One of the things I learned this Summer is that, while I may leave on holidays to Europe, China doesn't really leave me anymore. More than just a country, it is a force of nature, the other face of mankind that is now part of my life. China is always there, and she is everywhere, showing up in unexpected circumstances.
Take Spain, for example. The Chinese community there is largely new, not fluent in languages, and originated from one single point in China: the tiny county of Qingtian, upriver from Wenzhou. When it comes to languages, the Spanish are not much better than them, and the whole situation is full of opportunities for the literate laowai. While a simple “nihao” is usually enough to be the hero of the day, some preparation yields better results. Just wander into a Chinese shop casually dropping a Qingtianese greeting, and comment on the remarkable history of the old stone-carving county, home of the Chinese-Spanish. This makes you popular. And you can drink tea and practice your Chinese conversation for hours on end.
What follows is a true story that happened in my last day of holidays. It includes a Chinese family with extraordinary sleeping abilities, and a team of adventurous Spanish ducks. I hope you enjoy it: 
Fue el primero vuelo de la mañana desde Bilbao a París, donde yo estaba programado para conectar con la de Air France a Shanghai. Cuando entré en la cabina del A319, que marcó de inmediato una familia china sentado en una de las primeras filas: una madre de mediana edad con su hijo.
Llevaba una chaqueta de color morado informe en el estilo de los cientos de nombres, y su hijo adolescente se cubrió la cabeza con un coreano de hip-hop con capucha. Se quedaron en el ambiente de negocios del vuelo temprano. Pero lo que me hizo notar ellos, y no pude evitar una sonrisa-es que ya estaban profundamente dormidos antes de que yo llegué a mi asiento. Por lo que pude ver, no cambia sus posiciones durante la duración de un vuelo lleno de acontecimientos más.
Desde el principio, el viaje resultó difícil para mis nervios. A medida que se despegue, se produjo una fuerte explosión proveniente de la parte trasera del avión, seguido de una vibración que se hizo más fuerte a medida que volaban. Para una nada, mientras que más pasó, pero luego, a medida que se acercaban a Francia, el avión repentinamente se inclinó hacia un lado, y los Pirineos un giro de 180 grados alrededor de nosotros, hasta que se dirigían hacia el Oeste de donde venimos.
El ruido se hizo peor, y los pasajeros con nociones de geografía eran cada vez más ansioso. La ciudad de San Sebastián apareció debajo de nosotros por segunda vez, sólo que esta vez el suelo parecía mucho más cerca. Todos los tonos de llamadas de servicio se fueron uno tras otro. Miré a mi alrededor a los otros pasajeros y todos estaban mirando a su alrededor. Nadie hablaba.
Por último, la tripulación de cabina apareció en el pasillo, la entrega de fila por fila de la versión oficial de los hechos: durante el despegue un objeto volador no había chocado con las aspas del motor 2, la producción de la explosión y vibraciones posteriores que estábamos experimentando. Era un hecho común, y no había ningún peligro. Como parte del procedimiento normal de seguridad, el capitán decidió regresar al aeropuerto para el mantenimiento de su casa.
"Fue probablemente un pájaro", dijo la azafata, cuando llegó a nuestra fila.
"Un pájaro?", Se rió el mayordomo, "que era un equipo de grandes patos gordos!"
Me imaginé que él debe haber sido instruidos para mantener un estado de ánimo de luz. Traté de reír, imaginando círculos de patitos de inflexión en la turbina a medida que luchaba por conseguir más allá de los valles vascos afilados.
***
Después de un vuelo sin fin que se de seguridad aterrizó de nuevo en el aeropuerto de Bilbao. A medida que nos estaban esperando para desembarcar, el piloto confirmó que el avión se hizo para el día. Tuvimos que recoger nuestro equipaje primero y luego ir a la oficina de Air France en el segundo piso para solicitar un nuevo ticket. Como de costumbre, mi maleta fue uno de los últimos en aparecer en la banda de rodadura, y por el momento en que llegué a la oficina ya había una larga cola, la longitud de un A319 de pato herido, y poco cada tanto ruido.
La multitud estaba cada vez más ingobernable. Algunos pasajeros franceses arengó a las masas con el espíritu verdadero revolucionario, lanzando consignas en contra de todas las criaturas aladas, incluyendo patos, Airbus, y los pilotos de Air France. Desde que estuve por última vez, no tenía mucho sentido hacer cola, así que me quedé a un lado de una manera de significar mi desaprobación. Entonces me di cuenta el enfoque fue cambiando gradualmente, ya que los entusiastas Robespierre dirigió su ira a algún objeto no identificado en la parte delantera de la cola. Me acerqué a echar un vistazo más de cerca.
Fue la familia china.
Es evidente que no habían entendido las instrucciones para recoger el equipaje, y que habían llegado directamente a la oficina de la aerolínea antes que nadie. Ellos fueron los primeros, y no mostró ninguna intención de renunciar a su posición. Por el contrario, lo estaban sosteniendo admirablemente. La madre cubrió la retaguardia con su ojo feroz, mientras que el hijo se aferró a la mesa. Ellos, obviamente, estaban bien entrenados en las colas conflictivas, y no parecía impresionado por la multitud.
Lingüísticamente, la situación no era ideal. La madre estaba gritando en Qingtianese, el hijo tradujo en Chinglese y un empleado de Air France dijo en spanglish elaborado, mientras que el jefe de la oficina francesa miró con incredulidad. Yo estaba solo, y mi fiel amigo el diccionario y tesauro electrónico estaba fuera de alcance en el fondo de mi bolso. Pero el tiempo iba a actuar, y no desmayar en la hora de peligro.
Corté la derecha hacia el frente y poner en una pasa "Qué? 什么 事? ". Las cuatro caras se volvió hacia mí a la vez. La cola se convirtió de repente tranquilo.
"Ellos quieren ir a China!", Exclamó el empleado en español.
"Queremos ir a China!", Exclamó el hijo en chino.
Las posiciones de las partes me parecía mucho unánime, y maduro para un consenso fácil. Pero la investigación demostró además que no era exactamente así. Me las arreglé para reconstruir los hechos siguientes:
La familia había dormido durante el vuelo, a la derecha hasta que aterrizó de nuevo en Bilbao. Entonces no había entendido el mensaje de fuerte acento del piloto y que se había lanzado fuera del avión directamente a la mesa de conexiones, donde habían sido redirigido a la oficina de la aerolínea. Y actuaron con tanta urgencia, ya que sólo tenía una hora para coger el vuelo de conexión. Todo lo que se plantea es a bordo de su avión de inmediato, y que eran bastante sospechosa esta actitud de todo el personal en París.
Debido a que en realidad pensaban que estaban en París.
El problema no era fácil de explicar. No sólo mandarín de la madre era tan malo como el mío, sino también que se determinó, y tenía un profundo sentido de sus raíces comunes. Habían volado a París y por lo tanto se trataba de París, que no tomaría ninguna tontería de un laowai. Usé toda mi persuasión. He señalado cómo en las tiendas de souvenirs se vendían los toreros, y no eiffels turísticos. Por último, el joven hijo entendía, y él me ayudó a convencerla. El hecho fue resuelto: Estábamos en España, y no había vuelos directos a Shanghai desde este aeropuerto.
El resto era bastante fácil de manejar, y después de unos minutos los tres de nosotros salió de la oficina con un nuevo ticket. Una vez que su gratitud infinita había sido suficientemente expresado, no pude evitar preguntarle al hijo:
"Pero, ¿cómo no te das cuenta de que este es el aeropuerto mismo de antes?"
"Bueno", sonrió con timidez: "Mamá me estaba contando que ella encuentra todos los aeropuertos en Europa asemejarse!"
Y su madre, que era duro pero de buen humor, que se encuentra bastante divertido, y todos se unieron en una risa para salvar las apariencias. Entonces supe que fue contratado como intérprete oficial de la familia para dormir.
***
Al final, mi trabajo como traductor servido mis intereses también. Tenemos en nuestras nuevas entradas antes que nadie, los últimos tres lugares a la izquierda para conectar con la noche de París-Shanghai. Los revolucionarios fueron tan aturdido por el desempeño que se olvidaron de la guillotina con nosotros, y el empleado de Air France nos dieron unos vales de comida gratis para la sala VIP. Para hacer más agradable nuestra espera, dijo, la empresa estaba ofreciendo uno de los platos de su especialidad en el "Restaurant des Mondes".
It was still far from the Spanish lunch time, so we had to wait while they opened the kitchen for us. The prospect of a free lunch worked well to improve the mood of my Chinese friends, and we had a lively chat in the VIP sofas. I took the chance to impress them with my baidupedic knowledge of their hometown. After that they opened up to me, and the last lines of suspicion finally vanished from the woman's brow.
I listened distractedly as the son informed me of the state of the rap scene in Zhejiang. A terrible state that was, apparently, and I waited for a chance to switch topics. It was his mother that I found most intriguing. All the while she was sitting very still, as if lost in her own thoughts. She had an outside appearance that in China would be classified as “peasant”, but her proud, resolute eyes didn't quite fit in the picture. What was she doing flying around with her single son? I finally asked him.
As it turned out, she was a renowned chef back home. Qingtian is the origin of thousands of Chinese restaurants across Europe, and their extended family had made a fortune with a popular chain of Chinese food. She had come as an expert to establish new recipes in the family restaurants in Spain, all the while teaching her son the secrets of the Chinese cuisine. They had toured the country for three months, making the company's food “more delicious, more authentically Chinese”.
“Her most famous recipe is Beijing Duck,” said the kid, licking his lips, “You have never tried anything like that!”
“I would love to have a chance to try it,” I answered, suddenly hungry for duck.
Then the mother, who hadn't said a word all this time, looked at me with a strange smile. I felt there was an invitation coming. Instead, she opened her eyes wide and nervously shook her son's shoulder.
“Heavens!” she cried, “we still haven't picked up our luggage!”
***
When I took them down to luggage collection, their belongings were still lonely turning around on the band, a number of shapeless pieces covered in woven tarpaulin. As we loaded them one by one onto a trolley, the son suddenly found something was wrong. It was the last packet, a cardboard box with some strange little holes pierced on the top. He held the box on his knees and showed me one of the corners where it had been torn open. La caja estaba vacía.
The woman was very upset. She started moving her arms up and down and speaking in her sing-song dialect at an alarming speed. I couldn't understand a word of what she was saying, but the replies of her son were more composed, and I could more or less make out the gist of it:
“I told you we couldn't take them on a plane, mum!”, he was saying.
“But how can we pass the long winter without them?”, she replied.
Suddenly I had a very dark premonition. While they were busy arguing, I walked over to the broken box and examined it carefully. As I held it up in front of me, a small, delicate object floated down from the broken corner. It was a feather.
I dropped the box as if it burned my hands, and I kicked it behind the rolling band were it wouldn't be seen. I was in panic now, and I joined the arguing party with my own version of alarmed mandarin:
“We have to het out of here, NOW!”, I said.
"¿Qué? But the box?,” said the mother.
“Forget it!” I pushed the trolley towards the door, “we will see to that later!”
"¿Qué? But we have to file a complaint. They might have found …”
"¡No!"
I tried to control my nerves, as I envisioned charges for terrorism, and the dire diplomatic consequences of China's national dish being presented as evidence of the crime. I tried to relax telling myself that at least there hadn't been any human casualties.
“Please help us,” she said.
“We can't do this now! Spain is a bureaucratic country, these things take a long time…” I muttered. “And anyway I'm sure your little friends are going to be fine!”
She gave me another inquisitive glance, like the first time I suggested she was not in Paris. She was clearly reconsidering about my sanity.
“Well, excuse me ,” she said, “but they are important to me, and if you don't want to help me I will have to file the complaint myself”
Just at that moment the airport PA system cracked with a life-saving announcement. All the passengers of the cancelled flight were asked to go back immediately to the second floor, were new information was awaiting us from the captain.
“Quick, this must be our lunch, let's go before we miss it!” I translated, and this argument finally seemed convincing enough for the stubborn lady.
***
On the second floor, the slick French captain was putting in practice the company's open information policy. The maintenance staff had just confirmed—he said—that it was indeed the impact of external objects on the engine that had caused the vibration. The strange bodies had been already extracted and brought in from the hangar for analysis. The decision to return to the airport had proven a good choice, as it was the chief engineer's opinion that we would have never made it to Paris.
A drop of cold sweat fell down my right temple as I considered the chances of those little animals finding their way into the turbine. Even if they managed to tear open the box and then break free from under the piles of luggage, even if they could unlatch the hold door with their little beaks, still, how could they fly over to the engine? It seemed impossible. I remembered the laws of fluid dynamics, and how turbulent airflows exhibit nonlinear, chaotic behaviours. For the first time in my life I felt I understood the real meaning of the Chaos Theory.
In the meantime, the mother had sent her boy to inquire about lost objects, and he was explaining their problem to the captain in such a perfectly unintelligible English that the brave man could only smile politely. They looked around at a loss, only to see that their laowai friend was nowhere to be found. I had just in time slipped into the gentlemen's restroom.
At this point, the airport loudspeakers buzzed again:
Passengers of the AF2435 to Paris, please proceed into our VIP lounge. As a special attention, we are offering you the chef's specialty in our exclusive “Restaurant des Mondes”
***
I joined the family again as they walked down the corridor to the VIP Lounge. It seemed that the luxury meal kindly offered by Air France had conquered the heart of the frightful woman. Her expression showed no more pain for the loss of her beasts, and I hoped she had decided to give up the search. Presently, she was impressed by the quality of the service, and her mood was chatty.
“They know how to treat a client, in France,” she said conversationally, “back in China it's not even comparable.”
“Oh, sure, great service here,”
“Even if they don't have any proper backup plans,” she noted, “they are just great at doing nice surprises.”
“Oh, yeah, you can count on the French for surprises”
“It is all in the attitude, isn't it?”, she said, and her only child nodded in agreement.
As we approached the “Restaurant des Mondes”, the atmosphere was so relaxed that I thought we had passed the worst. I just had to get them on our plane right after lunch, and there would be no more nonsense of lost object complaints. Then I saw the stewardess at the restaurant door, smiling. She held a large sign written in all the major languages of the World, including mandarin. Decía lo siguiente:
TODAYS SPECIAL DISH:
“Thin-sliced duck Beijing style”
In case there were any doubts, underneath the text there was a colourful picture of a team of ducks thinly sliced as if by fast rotating blades, swimming in the dark sauce of the traditional Beijing recipe.
I tried with my body to hide the sign from their view, but I was too late. There was not much point anyway, the pictures were all over the place, and the food was coming out any minute. As we sat down, I peeped at her out of the corner of my eye. Her expression was enigmatic, the initial apprehension had turned into something more lofty. Was it triumph? Yo temblaba.
The dishes were served and, unexpectedly, nothing happened. I glanced at my two friends. The were obviously enjoying their meal, emitting now and then favorable grunts and other judgements with the assurance of the true connoisseur. Then, halfway through their ducks, they looked at each other with an understanding smile and, following some mysterious signal, the lady suddenly stood up, knocking her chair behind her, and crying out loudly:
“I want to speak to the person who cooked this!”
There was a spark in her eye as she glared at the kitchen door on the other side of the dining room. I could not think of anything to say this time, so I just sat still, helpless as the slings and arrows flew swiftly towards their target.
Seeing that no help was forthcoming from my side, the mother ignored me and took direct action. She strode across the room and, without further preambles, she thrust open the kitchen door, roaring in Qingtianese. In a minute, the cook came out sporting a high chef hat and howling even louder than her. To my surprise, he was also employing some variety of Zhejiang dialect.
Entonces sucedió algo extraño. The moment he saw the chef, the son stood up and ran across the dining room charging like a fighting bull, and when the three of them were at a close distance, they came together in a long, warm hug.
I stood rather awkwardly next to them, wondering what was next. The chatter of the adults had risen to undecipherable speeds under the flow of emotions. I looked at the teenager for an explanation, but he was too absorbed speaking to the cook. Finally, I managed to catch some fraction of the conversation:
“Uncle Li, we knew it had to be you, nobody else in the World can cook Beijing Duck like mother! ¿Qué estás haciendo aquí? "
“You know, I got a catering contract with Air France, didn't I tell you?”
“Uncle, you really need to help us, mother is really worried! This laowai is with us, but his Chinese is so-so, and he just doesn't get it!”
“Say, my boy, what is the problem?”
“It is the new down-filled coats that mum bought to take home for the winter. She was so upset when we found out that they've been stolen from our luggage…”
El tigre se acerca a la superficie. La nueva década ya ha llegado en Occidente, y en China, estamos de nuevo en la tierra de este hombre no hay, entre el solar y el Año Nuevo Lunar, entre el toro y el tigre. Es hora de mirar atrás y ver dónde estamos parados. 
I was pleasantly surprised when I booked my last minute flight to Japan, I got a very reasonable price for the 1st October National Day. When I went to Pudong airport I understood why: the streets were empty in Shanghai, nobody flew at that time because they were all at home with the eyes glued to the TV set, watching as thousands of men and women, looking silly in their flowery dresses, 
