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The airplane landed on a misty road in the Xianyang airport. Despite the early hour, men where driving working machines all around. Cold, smog and a flavour of something burning not far away gained access to my nose saying me “Welcome to Northwest China”.
We landed in China on February the 14th, Saint Valentine, as if I were to meet with a shy girl whom I was in love with but I had never seen before. I met her at morning, when she was still sleeping and I saw her eyes slowly opening announcing her that from that day on I would have been besides her.
I saw the China not already China as newspapers describes, as academics talks about or just as we imagine. I saw the real sleepy face of China, fifty minutes between 8 am and 9 am in which the sharper watchers might get some sparkles of the three thousand years history of the East Asia giant as we read in many reporting stories. More probably it is only my soul making joke of me.

We took a taxi using a smartphone app, in a way that for a half embarrasses me but on the other half makes me appreciating the course we’re taking – we as global civilisation.
With a headache we tried to understand what the driving tried to tell us, in the most polite way, yet most of the drive went on in silence. We payed.
Left all the luggages in my partner’s room, we left to look for my booked apartment. We found it, but no one seemed to know anything about my reservation.
At last I found a small flat, and with a huge headache I felt China, and its all problems, saying me “Welcome”.

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