The Flight to Beijing or, How I Learned to Stop Packing and Love the Flu

The first thing I learned about the Chinese at the airport is this: they are not messing around when it comes to luggage or swine flu. When I checked in at Heathrow, I was told I had to weigh my carry on bag to make sure it was less than 5 kilos.  I’ve had to weigh a checked bag before, but never a carry-on, so I hadn’t thought much about it when I packed all my camera gear and laptop into my nifty compact roller bag. Turns out, it’s actually 16 kilos.

Oops.

After much negotiating with the attendant and finally her manager, I was able to sweet talk my way onto the plane without checking the bag, an option I felt would surely have lead to my camera gear becoming a very expensive collection of broken glass and microchips. Ten hours, 4 movies, and no sleep later, we landed safely in Beijing, but were told to wait in our seats. I watched the guy in the row next to me take full advantage of the airline sick bag, and then to add to my entertainment, the plane was boarded by half a dozen technicians in white uniforms and surgical masks. They proceeded to point small, gun-shaped thermometers at every passenger’s head, ensuring no one on board was deplaning with a fever. As if this wasn’t wonderful enough, upon exiting the plane we were corralled through an infrared video system, intended to catch any traces of excessive heat in our bodies. Brilliant. When I finally got to baggage claim, I found a sea of luggage carts surrounding the carousel. The drivers were maneuvering the small carts with great agility and speed each time an opening appeared around the bags, and I was nearly taken out by one overzealous traveler who went right for my ankles. Only by spotting a British family with less experience in cart bullying was I able to muscle my way to the front and retrieve my backpack.  Thankfully, I wasn’t quarantined afterward like one of my classmates, although that would have made a fantastic story.