Thursday 5:15am. Five stops after it hit the road and when I boarded, there
left standing room only on the first bus to Beijing. Another three stops
later, I had to squeeze my way to the end of the aisle for enough room
for my feet and knapsack. This spot had no rails or straps. The bus
designer must have expected no one in his right mind need to stand here.
I held onto the seat to the left where a big guy in his 30s constantly
switched between sitting straight and trying to take a nap by bending
forward and resting his head on his hands. He was tall for the tiny leg
room and had to stick one leg out stoically into the aisle. It seemed
the seat had become a torturing device and he was in a pickle. I was
not. I adjusted my grip to the way he sat. My upper body accordingly
leaned one direction at a time. It would feel different were I to do it
daily but that morning, it felt a good exercise.
The woman in her 30s standing in front of me was in a tight spot
herself, literally. Pale and slender, she wore jeans and a uniform and
like the rest of the sleepless half, was staring at a screen. Twice, she
talked over the phone. "Go back to bed, son. It's still early. I'll call
you when it's time to get up." and later "You can have yesterday's
leftover for breakfast. Be good at school. I'll see if I can get off
work early today and pick you up."
I was on the trip to my alma mater in Beijing to meet a friend. I could
have car-pooled, boarded a less-jammed bus later that day, or taken up
my cousin's offer to ride in his car. But I preferred playing cheap and
going through the rush hours. I must be getting old, often trying to
prove that I could still do something.
The drive was smooth except for the last few miles and one and a half
hours and 13RMB later, we arrived at the south west corner of the
sprawling mega city. I got off and braced myself with a cup of soymilk
at a KFC for 7RMB. (It would cost 1RMB at my town's farmer's market.)
before plunging back into morning commute. After 20 years, this was the
first time I was going to take the Beijing subway.
The simple one-circle-plus-one-line underground network I knew had
exploded like fireworks into a giant web to cover an area ten times
larger. In fact, it had mushroomed into one of the largest in the world.
More than a dozen lines were added to connect every corner of the great
metroplis and, as I later found out, one conveniently ran between the
bus terminal and my university. Transfer stations had multi-level
platforms but overall the system was as easy to use. Ticket-vending
machines stood silently at the end of the stairway down, forsaken by the
locals racing directly to the checkpoint before the turnstile fare gate.
I took my time, inserted a 5RMB and got a ticket and 2RMB change back.
Security was tight. Before proceeding to the platforms, everyone was
scanned manually, as before boarding an airplane. The tracks were
covered with opennings left for the sliding doors on the train. Staff
manned the doors to keep the order in busy hours. My native land lacked
no man power. The trains were clean. It was not as crowded as I heard
and there was no cursing or jostling. I had no problem reading the map
or getting help. It took me only 30min to get to the final destination.
