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I’ve been riding the subway more. I don’t know why. I’ve never before been particularly masochistic nor do I generally enjoy close physical contact with strangers. But it seems an economical way to get around the city now that every available road surface is jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive. Having spent quite a few commuting hours below ground now, I’ve started to distinguish a taxonomy of my fellow passengers, including several species which I find it best to avoid. 
Mistakes happen. No restaurant is perfect. But I judge a restaurant’s service not by their mistakes, but by how much they seem to care about fixing them when things do go wrong. 
There are many books about coming to China and about the whacky adventures of laowai as they transition from excitement to confusion to redemption. It’s a genre unto itself. But few talk about the experience with the warmth and emotion of Alan Paul’s new book Big in China. I’m a taxi guy. There is the Metro. Fast. Modern. Immune to the gridlock just a few meters above. And totally packed out. At rush hour lines 1 and 2 resemble the alimentary canals of giant man-eating tube worms after an all-you-can-eat human parts buffet. Last week I had to tell the dude standing behind me that if he got any closer, he’d have to buy me a drink first. The Beijing bus system is convenient and you’re never more than 50 meters from a stop, but they can be a tad unreliable. Twice in the past month I’ve had the driver of the Number 8 bus simply stop on the North Third Ring and announce he wasn’t going any further. I have no idea why but I’m guessing the riotous mob my fellow commuters formed ultimately beat the reason out of him. Good times! There’s always bicycle I suppose. But as a larger-sized mammal, I’ve found that my riding bikes to be far too amusing for passers-by than is perhaps good for my self-esteem or the general social harmony. A colleagues suggested I buy a car, but with the streets clogged worse than a hutong sewer, the Beijing Municipal Um, Summer Palace? Lama Temple? Temple of Heaven? I’m not saying the Beijing Municipal Government are paragons of historic preservation, but Jesus…open a f—–g copy of Fodors why don’t you? |
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Copyright © 2012 Jottings from the Granite Studio - All Rights Reserved
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