BEIJING - The city's subway system has just been named the ninth best in the world by some random survey. I'd post the link, but I'm typing this at a dodgy Korean Internet cafe, where opening more than two windows at a time leads to total system failure.
Take my word on this one. Some company has declared Beijing's subway system better than Hong Kong or New York's.
In theory, the system is great. Eight lines connecting many points of the city, criss-crossing between neighborhoods just like in Moscow and New York. But that subway system won't exist in 2009. People of the present are stuck with three lines: one that travels in a circle around the city center, a long east-west side, and a third line, Line 13. Line 13 runs in a crooked upside-down U-shape, hitting many of the city's northern areas. My school and several other universities are served by the Wudaokou stop, about halfway up one side of the line.
When I first arrived in Beijing I took residence at a hostel in Qianmen, just south of Tian'anmen. With school about to start, I was needed more and more in Wudaokou. Eventually I moved in the residence halls and brought my stuff up to Wudaokou. This required trip after trip from Qianmen to Wudaokou, a journey that takes about an hour and a half and means switching from Line 2 to Line 1.
On the world's ninth best subway system, the lines don't do something as obvious as connect. No, the interchange between Line 2 and Line 13 are about half a kilometer from each other. To get between the two, passengers exit the underground Line 2 station and then walk through a series of above ground passageways to the elevated Line 13 station. It takes about 10 minutes depending on whether the throngs of Beijing commuters are running at rampage or just torrent speed.
Since this is China, there are also hawkers between the lines. Some sell magazines, others sell stretchy polyester clothes. A couple have music and English tapes, although fakes don't seem to available on this route. But my favorite item is the one I saw late one afternoon, heading back to Qianmen for one last round of drinks with the hostel crew. An old man, dressed in a cheap black suit, held out a small cage. Inside when a striped grey and white cat, not more than six weeks old.
"Cat?" he said, and pushed the cage toward me. I passed.
I wonder if these hawkers factored into the creation of the world's best subway list. After all, where else can you acquire a household pet during your commute?
