I bolt up from the table, knocking over my chair and sloshing the untouched soup in front of me. I back-peddle, spin around, and clip the next table on my way to the street.

The first leg looks like about 150 yards. Rough cobblestone path sprinkled with tourists and locals, on foot and bike. I break into a dead run, but within a few steps the jostling becomes too much so I settle into a sort heel-toe heel-toe race walk, like those gold winning Mexican Olympians.

Dodging people. Zig left. Zag right. Two Chinese people are screaming at each other in the street ahead, and a large impassable crowd has formed to watch. I sidetrack into a small market.

Jump over the basket of chickens. Around the pile of cabbage. I can't let myself catch any of the odors. . .

Back to the cobblestone. Up a small hill. Heartbreak. I want to scream, but I'm only halfway there. Big street ahead.

First, cross the bike lane.

Next traffic. Motorcycles. Bus. Bus.

GO!

No wait, more motorcycles.

Now! I race walk to the centerline. Another wait. Bus. Taxi. Bus. Dump trucks in a line. Come on. . . OK, got it.

Another bike lane, no problem. Steady gait. The end is close, I'm might make it.

Damn it! Vendors!

"Hello Mister, want bicycle?"

"Hello! Tour?"

Please, out of my way.

"Hello! T-shirt"

"No." "No Thanks." They're still blocking me.

"No!"

Back into the street to get around them. Almost hit by crush of bikes. Then onto sidewalk again. Quick hop over a bike-repair job. Skirt around the restaurant tables.

20 yards to go.

Turn into the alley. Up the stairs. Flash a sweaty half-smile at the front desk. More stairs, two at a time now. Forget the walk, time is up. Run. Run down the hallway.

I'm at the door. Where's the key? Not in pockets. Panic. Where's the key?

Backpack!

Stupid zippers. Come on! There it is.

Stupid chinese lock.

Burst through door. Drop bag. Turn left.

THERE IT IS! Beautiful glistening white porcelain finish.