Lost in Beijing

I arrived in Beijing on Tuesday, October 8, 2013 with my husband Scott. After a 12.5 hour flight and $600 in overweight baggage fees, we made our way to our temporary residence, in the eastern Central Business District of the city. It was a sunny day -- a rare treat for the city because of the pollution -- though I could feel the grittiness and thick smog immediately. We settled in and ventured out for dinner, choosing a place only because it had pictures on the menu; not knowing the language yet has made for some adventures already (more on that later). The restaurant had a funny "Monday to Sunday" sign written on the wall and cheap bright purple velour seats. The food was delicious, though I'm not entirely sure what we ate.

Beijing skyline on a clear day -- really.

A brief background, for anyone who may not know why I'm here: Scott, who is a writer at Fortune Magazine, got the job to cover China for the publication and after discussing it, we thought why not. We're newly married, don't have kids, don't have a mortgage or even a car payment, so we thought now or never. I had some trouble grasping the idea; not because I don't like adventure, but because I felt I was giving up a lot -- a dream job at The Wall Street Journal that I had only settled into a year ago, a comfort with New York City being home, which had taken a good five years to realize, and a slew of good friends who have become family to us, since both our families aren't near Manhattan. 

But I knew this would be an amazing opportunity for Scott and for me, too, once I got my feet grounded. So we packed up our NYC lives and flew 7,000 miles across the globe. 

On our second day here, we had to get medical exams to apply for permanent residency and the experience made me feel closer, in some weird way, to my ancestors who'd come to America via Ellis Island. We drove a good hour outside the city to a medical compound where blank-faced doctors in white coats gave us a physical examination. We signed in, filled out a form and then had 9 or 10 different rooms to visit -- just like those old ones I remember touring on Ellis Island -- for tests. There was an X-ray, drawing blood, ear, nose and throat exams, an eye test, an ultrasound and an EKG. The doctors ushered people in one by one and quickly began the tests. On the EKG, I didn't understand the doctor asking me to open my shirt to attach the discs and the next thing I know she's pulling up my shirt and bra. The discs felt cold and sticky and I turned my head away, not wanting to know if they were cleaned between people. In the blood-drawing room, Scott needed to lay down -- he has a fear of blood and needles -- and I held his hand, telling him to breathe in and out. He was sweating by the end, but made it through. The whole process only took an hour, but felt so strange.

Not knowing the language and being poked and prodded gave me a small idea of what it was like for all those immigrants who ventured to America decades ago -- scary, lonely and unsure of when the unknowns will become known, but hopeful that a good life lies ahead.