Riding public buses in China is one of the more unpleasant things one can do. Traffic in China is a nightmare. Rules seldom apply to cars and rules never apply to scooters or bikes. Pedestrians have no rights, ever, and I thank God every time I cross a street and don’t get plowed over by a taxi. And rush hour traffic, whether riding the metro or taking the bus or catching a cab downtown, is a frightening, sweaty adventure. A fight for humanity. A constant struggle to just get home. There are a lot of things to like about China, buses is not one of them.
During the week, when finishing up from work downtown at the magazine, leaving the office around 5pm, I hop the metro to get back up to the university. 5pm is a little on the early side of the rush hour spectrum, but here my journey begins. Although I’ll admit the commute is not nearly as bad as that of the commuters on Tokyo’s subways (I used to live in a city near Tokyo), where the ritual stand-in-line-and-hope-to-get-in-the-third-train-that-stops-in-front-of-you ordeal is a given and expected. A place where they have full-time shovers on hire to stand by the subway car entrances and literally push and squeeze every last ounce of person available until the door is able to fully close. Beijing is like that too, in some stations (watch this video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xG-meaGqg-M). But Shanghai isn’t that bad, for what it’s worth, at least on Line 10 heading north. I check my bag through the metal detector heading into the subway entrance, swipe my card at the gate, and plummet down the escalator to the depths of the station. Lines start at the bottom where they begin by the platform’s edge and merge in the middle, as people on opposite ends await their appropriate direction. Squeezing around the corner of the bottom of the escalator to get deeper into the waiting platform, away from the crowds, is a challenge because the people hop in line and stand defiantly, stolidly, all the way to the wall and sit there, unbudging. I often have to literally shove my way through, cursing under my breath and rolling my eyes, breaking across the lines like a game of red rover. The line standees grumble, bobble over, and pop back into place.
The subway has these plastic barriers between the platform edge and the approaching train. There are little arrows printed on the ground indicating where people should stand in line, along the edges of the door frames, and where people should be exiting the train, through the middle. These arrows have power over the people until about three seconds before the doors open up to the train. Then it’s a free for all. The lines of people on either edge of the frame smash together, completely blocking those exiting the train from getting out. There is no option but to buckle down, drop your shoulder a bit, and plow through the stampede. Upon entering the train, I clasp on to the closest anything I can get a hold of, handle dangling from the bars above or the edge of the seats, or bars in between cars. But often I can’t get a hold of anything. Twenty minutes of subway surfing later and I walk from the station to the nearest bus stop, a ten minute walk away, taking me across a shopping plaza, under a highway overpass, and to the stop in front of another shopping mall. There was a street performer today, a musician, pretty good with a guitar.
But the bus is where the real fun begins. Waiting for either the 99 or 749 and watching dozens of other buses churn by can be frustrating as I stand there contemplating the commute, counting myself lucky for not having been hit by something of vehicular stuff as I made my way to the stop. On average I wait about 5 minutes for a bus, which is not that bad. But the frequency doesn’t help. There is an actual bus stop but the hundred or so people waiting for the bus all scatter around the sidewalk and into the main street as scooters beep and zigzag their way through the crowds like Plinco chips. And because there are so many people waiting for the bus in the street, the bus, screaming in like it wants to kill everybody, has to slam on its breaks and stop near the middle of this three lane highway. But no one knows exactly where the bus will stop. So wherever it does wind up stopping, people start running alongside as it slows, hoping they’ll be one of the first to get onboard. The idea is, shove your way to the front so that you can increase your chances of getting a seat, or even of getting on at all. Sometimes the bus is so full that it doesn’t bother to stop at all. But when it does stop, all’s fair and the mad dash to the door leaves people screaming, shoving, groaning. Old women duck under my arms and kids maneuver to the front, crawling through legs. I’m always so taken with the process that I wind up getting on last. Not that I don’t try though. I push and shove with the best of them.
The last time I got on the bus, I was standing by the side entrance. Every trip on the bus winds up being about the same. The bus screams to a start, taking all onboard by surprise. When one person loses their balance and falls, they usually take three or four others down with them. And the engines are ill-prepared to deal with the driver’s demands. The scream and groan as the manual shifter pops in and out of gears, metal on metal, grinding loudly and rumbling below our feet. Stalling is frequent as cars beep in and around the motionless bus. And corners are taken at full speed, centrifugal forces throwing riders about. When the bus approaches a stop, it turns suddenly in towards the curb and the breaks are so suddenly applied that it takes every ounce of strength in my arms to keep me from falling over. Approaching my stop, I have to squeeze through the masses that congregate by the door. I yell, “我在下车了!” Wo zai xiachele! I’m getting off! And then, “啊, 对不起! 对不起!” Ah, duibuqi! Duibuqi! Ah, sorry! Sorry! As I step on people’s shoes. The bus screams to a halt, opens its back doors, and I literally jump off, through the crowd of riders, to the freedom of the street below. I land, two feet at a time, stand upright, and take a huge sigh of relief, as the bus groans to a start, metal gears grinding against other metal gears, and then excels into the traffic and away. I don’t look back.
Having gone back through this post I realize that this has been little more that the cranky ramblings of an expatriate, still seemingly maladjusted to the uniquely overwhelming population density of China and all the problems and social effects that induces. This effect, intense population density on commuters and public transportation, affects me daily. And actually, one such commute was so obnoxious I went straight back to write about it. So here it is. With that said, because I sound so cranky, I think it’s time to dial it down a tad and give credit where credit is due. In the spirit of positivity, I am also nearly equally impressed by the fortitude and skill of the bus drivers here in Shanghai, as I am shocked with their shortcomings. The fact that they go, day in and day out, without murdering people on the street, or going nuts on the bus, or plowing down scooters who themselves decide to plow down disembarking bus riders, is truly a miracle. If I got in any one of these buses and had a go of the route, I wouldn’t make it one block, I’m sure of that.
Of note, all the pictures featured here, all the casual, non-professional photos of buses and the subway, were taken during the relatively easy commute I take heading downtown, midday, to the magazine. I couldn't be bothered to try and take photos on the way back, during the mayhem of my return journey. I probably would have lost my phone in the process--and we need none of that!
By the way, what once was an idea to post every Sunday has become rather an effort to post weekly, more generally, as I’m sure you’ve noticed I’ve been missing my Sunday deadline. Sorry for that. Blame the lack of beard. You were forewarned. But things are getting busy at the same time. I have weekly presentations in my classes that require extensive time to prepare and things are getting busier at the magazine as well. I’m writing there, nearly constantly, and if not writing, then going out on fact finding missions. I went with a coworker last week, touring and exploring the different “fake” markets here in the city. And the week before that, we explored Little Tokyo’s hidden sake bars. And did I mention the spa review I wrote? And the complementary $150 spa session that accompanied the review? I’m having fun with this. But I’ll try and stick to my Sunday deadline in the future.
See you next week.
During the week, when finishing up from work downtown at the magazine, leaving the office around 5pm, I hop the metro to get back up to the university. 5pm is a little on the early side of the rush hour spectrum, but here my journey begins. Although I’ll admit the commute is not nearly as bad as that of the commuters on Tokyo’s subways (I used to live in a city near Tokyo), where the ritual stand-in-line-and-hope-to-get-in-the-third-train-that-stops-in-front-of-you ordeal is a given and expected. A place where they have full-time shovers on hire to stand by the subway car entrances and literally push and squeeze every last ounce of person available until the door is able to fully close. Beijing is like that too, in some stations (watch this video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xG-meaGqg-M). But Shanghai isn’t that bad, for what it’s worth, at least on Line 10 heading north. I check my bag through the metal detector heading into the subway entrance, swipe my card at the gate, and plummet down the escalator to the depths of the station. Lines start at the bottom where they begin by the platform’s edge and merge in the middle, as people on opposite ends await their appropriate direction. Squeezing around the corner of the bottom of the escalator to get deeper into the waiting platform, away from the crowds, is a challenge because the people hop in line and stand defiantly, stolidly, all the way to the wall and sit there, unbudging. I often have to literally shove my way through, cursing under my breath and rolling my eyes, breaking across the lines like a game of red rover. The line standees grumble, bobble over, and pop back into place.
The subway has these plastic barriers between the platform edge and the approaching train. There are little arrows printed on the ground indicating where people should stand in line, along the edges of the door frames, and where people should be exiting the train, through the middle. These arrows have power over the people until about three seconds before the doors open up to the train. Then it’s a free for all. The lines of people on either edge of the frame smash together, completely blocking those exiting the train from getting out. There is no option but to buckle down, drop your shoulder a bit, and plow through the stampede. Upon entering the train, I clasp on to the closest anything I can get a hold of, handle dangling from the bars above or the edge of the seats, or bars in between cars. But often I can’t get a hold of anything. Twenty minutes of subway surfing later and I walk from the station to the nearest bus stop, a ten minute walk away, taking me across a shopping plaza, under a highway overpass, and to the stop in front of another shopping mall. There was a street performer today, a musician, pretty good with a guitar.
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| Waiting for the bus to get to work, mid-afternoon |
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| The bus |
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| Everyone has seats, it's quite and comforable |
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| The 960, not one I can take to get to the metro |
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| Subway entrance near Fudan, at Wujiaoqiang |
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| The waiting platform in the subway |
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| On the subway |
The last time I got on the bus, I was standing by the side entrance. Every trip on the bus winds up being about the same. The bus screams to a start, taking all onboard by surprise. When one person loses their balance and falls, they usually take three or four others down with them. And the engines are ill-prepared to deal with the driver’s demands. The scream and groan as the manual shifter pops in and out of gears, metal on metal, grinding loudly and rumbling below our feet. Stalling is frequent as cars beep in and around the motionless bus. And corners are taken at full speed, centrifugal forces throwing riders about. When the bus approaches a stop, it turns suddenly in towards the curb and the breaks are so suddenly applied that it takes every ounce of strength in my arms to keep me from falling over. Approaching my stop, I have to squeeze through the masses that congregate by the door. I yell, “我在下车了!” Wo zai xiachele! I’m getting off! And then, “啊, 对不起! 对不起!” Ah, duibuqi! Duibuqi! Ah, sorry! Sorry! As I step on people’s shoes. The bus screams to a halt, opens its back doors, and I literally jump off, through the crowd of riders, to the freedom of the street below. I land, two feet at a time, stand upright, and take a huge sigh of relief, as the bus groans to a start, metal gears grinding against other metal gears, and then excels into the traffic and away. I don’t look back.
Having gone back through this post I realize that this has been little more that the cranky ramblings of an expatriate, still seemingly maladjusted to the uniquely overwhelming population density of China and all the problems and social effects that induces. This effect, intense population density on commuters and public transportation, affects me daily. And actually, one such commute was so obnoxious I went straight back to write about it. So here it is. With that said, because I sound so cranky, I think it’s time to dial it down a tad and give credit where credit is due. In the spirit of positivity, I am also nearly equally impressed by the fortitude and skill of the bus drivers here in Shanghai, as I am shocked with their shortcomings. The fact that they go, day in and day out, without murdering people on the street, or going nuts on the bus, or plowing down scooters who themselves decide to plow down disembarking bus riders, is truly a miracle. If I got in any one of these buses and had a go of the route, I wouldn’t make it one block, I’m sure of that.
Of note, all the pictures featured here, all the casual, non-professional photos of buses and the subway, were taken during the relatively easy commute I take heading downtown, midday, to the magazine. I couldn't be bothered to try and take photos on the way back, during the mayhem of my return journey. I probably would have lost my phone in the process--and we need none of that!
By the way, what once was an idea to post every Sunday has become rather an effort to post weekly, more generally, as I’m sure you’ve noticed I’ve been missing my Sunday deadline. Sorry for that. Blame the lack of beard. You were forewarned. But things are getting busy at the same time. I have weekly presentations in my classes that require extensive time to prepare and things are getting busier at the magazine as well. I’m writing there, nearly constantly, and if not writing, then going out on fact finding missions. I went with a coworker last week, touring and exploring the different “fake” markets here in the city. And the week before that, we explored Little Tokyo’s hidden sake bars. And did I mention the spa review I wrote? And the complementary $150 spa session that accompanied the review? I’m having fun with this. But I’ll try and stick to my Sunday deadline in the future.
See you next week.
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