Imagined Diary - The wrong town

I wrote this before I went to China, let's hope it hasn't come true.
The middle of nowhere is not a place you want to be left stranded. I mean I'd rather not be left stranded anywhere, but if I was, then I'd prefer it not to be here.  I've been to small airports before, Sarajevo isn't huge, Cardiff that big, Lviv's looks like a mid-sized communist train station, but I've never been in a wooden hut, half way up a mountainside. 
I'd got the feeling there was something wrong when the plane I got on was a two prop number with fewer seats than our old school minibus. I was meant to be going to one of China’s major cities. This didn’t sit right. We sat on the runway dwarfed by the Boeings and Airbuses gliding round. Jesus the bus that brought us to the plane was dwarfing us. 
We wobbled into the air and then fought against the wind, at one stage I was sure we were going backwards. Fifty-five minutes later we dropped through the cloud and came to rest precariously on the edge of this mountain, the plane's wing almost touching the steep cliff on one side and overhanging the sheer drop on the other. 
We collected our luggage on the runway and then made our way to the wooden hut where I was expecting someone called Brett to meet me.
Brett wouldn't be his real name, his real name would be Ran, Xu, or something similar but his English name was Brett and he was meant to be waiting for me. I say meant to be because the wooden hut was empty, save one policeman and a cleaner. 
I went out to the front of the airport and watched the five passengers who I had been on the flight with, disappear in the five cars that were parked outside. I checked my phone, no wifi, no signal, no message, no Brett. 
The rain had a sleety feel about it and the top of the mountain was slipping on its cloudy hat. I sat on the wooden bench and watched the door, occasionally checking my phone to see if the situation had changed, it hadn’t. 
The policeman eyed me with suspicion, the cleaner smoked lazily in the corner, I hunched over my suitcase wondering what the fuck was going on. 
It was growing harder to read my book as the light faded outside. Brett still hadn't materialised unless Brett was the cat had wandered through the 'terminal' or one of the few bugs had scuttled across the floor.
I was dreaming of those Elizabethan girls when I was roughly shaken awake by the policeman. I wiped my eyes and took the phone that he was holding out to me. 
“Hello,’ I said.
‘Hi, this is Brett.’
‘Where are you?’ I asked.
“Well, there's been a bit of a mix-up.” 
A bit was the biggest understatement of the day. I was in the wrong Xi'an, not the with the Terracotta Army but a tribal mountain village with just one flight a week. 
“Don't worry Brett said, we'll come to pick you up.” 
“Great,” I said feeling some hope drip into my heart, “how long will you be?” 
“About thirteen hours,” the hope dripped away again.