Getting out of the airport and into “China” is as formtastic as one imagines. First a form needs to be filled in with details of any illnesses one may have. This form is taken (without a glance at what I may be a carrier of), and a short walk takes us to another station where we fill in similar personal details again, minus our state of health.

Afraid that I may be thrown in prison after crossing a few boxes instead of ticking, I redo the form. Still afraid after writing my flight came from Stockholm (when, in fact, the flight number I wrote was from Copenhagen), I write a a third time. Satisfied I’ll be a free man, we stroll to the passport check, and proceed unscathed to the front door of the airport.

Of course, we first have to fill out a form describing what we are intending to take into the country, I tick (yes, tick) the no-boxes of all the suggestion of dubious/illegal cargo I may have with me and hand the form to an official, who duly takes it without seeing I may have a giraffe in my pocket. Success!

We’re on our way to the hotel with a horn-happy taxi-driver, who insists we need not put on our safety belts. How strange it feels.