Like a Train Wreck... on a Bike

Don't worry, I'm OK. The accident I am about to recount did not happen to me; I was just a witness.

In my previous post on biking in Beijing, I mentioned the commuters who cram their way to the front of the bike lane at the intersection, then cut through the two lines of left turning cars rather than waiting through lights at both corners.

One day, as usual on my commute to work, I skirted a congested bus station and prepared to cross one portion of a major 5-way intersection in accordance with the light and the traffic assistant. I had cleverly maneuvered my way to the front of the bike pack waiting at the intersection, so I was feeling pretty proud of myself as I sailed across the street ahead of the herd.

Among the usual din of honks, bells, yells, and squealing brakes, I noticed a particularly long and annoying whine to my left. It was a motor-scooter, crossing diagonally between the left-turning cars at full speed, the driver holding his hand on the horn and his small son on his lap. Just as I shook my head and turned my attention back to the road, I heard a loud CRUNCH!

The father-on-scooter had just T-boned a young couple riding to work on a single bicycle about 10 yards behind me, right in the middle of the pack crossing the road. The girl was trying to pick herself up from under the bike, which was wedged under the front of the scooter, and the bike-riding boyfriend was standing up and yelling at the scooter driver. Unconcerned, the driver backed off of the bike and started to drive away (son still on lap), as the boyfriend tried to call the police on his cell phone. Not about to let the scooter get away, the boyfriend dodged in front of the scooter to prevent it from leaving the scene.

The boyfriend and scooter danced back and forth for a while, until the scooter driver had enough and decided if he couldn't get around the bike victim, he should just to drive away through him. Next thing you know, the scooter has rammed directly into the bike boyfriend's stomach and is pushing him backward down the street as the boyfriend grabs the handlebars with one hand, continues trying to call the police with the other hand, and drags his feet along the ground. Did I mention the son is still on the scooter driver's lap?

There were about 35 people on bikes and foot on that side of the intersection, but as far as I could see, none of them did anything.

My own light changed then, and it was time for me to safely - or as safely as possible under the circumstances - cross the street. I realized, if I had not worked my way to the front of the pack at the intersection, I would have been right where that bike couple was when they got hit.

To summarize the experience of biking to work, it's like being in a documentary on Beijing city life, a low-speed police chase, and an action film all at once.

Getting to Pingyao

On our way to the ancient walled city of Pingyao, my cousins Michelle and David were treated to a Chinese airline customer service experience.

First, picture US airline customer service. Then, move that out of an overly litigious and customer-focused society into a context where it is accepted that the customer has no rights but those the vendor tells him to have, and no one has ever received a refund or compensation for poor treatment, ever.

Very early in the morning, we hopped a taxi to the airport. We walked in about 55 minutes before our flight and split up into different lines to see who would make it to the counter first. Exactly 30 minutes before our flight, we handed our passports and boarding passes to the agent, who said, "Flight is closed. I cannot check you in." What! We've been here almost a 1/2 hour already! And there was no announcement the flight was closing, no effort to get passengers checked in. I was furious. The gate agent deflected me with a classic Chinese send-them-to-someone-else-for-bad-news maneuver, "Go to the Duty Manager. He can help you."

We headed across the hall to the Duty Manager, who said, "The flight is closed. Of course I cannot help you. It's already 30 minutes before departure." At that moment, a Chinese customer approached the counter with the same situation for the same flight - as well as proof that he was actually at the check-in counter a full 33 minutes ahead of the flight, but he was denied check-in as well. Now I realize, the flight was likely overbooked. Perhaps a group of VIPs needed to get on the flight, or perhaps they sold just a couple of extra tickets, but either way, the airline saved face by declaring us at fault.

The duty manager said, "There is another flight at 9:20." Ok, less than 2 hours later, we can manage that. We dashed to the ticket counter only to find out the flight was a 9:20 pm, not am. Score 2 for the duty manager, 0 for customer service. Ultimately, we ended up going to a different airline and buying first class tickets to Taiyuan, the nearest city to Pingyao, because those were the only seats available. At 900 RMB (about US$130), the price was quadruple our original ticket price, but still acceptable.

Perhaps if I had known what we were headed to in Pingyao, I would not have been in such a rush or felt so frustrated at the delay. But as it was, the taste of my fury at the duty manager was still lingering in my mouth as I nursed my instant noodle cup in the first class lounge.

Closer to Beijing Life, Closer to Death

For the last three weeks, I've been biking to work at least three times per week. Participating in the great Beijing two- and three-wheeled commute is a fantastically stimulating experience. It really cannot be understood unless you've done it, but I'll try to paint a picture. (An actual picture of me on my Chinese bike will be forthcoming soon, I promise.)

First, you might ask, why am I risking near-certain death on the way to work and absolute certain sweatiness on arrival at work by biking? I can easily afford a few dollars for inexpensive Beijing taxis, or I could pay a small fee to ride a commuter shuttle to the office with my colleagues, or a I could take the bus. But all forms of car transportation are frustratingly slow and unpredictable during rush hour, and the ride to work ranges from 20-40 minutes. Amazingly, drivers manage to endanger a maximum number of people while moving at a minimum speed. One morning, I sat in my taxi for over 15 minutes at a single intersection, all the while watching bikes pass by. Looking around the taxi, I realized it was filthy inside, the air conditioning didn't work, the polluted outside air and the exhaust from the cars around me was stifling, and I was getting aggravated at the driver's inability to move the vehicle forward. I decided it was time to join the bicycles.

From the first moment in the bike lane, it was liberating. The commute is 20 minutes each way, no matter what the traffic. On top of that, I have full control. I can leave when I want and stop as many times as I want along the way home, running errands and filling my bike basket with groceries, and I don't have to pay a new 10 RMB minumum taxi fare with each new leg of the journey.

Best of all, just by rolling outside my gate on two wheels, I joined the community of Beijing residents in a way I hadn't in 6 months of walking, taxi-ing, and busing around. One look at the swarms in the bike lane and you'll know biking is very much a part of Beijing life: small children bike to school (or more often, sit on their parent's lap on the bike - I still don't know how they do that), adults ride to work, old men pull carts with their bird cages to the park, workers haul supplies, young women perch carefully on the book rack of their boyfriends' Flying Pigeons. From the bike, I also have the chance to really observe what's happening on and along the road and get a better handle on the layout of the streets in my neighborhood. I wouldn't call myself a Beijinger, but suddenly I feel like a real resident of the city.

So, what have I seen from my new mobile vantage point? A few observations:

• China really stretches the definition of "bicycle." My cousin David noted, "In Beijing, bicycles are like snowflakes - no two are exactly alike." You've got your ordinary Chinese bike, with flat handle bars, very tall wheels, adorned with any combination of baskets on the front and back, seats on the back and front, a safety - "safety" - light, a bell, and an old plastic bag tied around the seat. Then there's also the bikes pulling open carts full or trash down the bike lane, motor scooters, motor bikes, hybrid pedal-and-motor bikes, and three-wheeled tuk-tuks. Environmentalists might be delighted to see such abundant non-car flora and fauna, but I assure you no victories are being won against air pollution in the bike lane. (Did you see I mentioned open carts of trash and old diesel motor scooters?)

• Biking is far more dangerous than driving. Sure, Beijing's crazy taxi drivers are a serious threat (that bike lane doesn't confer magical safety powers, you know), but the bikers are really scary. Lane space is a commodity to be claimed at any price.
  

• There's no point in going fast. Intersections are the great equalizer. Ah, the Great Third Ring Road Intersection. At rush hour, uniformed traffic monitors, with no particular training, whistle incessantly and wave a red flag in erratic patterns. It's impossible to know what they are trying to communicate, especially when you're 15 yards back from the intersection packed in pedal-to-pedal with a couple hundred of your favorite Beijing neighbors, but you just go when everyone else goes.

• Without a bike bell, you're toast. For cars, the horn is an essential tool of communication. To us Americans, a blast of the horn means, "Look out!" Either you're about to kill me or I'm about to kill you. In China, the many meanings of the horn have yet to be fully cataloged, but a few of them include: I'm passing you on the right or left; you're going too slow; you're going too fast; hello; I have no intention of obeying the light/ sign/ traffic cop ahead; the light is green; hey look! did you see that foreigner on a bike?; you had better stop because I'm going no matter what; you had better go because I'm yielding to you, but I'm really impatient; this red light/ toll booth/ motorcade/ storm/ earthquake/ song/ bridge/ run-up to the Olympics is too long so I decided to make some noise because that might help. It turns out, the bike bell is every bit as adaptable and communicative as the horn. And it's brave, too - I have seen many a trill little bike bell take on a taxi, pick-up truck, or van.

• Finally, a lesson that pops up in almost every aspect of Beijing life: people are nuts. Do you want to know why Beijing bikers push their way to the front of the intersection, scraping my legs and jostling all the little children precariously balanced on the crossbar of their parents bikes? So they can streak across the intersection diagonally in the brief moment between when the light changes and the cars in the left turn lanes from both directions actually reach the center of the intersection. And, those cars in the left turn lanes include buses.
  

A Seriously "China" China Visit

My cousins Michelle and David are here for two weeks, getting their name on the Visitors Point Tally with 1 and 2 points, respectively (David gets and extra point because it's his first ever trip outside the United States). While any trip to China is sure to include some unexpected events, David and Michelle have had a lot of "only here" moments. To name a few:

- received counterfeit 50 RMB bill; found out when they tried to pay for something with it
- saw a car on fire, Chinese firefighters put it out (a real Chinese fire drill!)
- received counterfeit 50 RMB bill (again!)
- their taxi slammed into a pedestrian and sent her flying; driver yelled at victim
- a vendor reached into Michelle's wallet to take money from her at Great Wall; 1 fake 50 RMB note disposed of

Of course, this is on top of the bajillion taxi close calls with their life, a 4-hour hike up an almost vertical mountain; the usual bargaining adventures; watching me fight (unsuccessfully) with an Air China Duty Manager after our flight's check-in closed early so we couldn't get on it; sleeping on a traditional "kang" bed in one of the dirtiest supposed tourist sites I've seen in China (more on Pingyao in a later post); a Cultural Revolution restaurant experience where they denied us food while we were in a VIP room and forbid us to take pictures.

Suffice to say, this is a trip that is going to make even more stories than the usual China jaunt. Also, Michelle is now expertly trained in identifying fake Chinese bills.