swimming pools, tennis courts, spas, and beachfront, not to mention the restaurants and souvenir shops.  A number of service personnel speaks some English, and some speak enough for more complex discussions than “Where are you from, sir?”  Not all staff members are local – Byron, for instance, is from Shenyang and probably more than happy to be here instead. 

Second, all the Russians.  Of course the Russians are out in force.  It all makes sense, ever since discovering the sign above the large array of plastic tables and lawn chairs that said “Рождественский Ужин” (I hope that displays correctly – let me know otherwise).  Now I don’t know enough Russian to figure out on my own what it means, but I remember enough to be able to remember two words and chuck them through Babelfish.  “Christmas supper” is what I got, and it all fit into place – the orthodox activities, the head count, everything. 

Third, the internet.  There’s no wireless in the room.  I need to unplug the LAN cable of the room’s desktop PC and stick it into my laptop to access the internet with a computer with a reasonable kezboard.  It’s still pretty slow, so I don’t know how well stuff like skype will work. 

Fourth, the food.  It’ll be a regular challenge to get small portions of something somewhere around here. 

Fifth, the logo.  The Horizon resort has its logo everywhere.  It’s even stamped in relief in the ashtray sand. 

Sixth, the time difference.  I thought it would be 6 hours to Switzerland, but it’s 7. 

Well, I ought to get offline.