We passed the hotel gym where I had tried so hard to keep up my training. I thought back to all those times when the Internet had dropped out and I had to quit after just one hour on the treadmill. I’d found the whole thing frustrating but nothing more. A mark of how much had changed in my life was that I’d been able to let go of it so easily.
There was the Little Adoption Shop, where Chris worked, and where we donated ￡10,000 from the donations left over from the Bring Gobi Home fund. Without Chris and his careful advice to Lu Xin about how to conduct the search for Gobi, I knew we never would have found her. Without Chris, who knew where Gobi would be by now?
I thought about all the other people I’d met in Beijing, as well as those back in Urumqi. It was hard to leave so many great people behind, especially since my time in China had completely changed my view on the country and its people.
If I’m honest, when I arrived in China for the Gobi race, my view of the Chinese was a bit clichéd. I thought they were closed-off and serious, rude and uncaring. In that first journey from Urumqi to the race start, I saw in the people only what I expected to see. No wonder I didn’t think much of the place.
But everything that happened with Gobi changed my perspective. Now I know the Chinese are lovely, genuine, hospitable people. Once they let you into their hearts and homes, they’re incredibly generous and unfailingly kind. One family I’d never met but who had followed the story loaned me a ￡1,000 electric bike for the duration of my stay. They didn’t ask for anything in return, not even a selfie with Gobi.
People were the same in Urumqi. The city itself might be full of closed-circuit TV cameras and security guards outside public parks, but the people are some of the friendliest, most generous, and most kind-hearted I’ve ever met. I’m pleased to have a connection with them and know that it won’t be long before I return.
And then there’s Kiki. She agreed to help us when everybody else was saying no. She came to Urumqi to make sure Gobi got out safely, and she spent the whole four months that we were in Beijing in a state of nervous tension, feeling responsible not just for Gobi’s well-being but also for my welfare. I called her 24/7 with all sorts of questions (How do I pay for more electricity? Gobi’s not feeling well. What do I do? Where do I go to buy pollution masks?). She was never too busy or too tired to help, and she never once complained when I asked if she could take Gobi for a few days while I went out of town. She even sent video updates every couple of hours to me, and I was kept fully up-to-date with all the ways her staff pampered Gobi. Kiki made her team available to me as well. Her drivers ferried us everywhere, dropped off supplies to me in the flat, took care of the paperwork, and tended to countless details. They did more than I could have ever asked.
We pulled up outside the airport, unloaded the bags, and let Gobi take one last potty break before zipping her into the special doggie carrier that she’d be in for most of the journey.
UK law prohibits dogs from being in the cabin for any flights, in or out of the country. After she’d been so traumatized by travelling in the cargo hold when we left Urumqi, I vowed never to stow her away down there again. That meant our journey home was going to be long and complicated: a ten-hour flight to Paris, a five-hour drive to Amsterdam, a twelve-hour overnight ferry crossing to Newcastle in northern England, and a two-and-a-half-hour drive back home to Edinburgh. With all the waiting around added on, the whole thing was going to take forty-one hours.
We’d purposely paid extra for business class to make sure Gobi was comfortable and able to be next to me in the cabin. I felt pretty good as I walked up to the counter and was seen straightaway. I handed over my passport to the woman at the desk, stepped back, and thought about how much life had changed for Gobi. Six months earlier she’d been living on the edge of the Gobi Desert, desperate enough for survival to run three marathons alongside a total stranger. Now she was about to fly business class to the chic city of Paris, of all places.
I was pulled out of my daydream by the sound of Kiki having an increasingly loud conversation with the Chinese check-in lady. During my time in China, I’d come to understand that anytime the volume rises in a conversation, trouble is brewing. I closed my eyes, listening as whatever issue Kiki had encountered grew bigger and bigger.
“What’s going on, Kiki?”
“Did you book Gobi on to the flight?”
It was as if all the air around me suddenly turned stale.
“I didn’t do it,” I said. “I thought you were doing it.”
Kiki shook her head. “Lucja supposed to do it.”
Kiki turned back to the clerk, and the conversation continued. I dialled Lucja.
“Did you book Gobi on?”
“No,” she said. “Kiki was supposed to do it.”
It was obvious that this was just a simple misunderstanding between the two of them. They’d both been so busy organizing so much from other ends of the world that this little detail had been missed. And I was sure it was going to be relatively simple to fix. Maybe a little expensive but simple enough.
“Kiki,” I said, tapping her on the shoulder. “Just get them to tell me how much it’s going to cost, and we can get on with it.”
She shook her head. “She say she can’t. No way to put Gobi on system now. It’s impossible.”
I closed my eyes and tried to take control of my breathing. Steady in, steady out. Keep calm, Dion. Keep calm.
Another check-in clerk came over and joined the conversation, pushing the volume up another couple of levels. By now Kiki was in full flow, pointing at Gobi and me in turn. I could do nothing but stand there and panic in silence.
All the paperwork we had to allow Gobi into the UK was tailored to our journey. That meant that if we arrived at Newcastle any later than midnight on 2 January, it would all be invalid, and I’d have to get Gobi seen and signed off by another vet. At the very best, that would add another day or two to the journey. At worst, it could take another week.
A third official joined the two behind the desk, and as he did, the atmosphere changed. The volume dropped, and he listened while Kiki talked.
After a few words from the boss, Kiki turned to me. “Gobi not booked on this flight,” she said. I knew what was coming next, how we would have to book her onto the next flight out, but that would cost us an extra— “Go to that counter there,” Kiki said, pointing to another Air France desk nearby, “pay two hundred pounds, and he say they will get her on board.”
I was stunned. “On board this flight?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t waste any time. I paid the fee at the other counter and came back to get my boarding pass.
“I told them Gobi a famous dog,” said Kiki, and she smiled as I waited. “They know story and wanted to make it happen for you.”
As soon as I had my passport and my boarding pass in my pocket, it was Gobi selfies and smiles all around for the check-in staff.
I finally said goodbye to Kiki at passport control, then drifted through security, exhaling a ton of stress as I went.