The Psychic Foreigner

My employer recently dispatched myself and a crew of Beijing co-workers to document an event in another Chinese city. I always welcome these rare chances to see China outside of Beijing, because, like Forrest Gump's box of chocolates, you never know what you're gonna get.
While the assignment was interesting, the trip to Linyi -- a moderately-sized city of around 1.1 million between Beijing and Shanghai alongside a river about the width of the Mississippi at St. Louis -- was another great example of how someone from overseas must play the part of The Psychic Foreigner.

The Psychic Foreigner is someone who must read the minds of the Chinese who won't tell him or her diddly-squat about what's going on. Because after all, everyone knows it already, since everyone is Chinese. At least, that's what everyone's learned from living in a nation isolated from the rest of the planet for 60 years.

So when we returned to Beijing, our flight landed at a "secondary" airport, not Beijing Capital International. No one with our crew told me about this change in destination -- a small airstrip that looked as if it was way, way out in the sticks -- nor would they let me in on where we were or how close or far it was to Beijing. They just got their bags, got in taxis or buses, and left. This is proof to me that most Chinese are simply still unprepared to have foreigners in their country. Even at an airport, no help. No maps, no guidebooks, no customer information of any kind. You're just supposed to know.

I called my wife, and guess what, she knew exactly where I was and how I could get home. Why my co-workers couldn't do this for me, I still don't understand. I actually found an honest taxi driver who could talk to my wife on the phone and follow instructions to take me to the nearest train station, and I was able to pick up the trail from there.

But like I've said before, the Chinese can't wait until they get all the pandas back, so they can close off the country again, for good.