Tuesday, May 6, 2008Beijing
No way I‘m going to spend my last evening in the room, packing (besides, I’m seriously in doubt that my belongings are going to fit in the suitcase, having forgotten to buy a cheap second bag for the return home). Denial being a wonderful thing, I opt instead to head upstairs to the Executive Lounge, which I’ve been granted access to as part of a hiccup on the hotel’s part during check in.
(Note: Not a big hiccup...not even big enough to warrant this, in my mind, but the manager insisted.)
I head up, wearing faded blue jeans and my new cashmere sweater (purchased for 50 RMB each, or $7.15 US...seriously), to grab a couple of hors d’oeuvres and a cocktail while writing out postcards—if they’re going to be postmarked “Beijing,” they pretty much needed to go out in the morning. Since the room was fairly full, only one love seat was open, facing a nice American man who offered it. I sat. We visited. And I had a blast.
Turns out he’s from Arkansas, a big thoroughbred horse racing fan (who sincerely knew what he was talking about), and fun. His trip to Bejing was to visit a college friend who’s currently living here in the hotel. His friend--Chinese by birth--is a hotel staff favorite and knows the lay of the land.
We hung out in the lounge, me sipping champagne while he drank red wine, for a couple of hours. Eventually, his friend joined us, the two of them trying to convince me to join them for a trip to the foot masseuse a couple of blocks away. And this was no run o’ the mill footrub, folks; the basic package was a two hour massage, complete with oils, reflexology, the whole bit.
Wisely, I opt out—partially because as nice as they were, they're still total strangers, and partially because I’d undoubtedly be tempting fate, given the current condition of my left ankle. About an hour later, I bid my farewells, and head back to my room, champagne in hand.
After all, I have a Bathologist appointment to make.
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