Sunday, January 23
I'm guessing it is a Chinese custom to give fruit as a parting gift, but I swear I did not style said fruit into this phallic arrangement
A great 9 days have whizzed by, and last night I prepared for the trip home by planning my sleep schedule to avoid jetlag.
My plans for sleep deprivation were helped when the hotel room doorbell kicked in at 12.20am. Maybe this has never happened to you in a Chinese hotel, but let me tell you when a guy is repeatedly knocking at the door and speaking loudly in Chinese you worry a little.
I began to scramble to find something to wear. I discounted the Sheraton robe. Even a slender Asian lady would find it a touch revealing.
I also didn't want to throw on the clothes I'd arranged to wear on the flight home. It's bad enough wearing the same shit for 36 hours with a shower in the morning. So I began to search through my packed bag, all the time trying to vocally placate the guy repeatedly ringing and banging on the door.
Once dressed I suddenly turned into Jason Bourne, and approached the door in a serpentine fashion in case the Chinese guy was an assassin with a gun aimed through the peephole.
He was a concierge trying to deliver slippers to the wrong room. Twat supreme.
It's bad enough that the remaining few hours were spent in and out of sleep, dreaming of the Chinese cabaret singers from earlier, but in the morning as I prepped my bag for the homeward journey I stripped away the tags from the flight over.
Now I have the tepid Paula Abdul 90s hit "Rush Rush" floating through my brain.
at 6:41 AM