The second time things got muddled was the next morning at the hotel. We stumbled out of the train into a shabby daybreak. The air brushing my face had the quality of damp cobwebs and I threw Noel an accusing look. He ignored me, zigzagging through the crush of locals on the platform, his nose buried in a map that flapped in the cold wind. Noel's Mandarin was rudimentary and since he hated appearing even remotely incompetent, I ended up negotiating our way to the hotel and juggling the delicate issue of our "rooms". Unlike us, the hotel clerk didn't have his perception trapped in a cognitive fog, and when faced with a couple asking for a room, immediately exhibited unshakable common sense: a man, a woman, two big noses, they must be together, ran his conclusion, and grinning widely he pitched a "happy suite for couple". What about the beds? I ventured hesitantly. The beds?The clerk's eyes bulged. Small fault lines of anxiety cracked through his equanimity. The beds? he shouted. Yes, I lowered my voice, How many...beds are in one room? The clerk nodded. One?An embarrassed smile. Two? The clerk's face went blank. At a loss I turned to Noel, but he was leaning against the reception desk, engrossed in the swirl of veins bleeding across the fake marble top. Ah, ah, ah, the clerk croaked suddenly, erupting into eager nods. Two beds! he shouted, separate! Yes! Very separate! Yes! No problems! I turned to Noel and asked, What do you think of that? but he brushed off the question, replying hurriedly, Yes, fine.