It's about damn time...

Ni Hao!

Wow!  It’s been a long time since my last blog post.  Sorry! I didn't realize just how long it had been until I spoke with Lizzie on Skype this week.

While filling Liz in on a thousands details, I realized two things:

1. It has been way too long since I have written a blog.

2. I have lost perspective about my insane life here in China.  While we were chatting about my daily activities,  Liz laughed and laughed. I thought: “Holy crap!  My life here is still weird!”

Was there any doubt?

Life in China has not changed; I have.  What was once jaw-dropping is now old-hat. Old weird hat!

 Weird Chinese hat!

As a result, I feel like I have a zillion stories to tell.  Honestly, it’s overwhelming. That’s not a good feeling. My American therapist, however, would be proud. Instead of freaking out about all that I have NOT told you, I’m just going to tell you about my bike ride on Tuesday.  It made Liz laugh, and I hope it makes you laugh, too.

A bit of background:

In December, Beijing Best Friend and biking buddy, Julie, left for Denmark.  So sad!  I was lucky enough that at the exact same moment in time, longtime Cincinnati friend Ingrid was relocating to China! One in, one out.

Ingrid has quickly become my partner in China crime. Plus, she bikes!  I am so lucky!

Next week, we are headed to Cambodia for 5 days of cycling and exploring. Because of the air pollution here in Beijing, we are unprepared.

Protecting my lungs

Typical Air Quality

      

On Tuesday, though, the air was finally clear and we decided to get some miles in.

At 10 am, I gear up in lycra and ride my mountain bike to Ingrid’s.  She is all kitted out in lycra, too.  We look good. (Ok, weird!) And we match; she and I ride the same model mountain bike.  Here in China, Giant Bikes only sells one women’s bicycle big enough for us Monster LaoWai  (foreign) Women to ride. 

It’s cool.  We're cool!

Being “hip and urban,” we decide to ride our bikes downtown spur-of-the-moment. I have my iPhone, a water bottle, and a granola bar that has seen better days. (This means it is more like cereal than a bar in its foil wrapper.)  Lucas has a 4 PM orthodontist appointment.  We have nearly six hours. We are golden.

We live North of the city center; we’ll ride South.  Yes, into the heart of the city. Perhaps we both have a secret death wish.  I cannot actually explain why we were compelled to ride two high-end mountain bikes into one of the busiest cities on Earth while wearing lycra.  It’s actually inexplicable. You can’t ride fast. It’s not off road.  It’s just swarming with people and cars and more cars and more people.

It goes Ok.  I mean: maybe it wouldn’t be ok to you. But we don’t get hit by any cars.  No one spits on us.  We navigate the highway exits fairly safely.  (Yes, I said highway. When need be, we can pedal like mad! And we do pedal like mad as multiple highways merge into the bike lane with cars at high speeds!)   

Ingrid in her reading glasses, helping me navigate!

It’s not perfect.

My phone quickly runs low on battery. 

Ingrid cannot read the map without taking off her bug-eye cycling glasses and switching them out for readers.  

At one intersection, a car refuses to stop for me, but a kind Chinese pedestrian actually beats on the car hood, effectively halting traffic and saving my life. 

We stop a lot and consult Google maps at intersections.  (On Ingrid's phone, which has more battery than mine.)

We are nuts. It’s fun!  I can cycle with ease, knowing that I have my SOS international emergency health insurance card with me, the equivalent of $15, that granola bar, and plenty of time.

We decide to check out a bike store downtown.  It’s less than 20 miles.  In Cincinnati, we would be there in 90 minutes. Ya, 90 minutes.  But that’s there and this is here.

Some things to keep in mind when bicycling in Beijing:

1. In China, no one cycles faster than 5 miles an hour.  And no one expects YOU to cycle faster than 5 miles an hour.  If you break this unspoken speed limit, you are putting yourself at death’s door.  No single person in Beijing can accurately assess where you will be on the road when you cycle at a pace different than the masses, and they will hit you with their car, their body, or their car door as it opens. Thus, we cycle at 5 mph.

2. All the road signs are in Chinese. I can currently read 800 words (give or take). That is approximately 22% of the minimum characters needed to read the written language.  This means I can understand 22% of the road signs.  This slows me done by at least 78%. Thus, we often cycle at 2 mph.

3. China has great bicycling lanes! These lanes are also used as bus stops, taxi stands, parking lots, and my all-time favorite: the “Reverse Lane.” A driver comandeers the Reverse Lane when he has missed an exit or a turn and does not want to pull a U-ee.  He just drives backward. Into the bicyclists. And taxis.  And busses. And cars parked there for the hell of it. Thus, Ingrid and I are often at a dead stop—but not dead!

4. Google maps and Mao’s China do not necessarily mingle. Very often, your blue dot is half a mile west of where you actually are. It’s not so bad.  You just “calibrate.”  This works perfectly well until you are downtown and there are 500 alleyways in a half-mile range.  Thus, we rarely know where exactly we are.

This leads to the conclusion of our Tuesday biking adventure:

It is 2 pm.  We have been on the road for 4 hours. We have eaten the granola bar. We have no idea where the bike shop is. We suspect we are cycling in circles.  The Blue Dot is barely moving and we are still pedaling. Plus, I need to have Lucas at the orthodontist in two hours.  Worst of all, I am in desperate need of a coffee.

We spot a Xing Bah Ke.  That’s a Starbucks to you! And I, in all my Chinese glory, solve our problem.

I order my latte, and then with a hopeful yet desperate smile, I ask if the barista will please tell my driver where I am. She laughs but agrees. I am proud she understood my Chinese. I phone my driver so she can speak to him.

Approximate Translation of phone call with driver:

K10i:  Hi, Mr, Duan!  I in Beijing. You can please come Beijing?

Mr. D: Ok.  You located where?

K10i:  Xing Bah Ke in Chaoyang.

Mr. D: CHAOYANG? [this district is pretty far from home and fairly large]  You are where in Chaoyang?

K10i:  I no know.  Please wait moment.  Coffee worker tell you.

Mr. D: Ok.

A few seconds of rapid fire Chinese follows between barista and Saint Duan. The barista then hands me my phone, “He come. He know.”

The story is not yet over.  Ingrid and I wait for quite a while in the parking lot, eating our tomato mozzarella ciabatas, sitting on the curb in sweaty lycra.  No Mr. Duan but quite a few spectators.

It is nearly 3 pm, and I am nervous.  I have to have Lucas at the dentist SOON!  I debate whether to call Mr. Duan with my mangled Chinese. I know most of the words that I want to say, but he is most likely on the highway.  I conclude it is too dangerous for him to try to decipher what I am saying while driving a Buick mini -van in high speed traffic.

From Ingrid’s phone (my battery is beeping), I text Brad, who is in a meeting and cannot answer the phone. He texts me his admin’s phone number.  I call Amanda, the admin, whom we suspect is somehow related to Mr. Duan.

I explain the situation in very slow, very careful English.  Amanda’s P&G English is proficient, but her knowledge does not extend to the CrazyHousewifeOnABike Dialect. She agrees to touch base with my driver and phone me back. She does and she has good news: Mr. D will arrive in 20 minutes in the parking lot behind Starbucks. There is still hope for Lucas’s teeth!

Can you believe this story is not yet over?

The clock is ticking.  No Duan–Shifu. (That means Master Duan.)  Finally, my phone with 2%  battery rings.

Mr. D: I located here. You located where?

K10i: I located here. You no located here.

Mr. D: I behind Xing Bah Ke.

K10i:  I also behind Xing Bah Ke. I no see you.

Mr. D: I no see you.  I near Beijing Bank.

K10: I no see Bank Beijing.

(CRAP! Is he at the wrong Starbucks? I am turning circles in the parking lot, straining my neck, looking to the sky, wearing sweaty lycra and a biking helmet and reading the high rise signs with my 22% of Chinese words. )

Silence. Defeat.

K10i:  No have bank.  I see see guard. I ask guard.

Mr. D: OK.

At this point, I can hear doubt in Mr. Duan’s “ok.”  The Chinese can convey a lot in the 1 ½ syllables which mean OK. And I understand the doubt. The parking lot security guards are Beijingers. This means that their Mandarin sounds as if a pirate is barking out orders: AARG!  My Mandarin does not sound like this.  As a result, it is highly probable that they will not understand me. DAMMIT!  Lucas’s teeth will never be straight.

K10i:  Ok. I see Guard!

Mr. Duan answers by very slowly and very clearly enunciating each garbled word I must say.  (I know that is an oxymoron, but it’s true!)

I then repeat loudly and in the most clearly garbled manner Mr. Duan’s exact words to the guard. A close translation in English would be:  “BEIJING BARNK ISH WHARR?”

The guards point south and yell “OVERTHARR!”

Ingrid and I haul ass.  And miracle of miracles, Ahoy, Matey!  Land Ho! Captain Duan is flying the victory flag!

With love and laughter and a good dose of crazy,

Kimberijingerly

FYI: We do make it to the orthodontist on time.  And I am right: Lucas’s teeth will never be straight!