90 minutes flat from my downtown Beijing hotel to the gate at Capital Airport. I’m chuffed.
You don’t need a doppio espresso until you need one real bad.
I needed one real bad before my meetings in Shanghai this morning.
Sits a tree-girt courtyard
From bustle-rush removed
Where cometh the creative
To plumb their artsy grooves
I come here in the Autumn
To savor Shanghai breeze
And fight the black stress monster
Whose claws my heart doth squeeze
While others talk of beaches
To fight fatigue’s harsh clutch
I tell them “save your money.
It doesn’t take that much.
“Turn off your cloying mobile
In the coutyard build a nest
Then buy a fresh-squeezed OJ
And let Autumn do the rest.”
The next 24 hours:
You know it’s time to get off the road and head home when:
- It takes you more than 10 minutes to figure out where you are when you wake up.
- You lose the ability to remember your hotel room number.
- You start choosing McDonalds over hotel breakfast buffets.
- You can’t shake that persistent cold/flu/sinus infection because your immune system took a vacation and forgot to tell you.
- You spend an hour before bed re-arranging your suitcase and think of it as “nesting behavior.”
- A can of tuna and a handful of crackers tastes better than anything on the room service menu in your five-star hotel.
- You start snarling at elevators (elevator: “ninth floor!” Me: “Piss off.”)
- You look up at departing airliners with undisguised envy.
- You know the names of the kids of the housekeepers on your floor.
Some perspective: that’s a standard dinner fork in the foreground.
“Portion control” is a good thing.
This sandwich serves to prove that you can have too much of a good thing.