A Long Journey to My Honey Moon

A Long Journey to My Honey Moon   漫長的蜜月

This was a true story that happened in the winter of 1985 during the first semester of my doctoral studies at Iowa State University, Ames, Iowa..

As soon as I finished my last final exam I walked to a travel agent across the street from the campus. I hastened my steps through the heavy traffic without stopping to see two beautiful white swans in a lake nearby. I had come here many times before to watch those birds - one male and one female. They seemed always together.

With a ticket for the next available flight secured, I called my major professor. “My fiancée called me the night before,” I explained. “She couldn’t get her passport from the Bureau of Public Security in Canton. The only way for her to join me is for me to go back and marry her immediately.”

I left China almost five months ago. I missed her terribly. My professor quickly understood and gave me the permission to take the trip during Christmas break.

I left the small campus town in cold, corn-rich Iowa the next morning. I had to take a commuter flight to Chicago first.

The airplane had eighteen seats, including those for two pilots. There were only four passengers and nothing separated us from the pilots. It was my first time in such a small plane. I chose the seat right behind the pilots. Noticing my nervousness, one of the pilots glanced back at me and said, “Hey, just sit back, relax, and enjoy!”

I closed my eyes and tried to relax, but a humorous story I read recently in Reader’s Digest kept surfacing on my mind.

“Once there was a priest, a CEO, a professor, and a pilot flying on a small airplane. The airplane developed a problem and had to be abandoned. There were only three parachutes on board. The priest said many people were waiting on the ground for him to save their souls, so he deserved to live. Others agreed and the priest took one parachute and jumped out of the plane. The executive said that he was holding a company secret that could save the jobs for thousands. So he took a parachute and jumped. The professor said he was the smartest person on Earth and deserved to live. So he also took a parachute and jumped. The pilot looked around and found yet another parachute. He then realized that the professor had jumped out with his raincoat.”

My mind wandered around to prepare some justifications in case I came across any trouble like that in my long trip. However, I could not have possibly foreseen what kind of adventure and trouble were ahead of me.

**********

After a short stop in a small airport, the plane arrived in Chicago’s O’Hare safely and on time. We did not get off the plane through any gate. The plane was too short for that. We climbed out, walked on the ground, and went inside through a regular door.

I had thirty-five minutes to catch the next Northwest Orient flight to Seattle. I rushed from one wing to the other in the airport with my big suitcase and two carry-on bags.

Once the gate for my flight was in my sight, I could tell I had made it since there were still many people waiting. Actually, too many. The plane had not started to board yet. Feeling relieved, I presented my passport and ticket to a lady at a desk. She flipped through my passport and looked up.

“Do you have a visa to Hong Kong?” she frowned.

“No,” I answered. “I called the British Consulate in Chicago. They told me I didn’t need a visa since I’ll continue my flight to Canton and would not enter Hong Kong.”

“According to our instructions, you need a visa before we can let you take this flight.”

No matter how I argued with her and her supervisor, I couldn’t get them to change their minds. They suggested that I take a taxi to downtown and get a visa. I might be able, they said, to get back in time since the flight had been delayed. Without any other option, I pulled my luggage, hurried downstairs, and got into a taxi to try my luck.

This was the first time I had been in a major American city. The suburbs had nice office buildings and landscapes. As we got inside the city, many old buildings along the highway looked abandoned and were covered by strange paintings and billboards. The downtown skylines emerged grandly in the front, as the highway got more sophisticated. But, I was not in a good mood to enjoy all these.

The driver came from Egypt. He drove as fast as he could after I explained to him what I was trying to do. Passing several busy streets and bridges in the downtown, he stopped in the front of an old, tall, stone building. I asked him to wait for me. I ran into an elevator to the fifteenth floor where the British Consulate was located.

Several people were waiting in a line when I got inside the Consulate. I rushed to the window, breathing heavily. An officer asked me if she could help. I told her what happened at the airport.

“You don’t need a visa,” she replied firmly.

“I told them the same thing, but they didn’t believe in me,” I said. “Since I am already here, would you please give me a visa anyway?”

She quickly took thirty-five dollars from me and stamped my passport. I thanked the people behind me and dashed back to the elevator. Luckily, the taxi driver was still there. (Of course, he would. I had not paid him, yet.)

As the taxi got closer to the airport, my heart beat faster. I gave the taxi eighty dollars as I got out the taxi. He signaled I had given him too much. “Keep the change,” I shouted without turning back. I was excited because I saw my plane still sitting at the gate.

I ran through the traffic inside the airport. I was the last one to board the airplane. “Not too bad after all,” I sighed as I wiped the sweat off my forehead.

**********

The teenage girl sitting next to me happened to be Chinese. We started to chat. She was a high school student from Hong Kong studying in Canada. She was returning home for Christmas. We could only communicate in English since she did not speak Mandarin and I could not speak much Cantonese. I felt sorry for her, traveling alone so far away at such a young, tender age. There were probably many people like her around the world, I thought.

I rested while the Hong Kong student kept reading a novel. We had three peaceful hours on the airplane, until it got close to Seattle, where we were supposed to take a flight to Hong Kong.

It was dawn time as the plane approached the Northwest. From my window it looked wet and foggy. My body moved forward as the airplane took a sharp turn to the left.

“We have just been informed by the airport that we cannot land due to low visibility,” the captain announced. “We’ll have to land in Portland, Oregon instead.”

The weather in Portland was much better. But the airport was a mess. Many flights originally destined for Seattle arrived here. The small airport was packed with people who did not know where to go next. After waiting for a while, we were told that the airline had arranged for some buses to take us to Seattle. The bus boarding area was chaotic, like the refugee scenes in World War II movies. My big suitcase was originally checked in all the way to Canton, but it showed up on the floor in the airport. I had to take it with me. Otherwise, I did not know how it would get to China.

The buses turned out to be yellow school buses. The ride was all right, except that the heater did not have enough capacity in the cool, late night. The African-American bus driver was very kind. He made several stops for us to get some hot coffee to warm up our bodies and go to rest rooms.

The bus ride ended at the Seattle airport three and a half hours later. It was 11:25 p.m.

As we approached a check-in desk, a smiling clerk greeted us. She was prepared for us. She told us to take a shuttle bus to a nearby hotel to stay until eight o’clock in the morning. Our flight to Hong Kong had been delayed till then due to the fog. We obeyed without any doubt.

The Red Lion hotel was a fancy one. The entry had a beautiful garden. The plants were still green because of the moisture and mild winter in the Northwest. A circular, two-story building surrounded a good-looking swimming pool. The room was comfortable. From the windows in my room I could see the blue pool. The bed felt one thousand times better than the seats on the airplane and school bus. I could swear to that.

I helped the Hong Kong student to get her luggage to her room upstairs. It was nice to have some one to talk to on a lonely trip like this.

I was in a good mood again in the morning. For a moment I forgot the frustration of not being able to make the phone connection with my fiancée all night. She was waiting for me in Canton. “If you can’t beat it, you may as well enjoy it,” I told myself. I took a shower and changed into my suits. I shot several pictures of the scenic surroundings of the memorable hotel.

However, once we got back to the airport, the misery returned. The new clerk at the check-in desk was surprised to see us.

“Where have you been?” she asked in a slightly blaming tone but with a smile. “Your flight to Hong Kong left here at five o’clock this morning.”

Telling her what we were told the night before did not help any thing. I learned later that it was easier for a plane to take off than to land in foggy conditions.

“Well, what we can do is to put you on stand-by for a flight to Tokyo at 11 o’clock. And you’ll catch a connecting flight from Tokyo to Hong Kong.”

I became mad. I might not even get a seat to leave Seattle! The Hong Kong girl behind me did not say a word as I cursed. Maybe, as a seasoned international traveler, she had been in a situation like this before. Perhaps she was just not in a big hurry as I was. Or she might just have a better nature than I did.

Many people were sitting on the floor near the gate. Those who were on stand-by were all anxious as time went by. The boarding started. We grew more anxious, surrounding the desk for news. Finally we were told that there were some extra seats. One by one we became joyous as the clerk called our names.

The plane took off. We all cheered. I watched the space needle and the gorgeous coast line disappearing from my window. I softly exclaimed, “So long, Seattle!”

**********

The passenger next to me this time was a Japanese high-school student who was studying English in Seattle. She was talkative and enthusiastic. She seemed to already know what she wanted in her life. She said her chances of getting a good job in Japan after high school would be much better if she spoke good English. I remembered English was also the most popular subject in China. Perhaps, I came to the States for the same practical reason. Who taught us that? I wondered. It may be human nature or a law of economics.

One of the flight attendants was Chinese. The airline did a good job by hiring her, I thought, so that the Chinese passengers who did not speak English could feel comfortable. She was friendly. We started talking to each other. She lived in Seattle and was a part-time student. I told her my stories in Chicago, Portland, and Seattle. She was quite sympathetic.

“You should write a letter,” she encouraged me, like an elder sister. “I’ll pass the letter to our management to see what they could do.”

I followed her advice and started writing. The plane was cruising above the Pacific Ocean at full speed. Of course, I did not know at that moment what would happen next, yet.

The plane arrived in Tokyo in the evening hours. The check-in area was packed with people. Every one was eager to get some information for the next flight. The vendors for drinks and food were having a really good business, serving a lost crowd.

We were told that since we left Seattle late, we had missed our connecting flight to Hong Kong. The next one would be in the morning. We’d have to stay in a hotel for one night. I double-checked the accuracy of the news.

By then I was used to this kind of news. Since I was already late, I might as well enjoy my en route visit to Tokyo.

I greeted the customs worker, “Kon Ni Chiwa.” He replied with a series of Japanese sentences that I did not understand. I felt foolish to impress him with the only Japanese I knew. He soon switched to English with a heavy accent. My luggage went through without being opened. Luckily, the airline let us leave our big suitcases in the airport.

The street in Tokyo was narrow, busy, but orderly. The hotel was a Holiday Inn. Amazingly the steakhouse downstairs was still open at 11:40 p.m. local time. Perhaps, the restaurant thrived on customers like us. When I saw the menu, I was glad that the airline was paying the bill. The prices were three times of what I saw for similar items in Iowa.

We were assigned to rooms in pairs. My roommate was from China, too. Pretty soon, we were talking like old friends. He lived in Hong Kong, but often traveled to the States on business. We exchanged stories from the Cultural Revolution. We watched the Japanese cable television. We quickly understood the game when I switched to a channel showing sumo wrestling, a big deal in Japan. In a news segment, I recognized the Chinese women volleyball star, Lang Ping, who was playing in a professional league in Japan at that time.

We were glad that we didn’t get any more surprises when we went back to the airport the next morning. The airport lobby looked huge in the daylight. It was an ideal place for people watching.

Several Japanese airport workers were chatting and playing near a gate. From the side, they looked like Chinese. Only the language was different. An India family with two little kids was sitting across from me. They were going home for Christmas via Hong Kong.

Sitting behind me was an American young man, who replied to my English greetings in fluent Cantonese. He was studying international business in a Hong Kong university and started learning Cantonese only six months ago. I was amazed by his language capability. That would surely help him one day when he was ready for the job market.

Looking around, I felt the world was indeed a wonderful, small village. Needless to say, I also felt my fiancée’s anxiety since she had not yet heard from me two days after my scheduled arriving date.

**********

The wide-body Boeing arrived in Hong Kong without any problems. The Hong Kong airport was small considering the number of people it served. As I walked through the gate, no body cared to take a look at my passport, leaving alone that rectangular, blue-inked visa I received in Chicago. I was directed to the gate of my next flight, as I waved good-bye to the Hong Kong student.

The flight to Canton was with Air China. Feeling exhausted from the long trip, I lay down on the bench to wait for boarding. My heart felt warm as I watched the waiting area gradually filled with people who spoke the same language as I did.

The atmosphere, however, was quite different once we got onto the plane. I couldn’t see any smile in the flight attendants’ faces. They hardly spoke anything to us. When they offered drinks, they just extended their hands, saying nothing. It didn’t matter whether you wanted one or not. That reminded me of the same environment I grew up with. The socialist society was notorious for their unnatural, unfriendly services. It took me five months outside this country to recognize and feel the difference.

“Well, at least I was able to travel abroad and come back,” I comforted myself. And at least this flight was on time. Many “small details” may change for the better sooner or later.

The flight lasted only forty-five minutes. A reunion with my fiancée was finally approaching. I could feel my heart beating and pulse pounding, especially, when I saw the ground and heard the loud noises during landing.

“Wow, I made it! Nothing could stop me from seeing her now,” I smiled.

**********

The guards at the Bai-Yun-Shan (White Cloud Mountain) airport customs stopped me. They wanted to know whether I carried any expensive goods without paying duties. They didn’t care when I told them I was just a poor student. I might have looked too suspicious from the long, tiring trip. They opened my suitcase and turned every thing up side down. One of them picked up a box of slides and checked every one of them through the ceiling light. I borrowed those slides to show my folks the beautiful campus of my graduate school. The guard must have thought they were X-rated materials.

When I was watching the guards finishing their job, many people were waiting outside the reception area. I looked hard through the windows to see if my fiancée was among them. I was hoping she would pick me up. I made a phone call and left a message from Hong Kong airport to the gate house at her parents’ apartment compound. People rarely owned private phones at that time in China.

By the time I was let go by the guards and re-packed my suitcase, the outside was very dark. All the other passengers had left. I found neither my fiancée nor a regular bus to take me to the other side of the city. Dragging my luggage with both hands as I walked out of the airport, I was surrounded by people who were hungry for my business. I felt like a sheep surrounded by many lions.

In the late eighties, capitalism was starting to mushroom in China. These people must be Ge-Ti-Hu, individual business vendors, who were not associated with any government-owned enterprises. Some of them might not even have licenses. But, these hard working people had smiles on their faces and were eager to serve even at late hours.

The “lions” almost got into a fistfight. I felt sorry to have to go with two “winners” since the others were obviously too afraid of taking me afterwards. The short one ran to a parking lot and came back in a used van. I was disappointed since I was promised a regular car. But, what the heck, I was not a chooser any more.

As we were loading my luggage, I heard the other Ge-Ti-Hu shouting to us, “You must treat us a dog meal tomorrow.” Dog was more a delicacy than a pet in Canton at that time. I was afraid how much I’d have to pay to make these two drivers rich overnight. Otherwise, who knew where they might take me?

The tall driver drove the van swiftly through the city, which is the largest city in Southern China. Many shining neon signs passed by. Quite some changes had taken place in just five months. The traffic signs had been re-painted with reflective materials. They looked bright and clear under the headlights, just as those I saw in the States. Besides the noise the van was making, I felt the familiar humid and dusty air. My heart was like an arrow getting closer to a target.

After holding on to my seat nervously for an hour, we got to the apartment complex where my fiancée was staying with her parents. The front gate was locked. The window on the gatehouse was dark. The short Ge-Ti-Hu climbed over the gate and banged on the window. The guard finally got up and opened the gate. She was yawning with a heavy jacket draped over her shoulder.

I paid the drivers twenty U.S. dollars. One of them seemed to want more. The other signaled him to stop. They left happily. I was happy, too, still remembering how much I paid in Chicago.

**********

I knocked at the front door of my future in-laws’ two-bedroom apartment. Immediately, I heard my fiancée calling my name.

She had not fallen asleep yet. She had waited for me in the airport for two days and nights. She knew I had left Iowa, but did not know where I had been since then. She finally gave up earlier that afternoon since my name did not show up for the very last flight. Obviously, my phone message from Hong Kong airport was not delivered.

She and her parents were very happy to see me. I noticed the clock on the wall pointing to 12:30 in the morning.

As a tradition, we were not allowed to sleep together before the marriage. Not even hugging or kissing in the front of our parents. No, not even on the eve of our wedding. My future father-in-law asked me to sleep in one bed with him while my mother-in-law and my fiancée would sleep in another bedroom. They had arranged an apartment where we’d stay after the wedding.

I lay on the opposite side of the bed with my future father-in-law. I was unable to sleep. Many things came to my mind. I thought about why I went through so much trouble to come back and ended up like this. I counted the things we need to complete in three weeks: marriage certificate, wedding, reception, visiting my parents, her passport, her visa, her airline ticket – a great deal of bureaucracy to deal with.

Turning from side to side numerous times, I finally accumulated enough courage to say to my future father-in-law,

“I can’t sleep because of the time difference.” I was pleased with my excuse. “I would like to get up for a while.”

Soon after I made some noise in the living room, my fiancée came out from the other bedroom. She couldn’t sleep either. We hugged and kissed. Many wonderful feelings we shared before came back to us. I confirmed why I wanted to come back so badly and from so far away. We were two young birds in love.

I opened the front door quietly. Hand in hand, we disappeared in the cool and fresh early morning air. Our honeymoon had just begun.

**********

Originally written in January 1997.

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