BEIJING – The following takes place between 6:01 and 7:49 p.m.
After 20 minutes waiting for Bus 731 to arrive, I stuck out my elbow
and didn't feel bad taking the second to last seat.
I boarded the bus to save time and money. I did neither.
As preparation for the Olympics, the city has replaced thousands of
rusty diesel models with green-and-yellow models that run on natural
gas. They are painted to match the city's taxi fleet, also replaced
around the same time.
The new buses are nice, but there's a serious overcrowding problem.
Eighty people boarded with me at the first stop, and a couple dozen
piled on the next one. Two or three people got off at each stop, but
they were always replaced with twice as many new passengers. We were
packed in real tight, so tight that I couldn't stand up to pay my
ticket; I had to pass my one-yuan coin down to the ticket lady, who in
turn sent back a small piece of colored tissue paper.
I might have been six inches from four Chinese people, but I didn't
say a word. I kept my iPod earbuds on, listening to Slate's series of
"24 Podcasts, totally engrossed in an extremely complicated plot to
start a nuclear war between Russia and the United States coupled with
a hunt for five missing suitcase nukes, a treacherous vice-president
and a kiss that may or may not have been sexual harassment. "24" is so
addicting that even a podcast that merely discusses plots from the
previous week is incredibly addicting.
For my eyes there were two options: the shoulder of a man in a
yellow-and-blue striped Polo shirt, or craning my neck to see a small
patch of window behind me. I sometimes choose the latter, only to be
constantly reminded of how same-y Beijing can be. For nearly two hours
we went round and round slightly curved ten-lane roads, stopping and
inching forwarded endlessly. On the sides of the roads were mostly
medium-sized, concrete office buildings about a dozen stories tall.
Occasionally a modern glass skyscraper would poke out, sometimes a
one-story store selling "Famous Tabacco and Famous Liquor." It all
looked the same, and I couldn't tell if I was getting any closer to my
final destination.
Finally I saw the Lufthansa Center, my destination, only it was on the
other side of the road and we were already passed it. On the 20 minute
walk through the rain back to the Center, I thought about the millions
of Chinese people forced to rely on the bus system every day. My
journey from Wudaokou had only taken in half of the bus route, but yet
it was nearly two hours long. That means it takes nearly eight hours
to make one circuit on Bus 731. These people all get to their
destinations - eventually. It's hard to believe I used to complain
about a 15 minute commute I had in Albany. Many Beijingers are
spending weeks of their lives on those crowded, humid buses.
The bus ride out wasted so much time that I wound up having to taxi
back to Wudaokou, thus negating any savings of taking the bus out
there to begin with. A subway ride plus a couple short cabs to the
destination would have saved hours and money. At least I learned that
Jack Bauer manages to save the day once again.
