“Breakfast!” they explained.
As it was still pitch dark and the minibus was bouncing
along, eating the contents there and then seemed impractical. I prefer to see what I am eating, anyway.
On arrival at the shiny new airport terminal building, we
were able finally able to see what was in our picnic breakfast: a plastic tray
containing still-warm omelettes, doorstep slices of white bread, bottled water
and a bottle of warm milk. But there was
no opportunity to eat it yet – it was time to check in. This was a great deal easier than the
procedure for our outward flight from Beijing. We just walked up to the desk,
handed over our bags, passport and ticket reservation, and in a minute or two,
it was done.
It was time to say farewell to the guides who had been our
constant companions for the last week.
I expected intimidating security, but the officer simply leafed
through my passport, stamped it and handed it back. “Happy New Year!” he said
in perfect English.
To my surprise, we emerged into the Departure lounge with
our picnic breakfast intact. Time for an
omelette sandwich before a little last-minute shopping.
Postscript: On the plane, a tour guide a row or two behind us was panicking that one of her group, Otto, was not on the plane. The flight crew told her that he had complained of a headache and asked to be taken to hospital. I think we were all slightly sceptical of this, but it was not until over a year later that I learned what had happened to Otto Warmbier. A chilling note to end what had for us been an interesting and entirely safe experience.
Postscript: On the plane, a tour guide a row or two behind us was panicking that one of her group, Otto, was not on the plane. The flight crew told her that he had complained of a headache and asked to be taken to hospital. I think we were all slightly sceptical of this, but it was not until over a year later that I learned what had happened to Otto Warmbier. A chilling note to end what had for us been an interesting and entirely safe experience.
