The Foreign Expert: Living and Working in the Real China!

By Jo Walsh

Jo thought that she had won a dream job, teaching English at a new Language School in a small city in China. This is her real life adventure which will make you laugh and at times be horrified as to the China she ended up in. Jo was to find challenges far removed from what she expected.

It is a fascinating story about her survival which was smothered in coal smoke and pollution, with no English to be found. She was even arrested and caused a near riot in Tiananmen Square.

Finding a job at a university in another small city, she was the only “Foreign Expert” there. She was also the only foreigner in the city. With limited Chinese, her day to day experiences make for a good laugh but at times a frightening read. She refuses to give up and manages to get through each day and not only endure the crazy, bizarre episodes that occur, but to actually enjoy her time there.

Even with severe frostbite, constant diarrhoea, vomiting and being frozen solid for most of the time, she finds the humour in it all and just keeps going. She persisted and completed her contract…only just.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Sep 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781984507372

Jo Walsh

Jo Walsh is a freelance hacker and software artist who started out building web systems for the Guardian, the ICA and state51 in London. She now works with the semantic web, spatial annotation and bots.

Book preview

48331.png

CHAPTER 1

Christ, I’ve never been so cold in my life. I thought England and Scotland were cold, but China took the top prize for cold. As I looked out of the hotel window, it was a scene of total cold, drab, dull dreariness. Mounds of slushy black snow were everywhere and all the people were bracing themselves against the obviously fierce, bitter wind. They resembled small moving mountains, all rugged up in layers of hats, scarves, gloves, and long parka coats. The bright-pink elephant earmuffs on the women at least gave some colour to the world outside as it all looked pretty dismal indeed.

The hardest thing every morning, apart from getting the shower to work properly and the toilet to flush, was actually getting up the courage to leave the warmth of the hotel room and go outside. It was a major operation putting the layer upon layer of thermal underwear and then jumpers and jeans on, three pairs of socks, two pairs of gloves, two scarves (one for my neck and one to go around my face), and then my huge woolly hat. I then had to get my long red coat over the top of all of this. I resembled a mobile circus tent and felt like I was part of an advertisement for Sara Lee with the layer-upon-layer look.

It was just so cold that I could not manage to leave the hotel until eleven every morning and I made sure I was back by five every night. Before and after these times, it was just freezing and the chill factor and fierce wind killed me. I ended up frozen and in tears on the Great Wall, it was so damn cold. My legs would not move anymore and my feet and hands just ached. The pain became so unbearable I ended up getting stuck three quarters of the way up the wall and just could not move.

Three young Chinese people saw how distressed I was and half carried me back down the wall and sat me in a heated café. They were so enthusiastic, kind, and helpful, which I was soon to learn was typical of the Chinese people. I could not move for two hours. I had five pots of green tea to warm me up and get the feeling back in my hands and fingers. Green tea was definitely not my favourite drink, but it was warm and helped me thaw out. I ignored the large, green slimy leaves stuck in my teeth.

The frostbite I developed as a result of this was the first of many ailments and illnesses I was to succumb to during my time in China. A combination of atrocious pollution, bad water, unhygienic living conditions and lack of proper medical resources, made me live in a perpetual state of coughing, sneezing, shivering, vomiting and diarrhoea. The toilet became my second home and that was definitely not the most pleasant place to be in China.

I decided to be a full-on tourist and visit the Forbidden City and Tiananmen Square. However, finding a hotel staff member who spoke some English to help me book a tour, proved to be somewhat difficult. Even in a three-star hotel. I eventually found the loveliest young woman who worked at the front desk. She became my saviour during my first week in China. Quite tall by local standards, she had jet-black hair with the obligatory blunt fringe, the deepest black eyes, and a smile that split her face in two.

I will never forget Fiona’s kindness and help during my week at the hotel. She even gave me her mobile number if ever I got stuck and needed help. However, I didn’t have a mobile phone yet, so she took me to the nearest phone shop and organised a phone for me. At least, I had one person in my contact list: hers! But the camera and alarm on the phone would provide me with great support. And once settled in, I knew that I would have other people to ring.

She also contacted a travel agency and booked some tours for me; but she also got me out of financial difficulties when I found out that not much was open—in particular, banks—during the New Year period, which lasted for ten days. My Australian dollars were looking very sad and I was getting desperate trying to change them for some local money. Even though the hotel was a three-star, it did not have any money-exchanging facilities, which I was to eventually find out was the norm in China.

I also found out that a three-star hotel did not have a washing service, room service, breakfast, coffee, milk, black tea, a kettle or a hairdryer. The business centre looked very modern and techno on the internet and in the brochure, but a vast difference to reality. There was no business centre at all.

Day three in Beijing and I was in a total panic. No cash and I could not find anywhere to change my Australian-dollars. With banks all closed, there was no way I was using an ATM just in case my card got stuck and I couldn’t retrieve it. Even worse was the fact that I could not find anywhere that took my Visa card. I eventually ended up standing at the front desk of the hotel and drawing, miming and gesticulating to everyone and anyone who walked in and out if they had cash to change.

I managed to find a Chinese businessman who spoke no English whatsoever to change some of my Australian dollars to local RMB currency. I was ecstatic and I gave him a fluffy koala bear key ring as a thank-you gift; and funnily enough, he was overjoyed. It was only weeks later when I finally managed to grasp the exchange rate I realised why he was in such a state of joy. He ripped me off completely, which I thought was very businesslike of him. I had a good laugh and didn’t care as I had got some local money to keep me going at the time.

But day six came and I was in money panic mode again. After contacting Fiona for help, she made some phone calls, took me to her bank and managed to get them to open up the foreign currency counter and change the rest of my Australian dollars. What I would have done without her I have no idea. She even came into the hotel on her day off to help me as she was keen to practise her English. I quickly became aware that there were millions of other Chinese keen to do the same.

Working at the hotel three days a week and also working in another hotel near her home provided income not only for herself but also for her mother and two sisters to survive. Being the eldest child and having no brothers, Fiona had the enormous responsibility of being the breadwinner. For a young woman of 22, that was a huge task and the guilt of being one of three girls with no boys was enormous. It is a well-known, depressing fact that parents wanted boys who could support them later in life, not useless girls.

The tours she booked me on turned out to be ones of adventure and total chaos. Who would have thought that I would be the only foreigner going on tours operating out of Beijing? The tiny minibuses were full of Chinese tourists and the tour guides spoke little English. I had absolutely no idea where we were, where we were going, or what was going on. It was like being an extra in a movie and not being part of the main action being filmed.

It did not help that all the tour guides made me sit in the front seat next to them, keeping an eye on the strange foreigner and I had their megaphone-blasted voices yelling instructions and information in Chinese into my left ear all day. My mobile phone and the earplugs I learnt to carry at all times got a good workout. Everything in China was loud—very loud.

But I saw some amazing sights, the buses were heated (a fine thing in minus degree freezing weather) and I made lots of new friends who could not speak any English. They even made me sit with them at meal breaks and share their oily, sloppy noodles and pots of slimy green tea. I also had to witness, at close range, the art of group spitting as if the revolting noodles and disgusting green tea were not enough to turn my stomach.

I would never get used to the locals’ oral hygiene habit of spitting. It was disgusting; and every second person, men and women, would spit gobs of revolting, slimy mucous everywhere they went, including inside shops and restaurants. It just made my stomach churn and the noise was spine chilling. They must have saved it up for days and would let it rip from the bowels of their guts, resulting in thunderous, gargling noises. Then the actual art of spitting it out was even worse. I couldn’t stand it. Everywhere I went, it was eyes down to avoid stepping in the piles of green goo. The slimy, green mucous mounds everywhere reflected the huge amounts of green tea and noodles consumed. It resembled both in colour and texture.

But the people were happy, bright, and entertaining—and very interested in me as the alien in their midst. They also dragged me around with them to look at every tomb, monument and mausoleum. And China, with its long rich history, had plenty of them to visit. To me, it was like castles and churches, as once you’ve seen two, you’ve seen them all. Plus, the idea of trooping around the countryside looking at dead people and their monuments did not inspire me at all. It never has and never will.

I thought that being in Beijing for the Chinese New Year and participating in the Spring Festival would be a travel highlight and a memorable way to start my year living in China. What a mistake that turned out to be. I spent most of the Chinese New Year sitting in my tiny hotel room, watching fireworks on one of the eighty-four Chinese TV channels. The government had banned all fireworks in the city because of the past fires the celebrations and fireworks had caused. It posed too much of a danger to the old buildings and structures. But no mention of the danger to the people.

Adding to the excitement of watching the fireworks and pageantry on the TV, eating instant noodles out of the carton and drinking warm green tea, was the noise of illegal firecrackers being set off in the street outside by some kids. A gutsy move indeed.

The other very interesting thing about being in China for the New Year was that nearly everything was closed. Most banks, shops, restaurants, post offices and business offices were closed for the New Year holiday, which seemed to go on forever. It was not the party atmosphere I was expecting or anything like the celebrations we had in Australia for the Chinese New Year. For the Chinese, the festival is all about being with their family. It is the one time of the year they get time off work or study to travel back to their homes and spend time with their families and friends. As everyone goes back to their village, town, or city, they leave their shops, businesses and restaurants totally closed. For ten days.

I learnt quickly to never travel during the Chinese New Year. Millions of Chinese on the move was instant chaos, stress, and panic. All these people trying to travel on buses, trains and planes within the space of ten days. Absolute madness. Few Chinese had cars as they couldn’t afford them and they would take with them a year’s supply of gifts for their families, all in very large bags, crates and boxes. Being crushed by millions of people and their crates, boxes and bags was no fun. There was no such thing as a queue in China, so trying to get tickets and then on the bus, train or plane was definitely an experience. I learnt very quickly to shove and push along with the best of them.

Every time I went on a bus or train, I was squashed and compacted into a miniscule space, big enough for a very small Chinese person but not for a large foreigner like me. It always amazed me that there were at least twice the number of people compared to the number of seats. Travelling by plane was even more of an adventure. Internal Chinese flights had the worst safety record in the world and I soon learnt the quiet art of praying and developed a strong belief in blind faith. Safety was not an issue in China as human life was not highly valued, but making money was.

Another important lesson I learnt was not to try and get a taxi on the official night of Chinese New Year. I decided to leave my hotel room late on the actual night and wander into the city centre to see what was happening. Not a lot. Getting a taxi back to the hotel was another story. Not one taxi would take me as apparently the hotel was too far out for them to justify driving there and not getting a fare back. Several taxis stopped; but once I showed them the hotel card, they threw it back at me and sped off.

Getting somewhat dismayed and breaking out in a sweat, I started to get in the taxi and then show the card. That didn’t work either. In the end, I stood in the middle of the road and waved a large wad of cash at every taxi that went past. One eventually stopped; and after tripling the original mound of cash, I managed to get a taxi back to the hotel after spending three hours alone in the dark and freezing cold in the middle of god knows where.

One of the highlights in Beijing was wandering around the embassy area with all the amazing, graceful old buildings housing the various embassies from around the world. The Australian Embassy was most impressive and the guards out the front were actually friendly and helpful—the only officials who didn’t take an instant dislike to me. The area was so serene and peaceful compared to the rest of Beijing as it was full of trees, gardens, flowers and wide boulevards. The constant presence of guards, guns and steel barriers didn’t do much to add to the peaceful aura, though. But there was no traffic chaos, street hawkers, mounds of garbage, clumps of mucous or millions of people on the street.

The other place I loved was in the old city area. The hutongs were definitely something to see, but soon they wouldn’t be seen at all. The tiny lanes in the inner city, with concrete alleys and adjoining old buildings where thousands of families once lived together as communities, were slowly disappearing. The area was an intricate maze that seemed to meander forever. The people who still lived in the few hutongs were unusually welcoming and invited me inside to share the obligatory pot of green tea. To these proud people, their homes were grand; but to me, a foreigner, their homes were third world. It was a shock to see the appalling amenities and shocking standard of living.

There was a filthy, concrete communal toilet and a concrete washroom with only cold water—no luxuries like TVs or fridges, floor coverings or heating and cooling. But they were very proud of their homes and their huge potted plants and bonsai gardens were just beautiful. Many of the hutongs were demolished to make way for the glamorous glass hotels and trendy apartment blocks that were appearing everywhere. All the old, meaningful and historical was making way for the new, sterile glitz and glam.

The Forbidden City was a memorable place not only for the atmosphere, architecture, and history. At last, I wasn’t the only foreigner. Smiling, chatting, and mingling with these other tourists lifted my spirits and energy level. I was not the alien anymore. It was good for my soul and my sanity. Being unique and different is fine but not constantly. Belonging and camouflage was just what I needed. Even if for a few hours.

Just outside the city, a large crowd had gathered around a woman obviously cooking something. The spectators and customers all crowding around indicated that whatever she was cooking was very popular. The laughter and applause also indicated whatever she was doing was extremely entertaining. And a wonderful aroma was drifting over the entrance. Being lured by the smell, noise and crowd, I wandered over to see what was happening.

She was a sight to see, wrapped in layers of jumpers, vests, coats and scarves with two beanies stuck on her head, looking totally ridiculous but trying to stay warm just like the rest of us. Using a large blackened wok being heated over hot coals on the footpath, she cracked eggs into it; beat them with great vigour using wooden chopsticks; and then added chopped onion, tomato, garlic, and then what looked like milk. She theatrically stirred and flipped the runny mess with her two magic wands until it resembled a large smooth omelette. It looked good. And it smelt divine.

I wasn’t sure whether the two pairs of gloves she wore were to keep her hands clean or warm, but at least, she didn’t touch the food with her hands. Watching numerous foreigners and locals buying an omelette, which came wrapped in delicate rice paper, I noticed that no one around me seemed to be dying of food poisoning. So I decided to try one. After watching her create mine with great flourish, I paid the 15 RMB, which was approximately AUD$3 and took the delicacy to sit on the vacant concrete steps near the city entrance so I could eat in private.

Or so I thought. I was turning the rice paper over and over, wondering how to begin eating the dribbling delicacy, when the vacant concrete steps around me became crowded with locals, all waiting to watch me eat. I easily provided the entertainment as I dribbled it everywhere, particularly down the front of me, slimy yellow stuff all running down my red coat plus all over my black woollen gloves. But there was no way I was taking my gloves off. I had frostbite already and was not about to get more of it. Other foreigners then joined me to eat together in the freezing cold. Comfort in numbers again. It was definitely one of the best meals I had in Beijing. And in China.

Another meal that was a highlight, for all the wrong reasons, was in a local Chinese restaurant. Once inside the door and through the thick filthy curtains, I ended up with five staff all hovering and arguing who was going to approach me. This went on for quite a while. In the end, they all did—slim young girls with jet-black hair, huge smiles and white stained shirts and stained blue skirts all giggling and fussing. Trying to communicate that I wanted sweetcorn soup, mixed vegetables and steamed rice was quite a feat. Using my phrase book and the few Chinese words I had managed to keep in my head, I managed to get it right. Or so I thought.

Being ushered by five chattering, giggling waitresses into the centre of the noisy, large room was not what I had in mind. Being surrounded by three more waitresses joining my entourage was quite a display for the other diners in the restaurant. Conversation abruptly stopped and the staring started. Alien territory again. Being the only foreigner—blonde hair, freckles, six feet tall—and speaking little Chinese made for an unsuccessful attempt to blend in. It didn’t help that I was seated at a table for eight in the centre of the room. Wanting to move to another table by the window and in the corner would have caused more of a scene, so I sat and smiled. A lot.

The sweetcorn soup came out ceremoniously in a huge white tureen, large enough to feed the absent seven other diners. It was sickly sweet and tasted like a sugary, lumpy sweetcorn drink. They obviously took the sweet part literally. I made a mental record not to order sweetcorn soup in the future. Leaving the thick gelatinous concoction setting in my small bowl, I discreetly moved it aside and waited anxiously for my rice and vegetables.

Trying to sit nonchalantly at the table for eight, with every pair of eyes in the room fixed on me and every conversation about me, made for some very fine acting on my part. Just relax, go about your business and they’ll get bored and start their business again. Smiling and nodding at the diners next to me, I proceeded to organise my restaurant survival equipment and not worry about the centre spotlight being on me. This activity always gave me something to do and helped me to relax and have some sense of control whenever I went out to eat.

Well, so I originally thought. Unfortunately, most of the time, my ritual soon became a bizarre scene for the other diners and even the staff to watch me even more intently. They chattered to one another trying to work out what the hell I was doing. Eventually, they just decided that I was a crazy foreigner and went back to their bizarre rituals, talking loudly, eating loudly, laughing drunkenly, smoking, and spitting.

I spread the disposable wooden chopsticks, packet of tissues, small bottle of antiseptic handwash, bottle of water, postcards, notepad, pen and my phrase book in the centre of the large round table. At least, it then looked like there were other diners at the table with me. I later developed the art of moving some of the chairs to a nearby vacant table, so at least, it looked like a large table for four and not eight.

By this time, the white pot of green tea arrived and was poured into my tiny white porcelain cup. More fine acting was needed to show how appreciative I was as I cheerfully drank the tea and then watched the tiny cup being filled up again and again. Detesting the green tea was no excuse for being rude. However, there was a limit to my green tea intake; so after three cups, I would indicate that I would like the pot left on the table and I would pour my own and discreetly use toothpicks to get the slimy green tea leaves out of my teeth.

The Chinese believed that green tea was the cure for cold weather and numerous ailments in that it warmed you up and was good for you. Everyone everywhere and at any time drank copious amounts of the revolting stuff. It was not the green tea people drank back home but large thick loose leaves they threw into a cup or pot and poured hot water over. This resulted in a slimy dark-green drink with the leaves floating on top, which then proceeded to get stuck in every crevice in my teeth. Not a good look.

Then from the back of the room came a parade of waitresses in a line each carrying a large plate of food. And they all stopped at my table. Several types of vegetables were on display and all on large separate plates. I didn’t recognise many of them. The plates and tureens were all delicately placed on the table; and right at that moment, I desperately wanted the other seven missing diners to appear and help me eat all this food. There was enough to feed twenty people.

No amount of explaining, using my phrase book, miming or drawing could communicate that I had ordered the vegetables mixed. Altogether. Combined. On one plate. Large grey sliced potatoes floating in oil had been placed directly in front of me. The other servings didn’t inspire me either. But the one that really caught my attention was the lettuce. Boiled in oil and soy sauce. It just looked disgusting. The slimy bok choy didn’t look much better and the mushrooms seemed to not only be cooked in oil but also had been marinated in the stuff for days. There was enough oil on the table to keep a fish-and-chip shop going for months. At least, the rice was edible and since there was a huge bowl of it for the missing seven diners, I filled up on the white, fluffy rice.

It was very bad Chinese etiquette. Rice was considered poor-man’s food and only eaten at the end of the meal if you were still hungry or did not like the food served. Plus, you did not eat all of the rice as that showed you were still hungry and it was an insult to the cook. No matter the reason, I didn’t care as sometimes rice was the only food I recognised and would eat.

The worst part of the meal, however, was about three hours later when the stomach pains and cramps started. Then the first rush to the toilet. I spent all night either sitting on the toilet or throwing up in it. Being sick at home was bad enough but in a foreign country was even worse. I was thankful I was alone and not sharing a room. Thank god for the Imodium and Maxolon that I had brought with me. At least, they managed to keep the gastro to a few hours and not a few days. Plus, I had a western-style flushing toilet in my hotel room. I spent hours dying on the bed and hoping that future Chinese restaurants would be a slightly better experience. Maybe just eat the rice and noodles.

But the noodles were not like the ones we got in Chinese restaurants at home in Australia but flat, large, soggy noodles floating in oil. Everything was cooked in oil. Simmered, battered, fried, baked, boiled and even steamed food had litres of oil in it. I was constantly worried about looking like a beached whale. A common noodle dish was the instant noodles in the cardboard bowl, where you ripped off the top and added boiling water, put the lid back on for five minutes and then stirred and ate from the cardboard bowl. Two of my evening meals in the hotel room had been this luxury. And no oil. But my innards would definitely have to toughen up and learn to cope real quick.

My visit to Tiananmen Square was also a memorable outing. What an event that turned out to be. I was just standing there in the centre, staring at the grey square and thinking that, yes, it was indeed a square. A very large, dull, grey and drab square. A few other people had braved the freezing cold and were wandering around and some were trying to fly kites. Again, I seemed to be the only non-Chinese there. Where was the great spectacle that I had seen on the television and in various photos? The scene in front of me was not at all what I expected. It was gloomy, dull and lacklustre.

A young couple gingerly approached me, smiled, held their baby out to me and then showed me their camera. I was most polite, smiled and took the child to have my photo taken with it. At least this gave me something to do. And I was becoming used to being a celebrity and having my photo taken with the locals. I now have this knowledge that I am in hundreds of Chinese homes in picture frames all over the country. After a few photos and lots of smiling, nodding, and bowing, I was approached by a small group of young Chinese people to have my photo taken with them.

This went on for quite a while and I have no idea where all the people came from, but a small crowd had developed around me and I was in the midst of it. It was getting rather scary and claustrophobic as I started to get pushed from group to group for the obligatory photo shoot. Then there were sounds of sirens and yelling from a distance and the sight of an army truck and police van speeding across the square toward us. I just couldn’t believe this was happening and of all places in Tiananmen Square. I was about to be arrested.

The officials were not happy. Leaping out of the van and the truck, uniformed soldiers and guards were yelling and screaming as they pointed their guns at close range to disperse the crowd. They started to push the locals who obediently moved on, heads bowed and shuffling to the outer edges of the square, leaving me standing there in total fear and shock surrounded by police and armed soldiers. Do they still shoot foreigners? My head was exploding with nerves and questions. And I was sweating all over. I looked guilty and hadn’t done anything illegal yet.

The guards started to all move behind me and physically push me out of the square using their batons and guns to move me on. I did not argue or hesitate. With bowed head, clasped hands and trembling legs, I also shuffled to the edge of the square. This was the first time in China that I had unsavoury dealings with Chinese officials and was the first of many to come. Every time I was in the vicinity of any kind of official, I became rather anxious and distressed as I had no idea what they wanted or what I had done to get their attention.

By this stage, I was just totally exhausted. Physically and mentally. But my independent-tourist days were nearly over as I was soon heading off to Yuncheng to begin my English teaching job at the foreign language school. At last, I would have help and not have to struggle on my own anymore. What a relief it would be to have company and to actually communicate in English. And help me order food in a restaurant, help me at the bank and the shops. People to teach me Chinese. And explain what all the pretty Chinese characters meant.

No more being an alien or the oddity. No more struggling to survive in a strange place with no English. No more feeling isolated and lonely. I was nervously looking forward to meeting the principal, students and other foreign teachers at the school. The information I had been provided with in Australia had paved the way for my wonderful adventure as a foreign expert teaching English in China. The excitement had been building ever since the telephone call I received back in Adelaide, telling me I had won the job. The photos of the school and the foreign-expert apartment showed very modern and rather extravagant working and living conditions. It was the dream job of being an English teacher in China.

Little did I know that my time in Beijing was a total breeze compared to what was waiting for me in Yuncheng. The real hard work, patience, flexibility and use of survival strategies were about to really begin.

48331.png

CHAPTER 2

Checking out of the hotel in Beijing was a tricky process. Just as well I had kept the receipts with pretty squiggles written all over them. The hotel was trying to charge me full price for the room plus the deposit again, indicating that I had not paid any of it on check-in. Getting somewhat annoyed, but trying to remain calm and smile a lot, I was trying to show them my receipts when Fiona appeared. She managed to sort it all out and I eventually paid the correct amount. But I had a feeling that because I could not speak Chinese, they were trying to pull a swift one over me.

This intentional rip-off seemed to happen often while I was in China but mainly in large hotels and businesses and rarely when buying goods off locals in the street. Being ripped off by the guy selling me his tomatoes from the back of his cart did not bother me as it was his method of survival. Being ripped off by big companies really pissed me off and I always stood my ground but with varied rates of success.

Then the taxi the hotel had booked to take me to the train station never turned up. I was starting to get used to Chinese organisation—or the lack of it. My smile was waning, my nerves were beginning to stretch and I was starting to panic about being late for my train. Once again, Fiona came to my rescue by standing in the middle of the road and flagging down a taxi for me. After a very sad farewell with lots of hugs and promises of emailing each other, I was on my way to the Beijing train station and my new job.

Traffic in any large Asian city is always fascinating to watch and Beijing was right up there on the list for free entertainment. There were cars, buses, trucks, carriages, carts, masses of people walking, scooters and millions of bicycles everywhere. It never ceased to amaze me what, who and how much could be tied or balanced on a bicycle. Fridges, washing machines, families of five and even mobile shops with the wares all tied onto every part of the bike with string. Cars and buses were crawling in rows of five, but the other modes of transport made for the best entertainment.

Arriving at the train station, the taxi disappeared underground and we ended up in a large cavernous pit with hundreds and hundreds of taxis all queued in lines. The taxi ranks were all underground; and passengers had to make their way up to the daylight via an escalator after