Gan bei! to airport security

At first glance, the airline industry represents the ultimate victory of globalization: same planes, rules, suspicious stares at Customs. However, bucking trends is what China does best and I was pleased to find the norms being tweaked in a cross-country flight.

Passing through airport security, I suddenly remembered that my backpack contained a Lenin-embossed hipflask, purchased at Kitty McKitsch's Kitschiest Kitsch Store in Harbin, some years prior. It was full of Glenfiddich single malt whisky. Predictably, the official seized the flask and demanded an explanation.

"Aha. Thought a man of your eye might notice that one," said I. "Delightful Scottish brew called Glen..."

"Can't take it on board. Drink it," demanded the security guard.

"But old boy, it's 9:30 in the morning!" I protested optimistically, knowing I had fallen foul of the air travel rulebook.

"It's the weekend," retorted the guard, dryly. "Gan bei!"

"But I'll be drunk. How about you help me?"

He grabbed the flask and took an investigative whiff. The aroma sent his spine into involuntary spasm and the whiskey was immediately handed back. Glenfiddich was clearly a single malt too far.

"Gan bei," he repeated, slightly menacingly now.

There was no alternative. I knocked back a large measure and wrinkled my nose. The guard realized that while clearly flavorsome the liquid was not sizzling my insides and waved me through.

Now this was brilliant. In my homeland, this could not have happened. Rules would have been rules and my Glenfiddich would have been confiscated, along with my beloved Lenin hipflask. But here was a bit of common sense. It was unheard of. I boarded the plane rattled, but merry. Very merry.

My surprise turned to panic when mid-flight, the cabin attendants suddenly assumed their positions in the aisle. My worst fears were being realized: One last run through the safety routine before we plummeted to earth, a flaming wreck.

But instead of telling us to say our prayers, the attendants began rolling their wrists and craning their necks like something out of a choreographed boy-band routine. They were doing aerobics.

I was seated in row five and noticed one or two oddballs were actually mimicking the attendant's every action. Sniggering to myself, I turned around and was shocked to discover two thirds of all passengers doing the same.

Inane conversations about sport; grumbling about screaming babies; attempting to pretend the person sitting next to you doesn't exist I thought these were the universal modes of behavior of air travel. But here were a group of perfect strangers obediently joining a happy-clappy group therapy session. It was extraordinary, life-affirming, and so very Chinese.

Sadly the good vibes didn't last long. I arrived at my destination to find I had missed the last connecting bus. A 50 yuan ($6.50) ride became a 360 yuan ($46) taxi fare. The only thing left to do was toast the generosity of the airport security guy and polish off the Glenfiddich.

(China Daily 04/06/2007 page20)