The Wall Street Journal revealed on Friday that China’s airports are the world’s worst for flight delays. “According to FlightStats, which tracks airport statistics, Beijing’s airport ranks dead last among the world’s top 35, with fully 82% of flights failing to leave on time,” WSJ reported. “Second worst was Shanghai, at 71%.” Numbers, numbers. We could link to a string of posts from our archives with picture and video evidence, but none of it will feel as real as our memories — after all, we’ve all experienced the particular nightmare of flying in China. Below, some of our stories.

Mark Dreyer, founder of The Li-Ning Tower:

July 4, flew into HKG from SFO at 6 pm, was then booked on the 8 pm Air China flight 112 to PEK. 8 pm was cancelled, so was switched to flight 114, previously delayed, now due to leave 8.30 pm. That was also cancelled, so I was switched to flight 110, previously delayed, now due to leave at 9 pm. We boarded at 9.30 pm, doors closed, told we had no take-off slot – could be 10 minutes, could be 3 or 4 hours. Right at midnight we left the gate and took off. Once we were in the air, captain told us that he got the call at midnight from Air China to cancel the flight and while he was on the phone, air traffic control gave him permission to take off. So he had to promise to Air China that he would taxi at double speed and then fly as quickly as possible to arrive on time. Issue was that if we had landed at PEK past a certain time, they would be given a hefty fine so that it would no longer have made economic sense to fly the plane.

This was all to get up to Ordos for work. Leaving Ordos was eventful: Group 1 left Sunday night, flight Ordos-PEK cancelled, so they drove to Baotou for another flight to PEK. Sat on the runway for many hours, finally left at 5 am, diverted to Shijiazhuang, then bus to PEK, arrived about noon Monday (missed all onward onnections to rest of Asia).

Group 2 (me) left on the 8.30 am Monday morning flight, half an hour delayed but back to PEK no problem, easily beating Group 1 back to PEK.

Groups 3 and 4 left on the Monday afternoon flight back to PEK, told all flights were cancelled and/or no time slots yet assigned. Group 3 chartered a bus for a 17-hour journey back to Beijing. Two hours later, Group 4 boarded and flew back to PEK.

What I’m getting out of this is cancellations happen sometimes.

Alicia, founder Prep! Beijing: 

As a former management consultant, I used to travel between Beijing and Shanghai every week for close to five months, leaving for Shanghai on Sunday evening or Monday morning and coming back to Beijing on Friday evenings. I’ve encountered my fair share of delays and flight cancellations (and, consequently, fights), for various reasons: snowstorms, rainstorms, and, mostly, “air traffic control,” especially on a Friday when all business travelers rush to go home. On top of these “normal” reasons, Expo 2010 strained the aviation industry, and Shanghai’s Hongqiao Terminal 2 didn’t open until March 16, 2010. There were no high-speed G trains yet, either.

I still remember once flying back from Shanghai to Beijing — guess on which airline? — and being told to go to my gate to wait for the new departure time. After changing gates, the plane finally arrived from Beijing, one and a half hours late. One and a half hours later, we boarded. An hour later, we were still on the tarmac, and then, finally, eventually, mercifully, told to get off the plane. Mechanical failure. By that point, travelers were so angry that they had to give us food, drinks and RMB 200 each (score! cash!). I don’t remember what time we eventually took off, but it was well over midnight, and I wasn’t back in Beijing till 2 or 3 am.

Avoid night flights between Beijing and Shanghai. Got it.

Sarah Hansen:

The recent downpours in Beijing have been affecting planes. No, not because the acid is burning through the wings. Rain creates flight delays that bring to mind the snaking lines at the bus stop, the bank, and the bathroom. However, none of those can compete with a day at the Beijing Capital Airport when rain is afoot.

During a heavy rain the night before my trip, I learn that my flight to Erlian is delayed two hours.

In the morning, I find that the crusty vestige of the original Beijing airport called Terminal 1 is not my favorite place.

From the grand hall of Terminal 2 to the squished space of Terminal 1, problems abound. The damn voice broadcasting over the P.A. keeps saying so. Self check-in is an elbow to the rib waiting to happen so I make my way to the counter, and the process is quicker than expected, and my departure time is still set for 9:30 AM [laugh track].

The information screens, steps from the wand-wielding security personnel, are lacking in helpful numbers. Passengers build into a thick human clog and look upon the screens as though they might soon reveal the meaning of life. Craned necks, and shuffling feet – can’t be much longer. Now it can’t be much longer. Okay, now? I judge it time to venture off to the restroom with the knowledge that a watched pot never provides gate information.

The women’s bathroom and the expected line.

Back to the screens. No go. Stranded passengers are having a looped conversation along the lines of: “Where’s my gate? They haven’t shown them yet. Where’s my gate? They haven’t shown them yet. Where’s…”

Passing security and airline representatives are not only unhelpful but downright disdainful towards those who dare to ask for more information.

Bathroom round two. Longer line, more smells and sounds.

Screens part three. Why can’t they just tell us to go to a made-up gate?

I head off to find the poor soul who drew the short straw at the info desk, but as I approach him – FINALLY a gate number appears! Leaving… several hours from now. Fine.

Being a vegetarian in this terminal means that I am reduced to some packaged faux peanut butter faux chocolate cookies and banana milk to appease my gurgling stomach. And the waiting continues.

I contemplate the strange five-minute trip across to Mongolia that I still have ahead of me, and then – HOORAH, another line forms, this time to board the plane!

My day is starting to look up when I find myself alone in my row, and I drift off. I wake up almost an hour later and find my ass still planted firmly on the tarmac. Apparently, we are in yet another line, this one consisting of planes.

The engines do finally rev, and the flight attendant announces our happy departure. Less than an hour after that we touch down and emerge into a scorching hot, sunny day. Irony flies Hainan Airlines apparently.

NO ONE KNOWS ANYTHING.

And finally, the most nightmarish story of them all, via Andray Abrahamian, Korean scholar, Choson Exchange writer:

Me: have any horror stories from chinese flights?

Andray: Sitting on a plane in the tarmac while Murray was winning wimbledon…my country’s seminal sporting event of probably this century

I mean, they knew the storm was coming. Let us sit and watch sports history unfold in the terminal instead of spending almost three hours on the tarmac with only Yanjing beer for comfort as howling winds and rain lash the plane.

Air China loves to cancel their flight to PY [Pyongyang] without warning. You’ll get there and then they say, sorry, there is two much wind in PY, we can fly. Or there is a blizzard. You get there the next day and there is no snow.

Me: Did you get the game any way? Following on iPhone? Radio?

Andray: I followed the game via texts and calls to Tori, who was watching with a pack of expat Brits.

Boarded after the first set, took off after he’d won.

Chinese airports are the worst.

Most of us are familiar with the thought process behind China’s One Child Policy. But in practice, the laws enforcing population control fall short as ethics and morals fly out the window. Actual enforcement of said laws differ based on location and the socioeconomic status of those who challenge the policy. Some women and their families are subjugated to physical punishment, while others simply pay a fee.

Even one forced abortion or sterilization is one too many, so it is gut-wrenching to note that these are conducted with disturbing frequency, at the will of local officials. Worse, the government at large seems to choose to overlook certain practices.

News entities throughout the country are abuzz with the most recent publicized incident, which occurred last month in Tongshan, Hubei province. Women’s Rights Without Frontiers reports on the forced sterilization of a 42-year-old woman in Dabancheng Village, Hubei province:

It reminds us of the story last June of a forced abortion in Shanxi. These and similar events are instances of disgusting violence perpetrated by members of the government that are influenced by a greater concern for money than humanity.

Cell phones are a vital possession, no doubt, but how to choose one in China, where the selection seems endless? Real, fake, cheap, smart, new, stolen, mixture of several previous phones, one SIM card or three, etc. With such a large market, companies in and out of China are vying for a piece of the cellular pie, but the largest share by far belongs to the foreign-owned Android (Google) — a fact that the government may rue. A Ministry of Industry and Information Technology report published March 1 called China Academy of Telecommunication Research (brought to us by China Digital Times) highlights concerns over the pervasiveness of Android, which is run on 80 percent of Chinese cell phones.

“Our country’s mobile operating system research and development is too dependent on Android… While the Android system is open source, the core technology and technology roadmap is strictly controlled by Google.”

Furthermore, feathers were ruffled earlier when Google dropped a deal with Chinese Alibaba’s Aliyun system, explaining that Aliyun too closely resembled Android to reasonably be considered a new product. We caught you, you cheaters (tongues sticking out)! The Chinese government acted especially miffed in light of Google’s agreement, upon its absorption of Motorola, that it would not discriminate against Chinese companies in favor of Android.

So, who has the right of it? Will China redesign regulations to specifically block Android? Is Android getting nauseatingly full from all of that pie? One concerned conspiracy theorist shares his views:

Announcement from One Concerned Conspiracy Theorist
Citizens Beware: Androids Are Coming Are Here Are Overtaking Cell Phones at an Unstoppable Rate
AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH

They’re in your homes and workplaces and purses and man-purses!

Thankfully, the Chinese government has already begun to address this concern — Aliyun, an Alibaba product, is waiting in the wings ready for action. And perhaps Google really is to blame for breaking its prior agreement not to discriminate against non-Android products.

Duncan Clark, chairman of technology consultancy BDA, gave this opinion to Reuters not too long ago, and a truer alliterative statement never twisted our tongues so well: “In China, regulators regulate regularly especially where they can position the regulations as helping out domestic companies.” The government may soon act to safeguard its citizens and domestic companies from the evil influence of the droids from beyond.

Black and white. The invasion is well on its way; we must take action now to combat this growing threat! Beware: the Android is in a store near you.

Pregame. Sunday for some, Monday for others. Really, really early on Monday for others. I haven’t been training as hard as I used to, but you don’t pass up a chance to get your fan on, especially when those chances are so few and far between.

The Super Bowl is big in America, the one event that brings us all together, even if it’s to root for different teams. Then again, the game itself is almost beside the point. My past Super Bowl experiences were mostly food-centric — there’s generally nachos, chili, pizza, brownies, and dips of all kinds. And during the game, participants might discuss the highs and lows of the latest car and insurance ads, or switch to Animal Planet for footage of truly cuddly canines playing with a football in Puppy Bowl.

However, lack of NFL knowledge can’t stop this cheer train.

At 5:20 am, my Xylophone alarm goes off. Doubt settles over me. (Or is that sleepiness?) But through my groans, I realize that champions push through pain and uncertainty. So half an hour later, my eyes are open and I’m sauntering into the Beijing blackness.

Warm-up. The icy, 30-minute bike ride to the Kerry Hotel, where NFL China has decided to post up for their official Super Bowl party on this most auspicious of days, gives me time to work up a winning game plan. Even if the game doesn’t matter so much to me (or at all), I’ll fuel up and root with the best of ’em; we Americans are expertly trained in the art of chowing down and knocking back a Budweiser or two. I arrive at the high-end hotel on an adrenaline high, optimistic at my chances of beating the hardcore veterans at their own cheering game.

Alicia Keys sings the national anthem. 

Warm-up, part 2. My enthusiasm is quickly dampened. At the fueling station, I begin to get nervous. One’s training should mimic his or her game-time environment, but the way I pictured the Kerry Hotel is nothing like how it actually is. Where are all the La-Z-Boys and pillows for floor seating? What about the tables piled high with DIY finger foods? Why are some people wearing posh suits?! After first finagling my way past the ticket ladies without too much talking (I’m pretty much voiceless pre-8 am), I’m greeted by an elegant breakfast buffet. Without stopping I pass into the main ballroom with its intimidating sparkly chandeliers to survey my field. More than 30 circular tables seat nine people each and two large screens adorn the far wall. I situate myself at my table full of unknowns, with my back to the screens and a pre-kickoff analysis running through my head.

This table is sheathed in a fancy cloth, and at least three silver forks are provided per person. Table 6 seems to be a spattering of China’s elite Americans and Europeans, though at two of the tables I note Chinese businessmen have already begun to attack the food. Those wearing team colors appear few and far between, but even sans jerseys, many have dipped into the bottomless Budweiser buckets atop the tables. I don’t exactly know what Reggie Bush looks like, but I’m told he’s here. The NFL cheerleaders of course are difficult to miss, as they rove around the crowd in full regalia peddling their grins to photo-eager dudes. Someone near me notes that one of the cheer girls was in the “Call Me Maybe” music video. Ah.

The hotel’s fancy tailgate includes a hefty amount of American-style meat, eggs, and bread products, with a nod to Chinese appetites with salad and dragon fruit. I pile on the eggs and regroup at the table. My attempt to pound a Budweiser ends in disappointment — have I lost the competitive edge, no longer able to guzzle a morning brew to get psyched up for some pigskin?

Hang on, Alicia Keys is still singing the national anthem.

Coin toss. I turn to one of the giant screens. Which team to choose? Dramatic storylines and jersey colors heavily factor into the decision. I turn back to my eggs. Or where my eggs used to be. Though the fuwuyuan appear to only be sluggishly bearing coffee carafes and serious faces, they too must be caught up in the spirit of competition with a game of “Who Can Get the Most Plates?” No matter, I turn back to the screen and assess the teams colors, then go with my gut: San Francisco, the underdogs. They are the underdogs, right?

But wait, it’s a fake! An influential table member calls Baltimore for me…

Tall man: “Who ya cheerin’ for?”

Me: “Um, well, you know, I’m not exactly familiar with the teams… (Looking down) I was thinking San Francisco though.”

Tall man (chuckles): “Ah well, it’s gonna be Baltimore today.”

Me: “Uh, well yeah, uh ok.”

…and, on second look, the Ravens do have better outfits. Plus, gold rushers pitted against Edgar Allen Poe’s necromantic muse don’t have a chance.

Oh shit, the game has already begun.

Halftime. Dilemma: in a fancy Western-style bathroom in Beijing, do you dispose of TP in a) the trash can, or b) by flushing it?

Delay as the lights in the Superdome go out while all Chinese viewers beam with pride knowing this would never happen here. Budweiser-influenced competitors try to distract me with what appear to be maracas, but I won’t be swayed, I’m here to cheer for the Ravens. Or the 49ers. Now it’s the 49ers. They’re losing, and I feel bad. Clashing colors aside, I’m now all about San Francisco again.

The cheerleaders roam a bit, flashing smiles and flesh all about. Their hair is both tall and wide, an interesting feat. Good thing this is one of the few locations in China that doesn’t allow smoking; open flame + that much hairspray = CCTV building all over again. I try to avoid meeting their eyes, instead maintaining focus on my team. A team. But a couple of them drift dangerously close to our table.

Let’s go New Orleans, flick some switches and get that voltage!

I, like the sports commentator asked to ramble along during the blackout, am mildly uncomfortable. Now there are pom-poms and legs directly behind the head of the man opposite me. Come on NOLA, you can do this!

The vivid red of their lipstick would leave a really bad stain on the blinding white bits of their uniforms. Ahh cleavage, bronzer, abs – help me!

Oh thank god, a man who has been identified as Reggie Bush is up taking photos now too. The cheerleaders are forced to move farther afield to make room, and the Super Dome eventually gets it together.

Winner! Finally, the moment we’ve all been waiting for: Kerry representatives randomly draw 20 numbers out of a raffle, giving away Nike shirts and footballs to the most dedicated fans. Not the first, second, third… eighth… twelfth… finally, “the thirteenth number is 000162…” and I go WILD! I’ve won!

I’ve won!!!

I give a whoop and a solid fist pump at the announcement of my triumph and am graciously acknowledged by the hotel presenter. I hold my head high as I claim my new XL sleepwear and official NFL football and try to contain my elation. As someone who can only remember winning one thing — the responsibility of taking the class guinea pig home for the summer after kindergarten — I’m genuinely pumped! The noon sun warms my cheeks as I cross over to my chariot and cram my winnings into its basket. Car horns and tire screeches hail me as victor and the ice and slush seem to sparkle in the aftermath of my high.

It was a beautiful Super Bowl experience. Just don’t ask me which team won.