BEIJING - Growing up in Albany, China was a place of Great Walls, tea and bicycles.
I've conquered the wall, and I have a 12-pack of Guanxi Shiru Green Tea on my desk. To complete my Chinese fantasy, I needed only a bike.
One of my strongest memories from my first, quick trip to Wudaokou this summer were the foreigners mixed in the Chinese crowds on bicycles. When I moved here, I wanted to be one of those people.
Every new exchange student I meet, I ask about bicycles. Do you have one? How much did it cost? Where did you buy it?
I received the best advice from Andres, a Colombian in the fourth year of a masters in architecture here at Tsinghua. He's been through seven bikes in his time in Beijing.
"Don't buy a new bike," he said. "Don't be a nice looking bike. Just buy one that looks crappy, and make sure you don't pay too much for it."
I started my search with Youming, a Malay who lives on my floor. We went to the University's West Gate, where there are a strip of bicycle shops opposite the gate. At each one, we asked the same simple question: "Do you have used bikes?" (I got to try out a new word, ershouche, or second-hand bike.)
No, each shopkeeper said, and sent us down the street. At the last station, the shop owner also said no, but then pointed to an upside bike frame near the door of his shop. The rusted frame had no wheels, and looked ready to for the scrapyard.
"Come back tomorrow, and you can have that one for Y80," he said.
The next day I walked back to West Gate, back to the same shop to find the same man standing in the exact position on the sidewalk. Even his shirt was the same.
"We don't have used bikes," he said. "I can sell you that new one for Y250."
"What about yesterday? You had new bikes," I said.
"No. No have," he said, and then insisted a try out his new bike.
I wish I had the language skills to communicate the problem with the new bike. Cost wasn't the issue. Thirty dollars in America doesn't buy a plastic tricycle, let alone something with a fresh coat of paint and a basket. No, the problem was that while $30 isn't too much money, $30 times seven stolen bikes begins to add up.
I thanked the shopkeeper and began the long stroll back to my dorm. Just as I was about to make the final turn into the dormitory part of campus, a sign caught my eye: Bicycle Doctor Feng, it said in English. I went over and saw an old man, presumably Dr. Feng, sitting on a stool.
"Hello," I said. "Do you have any second-hand bikes?"
"Second hand bikes? No," the doctor said. "I do have a new one for Y170."
"But I want a used one," I said.
"Sorry."
"Do you know where I can find a used bike?"
Dr. Feng paused for a long time. He appeared to be thinking deep thoughts.
"Well, I do have that used bicycle," he said, and pointed to a sturdy-looking used model, just behind the new one he wanted to sell me.
From here there was only bargaining. I went low, he struck back with a couple comments about quality, I countered with jokes about the bike's sloppy paint job. Eventually we settled on Y100, including a lock. That's around $12. For fulfilling a life-long fantasy, not bad at all.
