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How to prevent people leaving.JPG, originally uploaded by 160507.

It’s been a while since I’ve had one of these complaint epics, so while it was happening half of me was homicidally annoyed while the other half was oddly amused and nostalgic. 

I sent a text message to my contact saying I was on my way to the airport. It remained in the outbox. I sent it again. Still no go. Then the screen of my phone hanged. The battery indicator was at 75 percent. The phone wouldn’t reset, so I removed the battery then put it back in. When I turned the phone back on, the batter level was zero! For the first time in history, my trusty phone had died on me. I imagined my contact trying to reach me, and everyone leaving before I got there.

We arrived at the airport exactly as the delegation was going through the first security check. Passport and ticket safely in hand, I made it to the plane without further incident.

The flight was delayed for half an hour. I didn’t notice, having fallen asleep within minutes of taking my seat (It’s a gift). I woke up for lunch, then went back to sleep and regained consciousness when we were supposed to be landing. The plane circled the airport for the next half-hour—air traffic was heavy at the new Pudong airport terminal which had opened just that morning.

So we arrived in Shanghai at 1650, not 1550. We were expected at a reception at 1830. I figured one hour, 40 minutes gave me enough time to get to the hotel, check in, get changed, and walk to the reception a block away. I did not know about Shanghai traffic. It was like Manila at 6pm, except that it was cold and the roads are vast. For two hours we were wedged between trucks, buses, and cars going to the city. We passed an industrial area, gray and desolate. By the time the lights of Shanghai poked me in the eye, it was 1830.

We were booked at Baolong, a boutique hotel on Nanyang Road. I think it’s supposed to look like a traditional Chinese home; I couldn’t ask the front desk clerks because we had no common language. Next baffler: finding my room. The key said 8526, but the elevator only went up to the fifth floor. Turns out everyone’s room number started in 8; my actual room was 526.

I had no time to even look at my room; I threw on a coat and hurried to the dinner. Two hours later I realized one of my earrings was gone. A favorite, too—a ball of wire I’d found in a Seoul night market. It may have blown away in a strong wind, or gotten snagged on my muffler. Either way it was gone forever.

Round midnight I got back to the hotel and took a shower. The bathroom floor flooded. Afterwards I opened the laptop our host had lent me so I could check my email. Couldn’t connect to the Internet. Figured I could at least charge my iPod (my treacherous phone was already charging), so I plugged it into the USB port. The iPod’s screen promptly hanged. Clearly my gadgets were staging a rebellion. It wouldn’t unlock, refused to reset, and the light wouldn’t go out. I went to bed worried that I’d wiped out my entire music library, but in the morning when the battery had drained the iPod was fine.

That was my first night in Shanghai. Oh and as I was writing that last sentence, Murphy sent me a PS: the pen leaked on my hand. Aaargh.