I woke up this morning at about 7am. More, I was awake for most of the night, and finally decided to get out of bed. It was pointless trying to sleep.

I ordered breakfast in the room since 1) I have no idea what currency I need here and the hotel is quite happy to take my US dollar. It’s very likely I’m getting robbed. And 2) I don’t know what people here eat for breakfast. I had a strong urge for pancakes, and I doubt I would have found an IHOP.

After eating, I took a shower, changed back into the clothes I’ve been wearing literally for the last two and a half days, and hit the streets. I found a bank and changed a thousand dollars into RMB (local currency) and inquired about bank accounts. The teller (in broken english) told me that his bank didn’t offer quite what I was looking for and that I should look into international banks, namely Swiss.

I got a mobile phone about an hour later. It’s once of the ones that you can take to other countries and get local prices just by switching out it’s little internal card. I decided that this would be handy in case I needed to leave the country and wanted to stay in touch with people I’d already met here.

I at lunch at a small street shack run by an older chinese man who, naturally, didn’t speak english. I sat for over ten minutes at the little bar that protruded out into the street, pointing at pictures in the menu and laughing with the man at my completely failing attempts to communicate. He finally smiled, waved the menu away, and made me a noodle dish that I’d never seen before. It was excellent. That with tea came out to a little over three dollars. I think I’ve found lunch for the next month or so.

I hailed a cab, and told the driver that I needed a tailer. He, smiled, nodded, and we took over into the insanely crowded streets of Shanghai. I have never seen more people trying to use a single road at the same time. Bicycles, cars, even horses created about fifteen lanes out of the four that were painted.
The cabbie brought me to a small store displaying a number of exquisite suits in the front window. I paid and thanked the cabbie, and pointed at the time on my phone and said “two hours.” He smiled, nodded, and took off. I wondered if he’d understood what I’d meant.

The owner of the shop was an american. He’d worked in the united states for forty years before going back to home in Shanghai. He served in the second world war in infantry and played trumpet in the army band. I told him why I’d run away from home and why I was in Shanghai. He looked at me for a good long moment before responding. I thought he was going to call the police on me.

“Good move. Let me know if you need any help.”

I guess good does exist in the world.

I landed about four hours ago and hailed a cab once I’d collected my luggage and managed to find my way out of the airport. I got through customs okay, they checked my passport as usual and let me through. I guess I looked just like one of the thousands of other americans streaming into Shanghai. One thing does keep me separate though. My passport is fake, and my bag contains nothing but stacks of hundred-dollar bills, amounting to a grand spanking total of five-hundred-thousand dollars. And this laptop.

I took a hot bath once I got to my room. I went ahead and got a single room, I figure the frivolous spending can come later once I’ve found someone to share the room (which will then be a suite) with. I, thus far, have found three people that speak english. I introduced myself under my fake-passport name (“Winston A. Stetler”; note that I didn’t get to choose the name). The first was the man at the lobby-desk in the lobby of this hotel. The second was a man in the elevator, who asked me which floor I was on and pushed the button for me. The third was an older man who came out of the door across the hall from mine as I was sliding my keycard into the locking mechanism of my room.

His name is Frank. He looks about fifty, and will be here for the next two weeks on a business trip. He was wearing a wedding band, but seemed to be expecting a female caller later that night as he gave me a brief rundown on the luxuries of Singapore, with knowing winks at the “important” parts. He told me to give him a ring if I had any questions. He gave me his mobile number.

Goals for tomorrow:
1) Get information on a high security, anonymous bank account
2) Get a mobile
3) Get clothes.

Now I really need to sleep. It’s late here even though it’s morning for my biological clock. Must adjust to time change. Jet lag sucks.

I sincerely hope that no one ever reads this manuscript.

With that out there, I’ll go ahead and begin.

My name is, well, actually, it doesn’t really matter. I know exactly who I am. I am currently sitting in seat 3C on a Boeing 747 bound for Shanghai. The reason? I’m running away from home. Hardcore style.

(Is it still running away when you’re nineteen years old?)

I figure the first thing someone does to be reborn, whether it’s religion or getting a plane to somewhere that doesn’t speak their language, should always be done with as much force as possible. I couldn’t think of anywhere further away from the US than Singapore. Thus the plane. To Shanghai.

We’re about seven hours into the second leg (out of two) of my flight. The first was from xxxxx to the O’Hare international airport in Chicago. This leg of my flight is from Chicago to my destination in Shanghai. I booked first class tickets, so I’m surrounded by old business men and an attractive asian girl my age who doesn’t speak english. However, she apparently speaks wine. She’s on her fourth glass in the last two hours. I think I saw her crying earlier.

I should probably figure out what the hell I’m doing. Oh well, that can come later. Perhaps after a hot bath in a hotel room. Same with writing down why I’m running away. Right now all that matters is that the attractive asian woman is looking over at me more and more frequently, and it’s time to learn to communicate. I wonder what my parents are thinking.