* YVR-PEK - Day 0 - So it Begins...

Winging my way across the sea, in an Air Canada jet capable of intercontinental travel (unlike most bananas - I'll have you know that my notes/diary on the plane actually does say in LARGE bold letters "NOT A BANANA", with reference to my flight), I was some odd mixture of ludicrously tired, excited about starting this lovely adventure, and sad about leaving a city I'd called home for a while in a very real way.

The flight itself, as most flights (thankfully) are, wasn't especially eventful. Of note, there was surprisingly lovely airplane food (ice cream, smoked salmon, free wine, et al. - to quote, "domestic ain't got nothing on this here thang"), a window seat wing view (oh wing seat, why do I always get you?), and the good company of my friend Dave beside me (Garrett was across the plane, somewhere ahead of us). Of less pleasing note, especially on a 10-11hour flight across the Pacific, was that on this particular plane, the tv-screens were more or less toast, implying absolutely no on-board entertainment for the duration.

It's a good thing I can amuse myself ad infinum.

The flight went a little something like this (not so much in chronological order): Talk. Eat. Compare mandarin phrasebooks (mine, The Rough Guide, wins, if only for using proper pinyin and NOT including how to say things like "you're just using me for sex" - I'm sure you'll hear me rant about this again later). Compare baby camera tripods. Teach Dave how to use some of his camera's more useful features. Eat. Ponder. Read in-flight magazine. Read in-flight safety pamphlet. Learn that apparently watches are not allowed on the safety slide. Ask Q: is it the 80s hair or the moustache that makes airplane-safety-brochure-man an idiot? After all, he continuously demonstrates improper safety procedures. Nap. Play cards. Stare out the window. Listen to the chinese passengers in front of me exclaim over the big mountains and lakes. Wonder if I will do the same when flying over China, area I have not flown over twice a year. Eat. Ponder. Witness minor medical emergency requiring the use of an oxygen tank - everyone's standing up, someone's shouting - you know you watch too much CSI when that's what this reminds you of. Reality doesn't get any more real than this. Candy falling from the sky (overhead compartment), about 167 of them. Nap. Write. Eat. Take large numbers of photos of the condiments from my meal. Is salt a condiment? Take even more photos of the beloved soya sauce fish. Begin soy fish fighting league. Soy fish fighting league disbanded after police interference (not really. We got bored. And fell asleep). Sleep. Cup'o'noodles (salt flavour, yellow salt flavour). Chopstick fight.

I wonder if chopstick fighting is disrespectful of my cultural heritage. Probably. But only to the same extent that any food fight really is. Miss Manners would hardly approve.

And that's about the whole flight, right there. Sleep. Eat. Fend off boredom in silly ways. Repeat. Still, for me, I'd say that was massively roaringly successful, as my last few oversea expeditions resulted in me not-sleeping and making full use of the air-sickness bags, being one of those fun motion-sickness kids. So, sleep=check; not vomiting=check; SUCCESS.

Time to set foot in Beijing.