An Account of the Pianobabbler's Asian Adventures- vol. 4
February 01 2010

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The Pianobabbler is touring Asia, managed by The East West Entertainment Group. This is an ongoing record of his adventures.

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Beijing. Leviathan. Extensive. Expansive. Imposing. Ever-running on to there. Vigilant. Invigilating. Big. BIG big.

Contradictory. Endlessly peopled, uncongested. Military, un -menacing. Busy, busy, unfrenzied. Drab, vital. High, low. Cool, tawdry. Aroused, at ease.

You arrive at Beijing, and reflexively expect adventures, grand and granular. I find one, granular, as soon as I land.

Welcome to Beijing International Airport. Beijing's hulking hangar. I’m looking for Wi-Fi. After 16 hours incognito in the air, I need email.

I open my netbook, search for networks. "Free Internet WiFi". Connect. Connected. I open my browser. The browser redirects me to the Welcome to Beijing International Airport site. It tells me that We- i.e. they, you know as in they should cut taxes, catch criminals, end pollution -want to make my time at Beijing International Airport as pleasant and productive as possible, by offering Free Internet WiFi. Nice.

But to prevent abuse, I have to register in person. I go to the Beijing Tourist Help desk.

Two clerks, Mr. Tall and Ms. Tiny. Their body grammar says they’re into party talk- last night, who showed, who’d you know. “Internet?” I ask. I did say “Internet”, but it must have come out Dalai Lama Taiwan avian flu terrorist bomb? Mr. Tall and Ms. Tiny recoil. Heedles, I repeat: “Internet?” No answer. “Internet?” again. Finally, they look to the right in unison, without smile or complaisance. Mr. Tall points somewhere, there, everywhere in the air, and says “Information Desk.” They drop me, and go back to party talk. I go to find the Information Desk.

The friendly clerk offers help in English. “Internet?” I ask. He responds in surely-intended-to-be English. His dense cough mask does nothing to enhance his diction. “Mmff brrm nnhrr kohdtt gffh ruhh”. He eyes me deeply. “Fssr mnmmh shkzl.” Sensing my incomprehension, he writes on a piece of paper “4 E - F”. Aha. 4th floor, section E or F. I go to the 4th floor.

I exit the elevator, along with a crowd the size of Lichtenstein‘s population. I espy the Information Desk between E and F. Me: “Internet?” She burbles “Internet” a few times, as though I had introduced a new word to her. Lightbulb. She turns her gaze on me, smiles, and points to a second Information Desk about 100 metres away. Thank you. On to Information Desk number 3.

“Internet?” The woman doesn’t recoil. This is progress. She has an instant answer. She points me back in the direction of the Information Desk I just left 100 metres ago. Next to it stand some payphones and Buy Wi-Fi signs. I’m to go there. Thank you. On to Buy Wi-Fi.

I see no one who looks official. Only a woman who looks to be waiting for an arriving flight. Still, I ask “Internet? Wi-Fi?” Not waiting for an arriving flight, after all. “Sorry,” she answers, “no Wi-Fi today.” I see. A bit like the Monty Python cheese shop that has no cheese. Well, hers has the merit of being a clear answer to my question. “But,” she adds in haste, “Wi-Fi there.” She points to another woman, another 100 metres away, standing by another Buy Wi-Fi sign. Onward.

The woman here radiates official status. I notice she is clutching paper scraps. “Internet?” “Boarding pass, please.” I produce it. She reaches into her palm, takes one of the scraps, plain white with a dozen heavy-handed characters, and thrusts it at me. “Password,” she says. Not the document you’d expect for official registation. Who cares. It’s taken a half hour to get this password. I have Internet access.

I flip the netbook open. I go to the Free Internet WiFi network. I plug in the password. Connecting. Connected. Connected, but... not. It says I’m connected. I’m not connected. Aaagh.

I surrender. Netbook closed.

Welcome to Beijing International Airport.

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