Pro tip: don't eat on the metro. Or drink. Or smoke. Or spit. Or tap dance. These people are REALLY into giving tickets for, like, anything. So, unless you'd be into signing a Mandrin-only slip of paper while juggling takeout sushi and international mortification, don't eat on the metro.
Markets! Markets everywhere!
Also, getting back to the airport is pretty easy too. There's a bus. So we took this bus, then we waited in line to get to the check in counter, nothing out of the ordinary, made small talk with some expats. We got to the front, I opened my wallet to get out my passport. "Oh, what's this?" I thought to myself, "Where did that silly little passport place itself at such an inconvenient time? It really needs to learn proper manners, I dare say!" Hah! No, no, it was really more like, "Holy dicksacks! What the fuck do I do now?!?! I know! Let me throw the contents of my suitcase all over the airport! Perfect, wasn't there! I'll just call the hotel! Don't have it, you say? Fantastic, thanks! Shit shit shit! SHIT!" Then miraculously, between thoughts of finding a new flight and hoping the embassy would still be open so late, a tiny little memory popped up through my brain folds and was like, "Hey stupid, you may or may not have put it in your camera bag. Find out." Success! It was like those scenes in movies where a beam light comes down from the heavens and a choir of angels start singing a hymn. Note to self: be more careful with that shit.