Well...this time I really did it.
There I was, live from Beijing on TODAY. Matt threw it to me at the top of the show with a simple, "Good morning, Meredith.” I should have said, "Good morning, Matt and Ann" and left it at that. But noooo...I had to add, "Or should I say good evening. It's just past 7 p.m. here in Beirut."
“BEIRUT?!” What was I thinking? I didn't even realize what I had said until I called my husband after the show and he told me. Anyway, no need to adjust your TV's. The only thing out of whack is me.
Meredith, live from Beijing
Speaking of wacky, should you visit Beijing (yes, I do mean Beijing!), be extra careful crossing the street. Cars and pedestrians co-existing is still a new concept here and they're still working out the proper road etiquette. While driving back from the Great Wall the other day with our fixer, Joy, I couldn't believe how many people stepped blindly into the middle of traffic. I finally asked her, "Doesn't anyone look up?"
"No," said Joy. "In America, when pedestrians make eye contact with a driver, it's a signal to the driver to slow down and yield the right of way. In Beijing, it's a signal to the driver that the pedestrian knows there’s a car barreling down at them. If they get hit, it's their fault."
Now I'm really lost!
Meredith with press pass, in Beijing
There I was, live from Beijing on TODAY. Matt threw it to me at the top of the show with a simple, "Good morning, Meredith.” I should have said, "Good morning, Matt and Ann" and left it at that. But noooo...I had to add, "Or should I say good evening. It's just past 7 p.m. here in Beirut."
“BEIRUT?!” What was I thinking? I didn't even realize what I had said until I called my husband after the show and he told me. Anyway, no need to adjust your TV's. The only thing out of whack is me.
Speaking of wacky, should you visit Beijing (yes, I do mean Beijing!), be extra careful crossing the street. Cars and pedestrians co-existing is still a new concept here and they're still working out the proper road etiquette. While driving back from the Great Wall the other day with our fixer, Joy, I couldn't believe how many people stepped blindly into the middle of traffic. I finally asked her, "Doesn't anyone look up?"
"No," said Joy. "In America, when pedestrians make eye contact with a driver, it's a signal to the driver to slow down and yield the right of way. In Beijing, it's a signal to the driver that the pedestrian knows there’s a car barreling down at them. If they get hit, it's their fault."
Now I'm really lost!
Today I visited the Great Wall. It stretches from east to west for 4,000 miles and even the most spectacular pictures do not do it justice. I was literally breathless, though that was also the result of navigating the steep steps. The wall snakes its way through the mountains like a dragon.
My guide was Joy Le Li. She is the fixer for the Beijing bureau, which means she pretty much does whatever is needed to make our shoots go well...from advance work to finding interviewees to explaining the nuances of China to a hapless Yankee.
As we were making our way along the Wall, I remarked at how exquisite it is. Joy said, "The Chinese love aesthetics. The emperors paid great attention to detail and beauty in building the Wall, but it never stopped any invaders."
An ineffective barrier, perhaps, or maybe the emperors were not using their heads. They should have forced their enemies to walk along it for an hour or two. Most of them would have dropped dead from sheer exhaustion! Still, it was worth the sore legs I'm sure to have in the morning. So if I seem a bit wobbly during my live shot with Matt, you'll know why.
Hey, at least I didn't fall down those miles of stairs. Given my klutzy history with the show, that's an accomplishment almost as grand as the Great Wall itself!
I am still trying to absorb what I witnessed yesterday.
Hanwang
We decided to drive from Chengdu to the town of Hanwang. You may remember that that is where an elementary school collapsed in the earthquake...killing most of the children. We wanted to see for ourselves the state of the cleanup one month since the disaster—and to talk with survivors, especially the parents who had lost their only children.
Exterior of Hanwang elementary school
As we drove, Eric Baculinao, our bureau chief in Beijing, told me China's one child policy actually started in Schuan Province (where Hanwang is located) because it is the most densely populated area in the country. And now so many of those children were gone. We had driven for over an hour when the tents began to appear on both sides of the road--temporary shelters side by side with the rubble of what once were houses and businesses. Every so often I would see a tidy clothesline or a table surrounded by people eating lunch or just chatting...defiant signs of normalcy in the midst of such suffering.
We eventually were introduced to a group of fathers and mothers sitting on a bench, their eyes red from too much dust and too many tears. One by one they spoke of that day. One dad had been riding in a bus when the quake hit. He jumped out and ran to the school because he "had a feeling something bad" had happened there. He dug his 10-year-old daughter out of the rubble with his bare hands. Since her death, he says he sleeps too little and drinks too much. Each time he closes his eyes, she is there.
Interview with parents. Man in striped shirt is Xiong Jinqiu. He lost his 11 yr old daughter.
Another father pulled out a cell phone and showed me a photo of his little girl with her hands outstretched...a big grin on her face. "She was happy that day," he said. Now it is all he has left of her—that and a few of her clothes. Their home was also destroyed in the quake. As they were talking a friend walked up and offered us bottles of cold water, wanting to share what little they had and refusing to take no for an answer. Although they wanted justice for their children—a full investigation into why their school building collapsed when other structures around it did not—they also praised their government for responding so quickly with aid and shelter.
Meredith at school with Liu Hui (the one in white), who lost her 13-year-old son
Before I left I stood outside where the school once had been. The area has been roped off and public security officers stand guard. Next to them was a large bulletin board with pictures of many of the children who had come here every day to learn and to play. June 1st was Children's Day and their parents had posted their photos in remembrance.
Board at school with pictures of kids
As I stared at those beautiful faces I thought of what one of the fathers had said to me. "China is a very traditional society. We placed all our hopes in our daughter. When she's gone...we have lost everything."
Watch the segment from TODAY
We decided to drive from Chengdu to the town of Hanwang. You may remember that that is where an elementary school collapsed in the earthquake...killing most of the children. We wanted to see for ourselves the state of the cleanup one month since the disaster—and to talk with survivors, especially the parents who had lost their only children.
As we drove, Eric Baculinao, our bureau chief in Beijing, told me China's one child policy actually started in Schuan Province (where Hanwang is located) because it is the most densely populated area in the country. And now so many of those children were gone. We had driven for over an hour when the tents began to appear on both sides of the road--temporary shelters side by side with the rubble of what once were houses and businesses. Every so often I would see a tidy clothesline or a table surrounded by people eating lunch or just chatting...defiant signs of normalcy in the midst of such suffering.
We eventually were introduced to a group of fathers and mothers sitting on a bench, their eyes red from too much dust and too many tears. One by one they spoke of that day. One dad had been riding in a bus when the quake hit. He jumped out and ran to the school because he "had a feeling something bad" had happened there. He dug his 10-year-old daughter out of the rubble with his bare hands. Since her death, he says he sleeps too little and drinks too much. Each time he closes his eyes, she is there.
Another father pulled out a cell phone and showed me a photo of his little girl with her hands outstretched...a big grin on her face. "She was happy that day," he said. Now it is all he has left of her—that and a few of her clothes. Their home was also destroyed in the quake. As they were talking a friend walked up and offered us bottles of cold water, wanting to share what little they had and refusing to take no for an answer. Although they wanted justice for their children—a full investigation into why their school building collapsed when other structures around it did not—they also praised their government for responding so quickly with aid and shelter.
Before I left I stood outside where the school once had been. The area has been roped off and public security officers stand guard. Next to them was a large bulletin board with pictures of many of the children who had come here every day to learn and to play. June 1st was Children's Day and their parents had posted their photos in remembrance.
As I stared at those beautiful faces I thought of what one of the fathers had said to me. "China is a very traditional society. We placed all our hopes in our daughter. When she's gone...we have lost everything."
It's Monday morning and I have arrived in Chengdu...the capitol of Sechuan Province.
This is the province hardest hit by the earthquake on May12th. It has been almost a month and the recovery mission continues, but there is little hope left that families will be reunited with lost ones. Some 18,000 people are still missing...people like you and me who got up in the morning, ate breakfast and went off to work or school...people like you and me who kissed their loved ones goodbye, fully expecting them home for dinner. 70,000 bodies have been recovered and five million citizens are homeless. I don't know what to expect when I reach the tent settlements and other temporary shelters that have been set up for them. I am at once scared and terribly sad. The reality of my trip is sinking in.
It started off with the Visa snafu I blogged about last week. Then, with my new visa in hand I finally departed on Friday, but not before air marshalls boarded our plane dragging a Chinese man in handcuffs. It turns out he was being deported because of faulty papers. The flight attendants told me it's not unusual to have deportees on a commercial flight. But usually they are not screaming at the top of their lungs like this man was. Needless to say, it was very disquieting for all on board.
Thirteen hours later we landed in Beijing and decided to visit a marketplace before heading back to the hotel and getting some sleep. Eve, Deirdre, Audrey Kolina (our producer) and I wandered about, and I quickly remembered the sights and smells I had experienced a year ago during my first visit here. Everywhere there were smiling people, many encouraging us to sample or purchase their wares. Turn to the right and there was fresh roasted pork; to the left fried scorpions and seahorses on sticks. Hundreds of beads and jade bracelets.
Meredith at Beijing marketplace
Eve is a master at the marketplace haggle. She was able to "negotiate" her way to buying five stainless steel thermoses for just 300 yuan (6 yuan equals 1 dollar), one-third the asking price. I decided not to make a purchase because I am a shopping wimp, incapable of buying anything but retail. We had a great time, but now as I travel from the airport in Chengdu to the office where I will pick up my press credentials, that adventure seems far away and frivolous. But it does remind me of the insanity of life. From one minute to the next, it can change forever.
Well, the closest I got to China yesterday was the check-in counter at Continental Airlines.
Eve (my makeup artist), Deirdre (my hairstylist) and I arrived at the airport at 10:15 a.m., bags in hand, ready to take our 13-hour flight to Beijing.
Everything seemed fine until one of the women behind the counter said to me, “Is this your only passport?” When I assured her it was, she gave me one of those “you’re not going to like this” looks. “This visa is no good,” she said.
“No good?” I replied, “How could it be no good?” Turns out it was the visa I’d used for my travel to China last year. We thought it was still current but it had actually expired (which is about what I felt like doing at that point).
By then a whole group of Continental employees had gathered around the counter, all of them trying to be helpful. One person suggested I could still go to China, but I’d probably be deported when I arrived (that didn’t sound appealing, although it would have made for an even better blog). Another said I could get to Hong Kong or Tokyo since those cities don’t require visas, and then apply for one from there. No thanks.
I had NBC and Continental check with the Chinese consulate to see if there was any way it could intervene, but there was nothing that could be done until the next day.
Left to right: Eve, Meredith, Nadita, Janet, Deirdre
So what were three stranded gals to do? We headed to the lounge with our new best friends, Janet Castellaccio and Nadita Turkhud from Continental’s Customer Services. As we were walking in, Janet said, “There’s coffee to the right, and wine to the left.” I’m not sure it was the “right” decision, but we turned left.
Janet and Nadita couldn’t have been nicer, and while I’m thanking people at Continental, I have to mention Kim Mayden, Kathy Hart, and Carlos. I hope to see them tomorrow if my new visa comes through.
As we were leaving the airport at 12:30 hugging our new friends goodbye, Janet said to me, “Maybe this all happened for a reason.”
Well, Janet, I think you were right. When I got home, there was a dead chipmunk in the dining room. (I knew there was a funky smell downstairs when I left my house at 4:30 a.m. that morning, but it was dark and I just figured it was a pair of Gabe’s dirty socks. Wrong.) There was also a live chipmunk screeching behind the dining room hutch, where he or she was wedged in against the wall. Our two cats were positioned on either side, waiting to pounce on their next victim. I grabbed the felines and put them in the mudroom, behind closed doors. Then I emptied out the hutch to lighten the load, stuck a big box on each side and pulled it away from the wall. The frightened little critter dropped to the ground, and scurried into one of the boxes. I scooped up the box and released the chipmunk in the backyard.
‘Confucius Fortune Cookie’ say: “Chipmunk, this is your lucky day.” Hopefully, tomorrow will be mine.
Eve (my makeup artist), Deirdre (my hairstylist) and I arrived at the airport at 10:15 a.m., bags in hand, ready to take our 13-hour flight to Beijing.
Everything seemed fine until one of the women behind the counter said to me, “Is this your only passport?” When I assured her it was, she gave me one of those “you’re not going to like this” looks. “This visa is no good,” she said.
“No good?” I replied, “How could it be no good?” Turns out it was the visa I’d used for my travel to China last year. We thought it was still current but it had actually expired (which is about what I felt like doing at that point).
By then a whole group of Continental employees had gathered around the counter, all of them trying to be helpful. One person suggested I could still go to China, but I’d probably be deported when I arrived (that didn’t sound appealing, although it would have made for an even better blog). Another said I could get to Hong Kong or Tokyo since those cities don’t require visas, and then apply for one from there. No thanks.
I had NBC and Continental check with the Chinese consulate to see if there was any way it could intervene, but there was nothing that could be done until the next day.
So what were three stranded gals to do? We headed to the lounge with our new best friends, Janet Castellaccio and Nadita Turkhud from Continental’s Customer Services. As we were walking in, Janet said, “There’s coffee to the right, and wine to the left.” I’m not sure it was the “right” decision, but we turned left.
Janet and Nadita couldn’t have been nicer, and while I’m thanking people at Continental, I have to mention Kim Mayden, Kathy Hart, and Carlos. I hope to see them tomorrow if my new visa comes through.
As we were leaving the airport at 12:30 hugging our new friends goodbye, Janet said to me, “Maybe this all happened for a reason.”
Well, Janet, I think you were right. When I got home, there was a dead chipmunk in the dining room. (I knew there was a funky smell downstairs when I left my house at 4:30 a.m. that morning, but it was dark and I just figured it was a pair of Gabe’s dirty socks. Wrong.) There was also a live chipmunk screeching behind the dining room hutch, where he or she was wedged in against the wall. Our two cats were positioned on either side, waiting to pounce on their next victim. I grabbed the felines and put them in the mudroom, behind closed doors. Then I emptied out the hutch to lighten the load, stuck a big box on each side and pulled it away from the wall. The frightened little critter dropped to the ground, and scurried into one of the boxes. I scooped up the box and released the chipmunk in the backyard.
‘Confucius Fortune Cookie’ say: “Chipmunk, this is your lucky day.” Hopefully, tomorrow will be mine.
