I had slightly rudely invited myself on an all girls trip up to Harbin to see the ice and light festival (see photos section) at the last minute. I traveled up to Beijing from Shanghai with one of the group and we were to meet the other 2 at lunchtime in order to catch the overnight train. As a late arrival in the tour group, I missed out on the booking of tickets for this train and despite best efforts of all in the group, I was unable to get one on the day. My only other realistic option was to fly up the next morning and meet them at the hotel. This meant spending the night in Beijing on my own. Fortunately the friend who lived in Beijing was more than happy for me to give me the keys to her apartment for the night. I gratefully accepted her very generous offer and as I said goodbye and good luck to them before their 14 hour train ride, I considered my options for the night. Beijing can be a good night out (as an outrageous hangover bore testament to on my last visit) and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted by a night out on the tiles. Thinking about my flight the next morning and my other travels in the coming month, I decided to save my money and brain-cells and have a quiet night in. So that’s exactly what I did. I bought some food and headed back to my home for the night.

Before I got back to the apartment I went to a nearby bank, withdrew some money then headed to the travel agents where I had earlier put a deposit on a flight to Harbin as a contingency for not being able to get a train ticket that evening. I paid the rest of the fare and collected the ticket then double-checked on how to get to the airport the following morning. With the directions of where and when the airport bus left from, I headed home feeling excited about tomorrows trip and, more importantly, confident that I would have no problems the next day. Unusually for a backpacker, I even phoned the hotel my friends were staying in to book an extra room for the following night. There – everything done.

After a worry free nights sleep, I woke early, had my shower and ate my breakfast I had prepared the night before. I was still way ahead of my schedule and thought I gentle stroll down the bus stop a little early would be a good idea. On my way down I even decided that walking to the bus and waiting for it might push me a little for time so I decided to get a taxi instead. You may have noticed that I am slightly paranoid about missing flights. In fact I am slightly paranoid about being late for anything, but having sat through many an episode of ‘Airport’ and see the countless number of passengers who have missed flights and the apparent inflexibility of the airport staff (we’ve all got rules to work to) I have decided that I never want to be in the position of being late for a flight. So, I’m in the taxi on my way to the airport. I’m off to Harbin, which can reach temperatures of 40 below at night, so I’m wearing numerous layers (including thermal underwear, of course) and a wooly hat, complete with oversized duffle coat. Beijing is not very warm this time of year, but I am roasting.

We arrive at the airport and I’m a good hour ahead of my stated check-in time. Still, the airline is accepting baggage for my flight so I check-in and decide to carry my only bag – its only a relatively small back pack with overnight things as I’m only going to be staying for a night. The lady on duty at the desk politely informs me that I need to be at gate 21 by 11.20. Seeing as its now 9.20 I figure I have more than enough time to get through the security checks and make my way there. The airport at Beijing is much like most airports, with not a great deal to do outside of the waiting area, so I decide to go straight through and have a rummage round the duty free inside. Just one more thing to do before I can go through – pay my 60RMB airport tax. Yes, despite all the taxes paid on my flight ticket, I still need to get an extra ticket to say that I have paid my bit towards the maintenance of Beijing airport. I get to the tax desk and reach for my wallet, which I specifically putting in the inside pocket of my oversized duffle coat as I got out of the taxi about 10 minutes ago. My wallet was not there. I’m habitual about which pockets I put money and things in and my wallet was definitely not where I had put it. Anyone who has ever lost a wallet/purse/valuable/irreplaceable item before will know exactly how I felt. For those who haven’t, let me enlighten….

If you can imagine being a trapeze artist in a circus for one minute. Go on, close your eyes and picture the scene. You are performing 50 feet above the ground and it’s the big night. There’s a packed house watching you and no safety net below you. You start your swing and see your partner swinging across from you, ready to catch you after your series of somersaults in mid air. You go back for the last time and put all your effort into one last push to get the speed you need to get yourself across the void between you and your partner. You swing forward, let go at the peak of the swing, perform your somersaults and reach out to grab your partners hands. You keep reaching and reaching, even closing your hands from time to time in case you just cannot feel those partners hands, which you are sure, are there. Even as you are hurtling towards the ground and that empty feeling starts to hit settle deep inside your stomach, you are still frantically grabbing for those saving hands, which are by now nothing more than a distant memory.

Now this comparison may seem a little out of proportion, but at the time that is exactly how I felt. No matter how deep inside my pocket I went, my wallet with ALL my bank-cards of any description, my money and numerous other much more important and personal things were now no more than a distant memory. Stay calm, I thought. It must have fallen out of your pocket somewhere between the entrance and the check in gate – maybe you will be lucky and it will still be on the floor somewhere. After all, it’s only been 15 minutes since I arrived. I frantically re-trace my steps to the exact spot that the taxi dropped me off at. No sign. I double check to the check-in desk, but still no joy. OK., don’t panic – how about the lost property. Now, in England I would laugh at myself for even thinking that a wallet might be handed in to lost property but I have first hand experience of watching people at the Metro station in Shanghai picking up cash money – yes CASH money – and handing it to the guards on duty rather than pocketing it themselves. Equally impressively, about 10 minutes later another man came to the window to say he had dropped some money at the station and the guard gave it all back to him! So with this in mind, I head to the airport police and spend about 30 minutes waiting and to fill out a lost items report, which then takes about 30 minutes to give to the relevant person who in turn takes about 15 minutes to tell me they don’t have the wallet. OK, now I’m starting to get a bit worried.

Ah ha! Everything will be OK because whilst not being the sharpest tool in the box I’m also not the lump hammer and remember that bank accounts in China tend to have an ATM card and pass book system so you can withdraw money on either. The ATM card may well be in my wallet, but the pass book is sitting safely in my back pack which I fortunately decided against checking-in. I head back to the entrance to the airport and am fortunate to find a Bank of China, with whom I have the account. After queuing for what seems like a lifetime (probably about 2 minutes in reality) I get to the front of the queue and, feeling very relieved, hand over my passbook and ask for 500RMB. A quick look at my watch tells me I now have 35 minutes before my plane is due to leave. It’s going to be a rush to get through security, then get to the right gate and get on the plane on time. Still should be OK.

"What do you mean this passbook is only valid in Shanghai?" I found myself shouting in disbelief at the poor clerk in front of me. Apparently even the Bank of China (the national bank) does not have the system to allow transactions to be mad eon passbooks outside of the province they were issued in, despite the fact that you need to have a PIN to use the passbook, the same as you would an ATM card. "It’s OK" replied the clerk in a typically Chinese and professional manner "you can use your ATM card,". Having previously explained the fact that I had lost my wallet, my pressure cooker of a head was just about to explode when an overly helpful woman waiting in line behind me decided that I needed some help. "Why don’t you use your ATM card?": she said. As I opened my mouth to begin a tirade of completely unwarranted obscenities a strange sense of acceptance came over me. I felt an unnerving calm – much like I had just been giving a very large dose of Valium. In place of the expected obscenities came a delirious laugh which was also my cue to leave 2 perfectly helpful and also completely confused Chinese to continue whatever it is they were going to do.

As I walked away from the bank, my delirious calm turned to a sense of complete and utter fright. I had just about given up hope on the flight to Harbin, but then I thought at least I had the keys to my friends apartment, where I could go and stay for the night until they came back. So how to get there? I could take a bus, but cannot read Chinese so finding the right one would be impossible. A taxi could get me straight there, but I cannot speak Chinese so could not tell the driver where to go and the only piece of paper with the name of the place on it was in my long lost wallet. But hey, why get worried about that because even if I could speak and read Chinese I still could not get back to the apartment because I had lost my wallet and had NO money!

I was becoming desperate. It’s OK, I could phone my Chinese friends who could then explain something to someone who could then save me. 3 problems – 1 was I had no money. 2 was I had no mobile phone. 3 was that even if I had the above all of my phone numbers were in my wallet! I also thought about phoning the British consulate to explain the situation, but this avenue took me to the same dead end.

I was now in what can only be described as complete despair. It was then that I decided I should count myself lucky, find a warm corner of the airport and have a rest. Besides my parents were visiting Beijing in 7 days time, so would have to come through the airport and my mum could save me again! It seemed like my only option ( and I really did consider it). All I would need to do was to beg for food and money for the next few days and……hold on! That could be the answer! Yes – times are desperate enough so why not get on my hands and knees and start to beg! Better yet, why not just stand up and try a bit of the old Hampton charm on a could of people and see if I can’t get them to lend me enough for the airport tax and a bus at the other end. Perfect. Now all I’ve got to do is find someone who can speak English and looks kind and generous enough to help me out.

Just at this point, through a parting in the sea of Chinese people scurrying around the airport I spotted an obviously European female making her way in my general direction. As she got closer I could see she was a similar age to me and definitely fitted into the back-packer ilk – surely she would understand and empathize with me. Like a cat waiting fro a mouse to dare show its head out of its hole, I pounced on my chosen victim! I approached her said excuse me and then proceeded with my hurriedly rehearsed sob story. Now, I’m a trusting sort of person but know full well that if ever anyone approached me with a tale like this, I would no doubt feign a Russian accent and plead ignorance against the charges of understanding English. Fortunately my knightess in back-packer armour was a wholly better person than I am and before I could even get to the grand finale of my sales pitch, she had reached into her wallet (which, incidentally, she kept in a much more sensible and safe place) and handed me a 100RMB note. After a very brief thanks and an exchange of e-mails (I promised would pay her back and was visiting Xi’an – where she worked – next week) I left my saviour…never to see her again.

With my fresh, crisp 100RMB note in hand, I glanced at my watch top see I had a whole 20 minutes to buy my tax, get through security and then dash to the gate before my plane was due to depart. Time to really get moving. I ran to the tax payment desk, bought my tax receipt and collected my change (making sure to put it safely inside my pocket this time. I then ran to join the horrendously king queue waiting to be metal-detected. As I impatiently waited I called upon my 4 months of Chinese living experience and undertook the English faux-pas of queue jumping. Gradually forcing myself to the front and being cleared of suspicion of carrying anything which might be dangerously metallic I finally made my way into the departure lounge proper.

A quick check of the watch told me I now had 5 minutes before my plane was due to leave. I checked my ticket – I needed to get to gate 21 a.s.a.p! Looking desperately around from some clue as to the location of gate 21 I noticed a diagram with English captions, informing me that Beijing airport had 21 gates and, as common sense or Murphy’s Law might suggest, gate 21 was the furthest away from anywhere. A full on sprint was called for.

So I set off on my very own race against time. Head down and charge. Bearing in mind I am wearing the numerous layers of clothing (including the obligatory thermal underwear), the wooly hat and the oversized duffle coat, and also carrying the back-pack I decided not to check-in, all this running was not exactly easy. I darted in and out of meandering passengers calmly making there way to their various destinations. I overtook countless travelators of blissfully happy holiday makers and eventually arrived at gate 21. I was now one minute according to the departure lounge clock. I looked at gate 21 and saw a closed door. My momentum from my sprint took me hurtling towards the locked glass doors. There were still airline staff standing behind them, so I thought there must be a chance that I could beg or bribe them into opening the doors for little old me to get on the plane. With sweat dripping form every pore in my body and in panting breath, I banged on the doors and made my appeals. The staff looked at me for a second, then turned their backs on me and continued their obviously important conversation.

"Oh, come on," I appealed "I’ve lost my wallet and had to beg for money and I’m only 1 minute late!" I pleaded. All to no avail. I banged my fist hard on the strengthened glass doors one more time in frustration and turned to face the departure room at gate 21. It seemed surprisingly busy for a gate which had just had a plane-load of passengers removed from it. Needless to say, every face in the room was focused firmly on me, completely intrigued by my actions since my speedy arrival into the room about 2 minutes previously. And why would the airline staff be standing outside the plane if it was about to leave? Then it dawned on me. The plane wasn’t about to leave. In fact, it had only just arrived and the staff were actually waiting to greet the arriving passengers. All of these curious faces staring at me were my fellow passengers , all waiting to board the flight to Harbin.