The Forbidden City, in the centre of Beijing, is the largest and best preserved cluster of ancient buildings in China. Ironically named, throngs of people swarm the grounds every day. To mitigate traffic issues, as of last month one can only enter through the south entrance, and exit through the north. We did not know this, so we walked to the north side, precipitating an eventful journey to the south.
Two men with bicycle rickshaws offered to take us to the south entrance: "How much?", "Three", "Three?", "Three", holds up three fingers,holds up three fingers.
As we rode, I started to calculate how much these men earned. Three is about 50 cents; maybe 15 minutes per round trip; 2 dollars per hour? If business is steady? This seemed a bit low, but the mystery was quickly resolved.
We turned down a narrow, deserted alley and stopped. "We're here" they said. It didn't look like we were there, but I had two 5's ready, so I offered them. "No no no" they said, and took out laminated cards which showed the price as being 300 (about $50). I dropped the 5's on the seat. "You said it was 3" we said. "300" one demanded, holding out three fingers and counting them "one two three", then touching his two closed knuckles "zero, zero" (think a minute about how implausible this counting scheme is).
Andrew and I had been pumping iron on the roof of the hostel the night before, and I was kind of rubbed the wrong way by the trickery and intimidation, so I decided to get a bit angry. We had a vigorous debate. These were my submissions (abridged):
"You said 3. If you wanted 300, say 300 at the start. You lied."
Eventually they gave up and left, but not before one of them spat on me, twice. This is not as bad as it sounds. When it's 35 degrees, 80% humidity, and the smog is so bad it blots out the sun, after 30 minutes outside one gets kinda gross. (We often found ourselves saying, "Did someone spill something on this table?" only to realize that it was our own putrid forearms.) So the spit was more of a gentle cooling mist than anything else. Nonetheless, it's an unfortunate habit for someone in the service industry.
At the end of the alley, a group of small children (maybe 3, 4, and 5, and a 14 year old minder) had observed the incident with interest. They were smiling when we walked passed, so we stopped and gave them Canada pins and Canadian pennies. They were really excited about this, and it was a very nice moment.
(We've hypothesized that receptiveness to and appreciation for pins and pennies is a monotonic decreasing function of income. A sad looking little boy on a crowded bus starred at us in our cab while waiting at a long red light. Andrew practically climbed out of the window to give him a pin, and he seemed very happy about this. My attempt to give a pin to a little girl in a KFC (the egg tarts are spectacular) was swiftly rebuked. Minutes later she was given a large wad of cash by her parents to make an order by herself.)
Near the south entrance, a platoon of Chinese soldiers performed marching exercises. "So that's what we're up against" said one well dressed American man to another. "Hello, and who are you? we inquired. "Chiefs of staff for a couple of US Senators, here to talk about trade and energy." (I made up a description of free trade negotiations that I'm a bit proud of: "If you scratch your back, I'll scratch mine.")
We met some Dutch girls in the ticket lineup and saw the Forbidden City together. It was very nice.
Cameron
No comments:
Post a Comment