believe me good will come

(or How I spent RMB390 when I could have spent RMB16). Another only-in-China story, in the tradition of this one

[13/2/06] I awoke around 10:00am. I turned on the TV in an attempt to drown out the noise of the prostitute and her client in the room next door. There was a Jet Li movie playing. He was walking along the streets of Paris, out of place, and unable to communicate with anyone beyond some broken English. Rather prescient for the day that lay ahead of me.

I then needed to get to Changsha airport to catch my flight to Chengdu. It was now 11:30am. A bus to the airport left from the CAAC office at 12:00pm. The bus costs RMB16. One of the suspicious-looking guys that hang around bus and train stations to try and get people to go in their private taxis asked me where I was going. I told him Chengdu. I thought he then said that the bus didn’t leave for 20 minutes. In hindsight I think he as saying something about 2 kilometres, or possible 20 kilometres. Then he said something I didn’t recognise, followed by a price of RMB60. I told him the bus only cost RMB16. So I said I’d pay RMB40. He said RMB50. I didn’t really care about the RMB10 difference, as RMB50 to the airport seemed very cheap. He then took me to the long-distance bus station where I could catch a bus to Chengdu. Stupid me - those few phrases I didn’t understand were, of course, the crucial ones. I got in a real taxi and set off for the airport. Even though it was a real taxi, the driver tried bargaining. He said he didn’t want to turn the meter on, but if he did it’d cost RMB160, so he’d take me to the airport for RMB160. I didn’t believe him, so I told him he had to turn on the meter because I needed a meter receipt (I didn’t, but that line usually works). He turned on the meter, drove a little, and then stopped. Another taxi pulled up. That taxi driver was already taking another passenger to the airport. He said he’d take me to the airport, and give me a receipt, but I’d have to pay RMB160. I said RMB120. He said RMB150. I said RMB130. We agreed on RMB140. By this point I didn’t care.

We set off. I reached for my cellphone. It wasn’t in the usual jeans pocket. Strange. It wasn’t in the other pocket. *mild sense of worry* It wan’t in my coat pockets. *mild sense of panic* The driver noticed my agitation, I told him I couldn’t find my phone, he pulled over. I looked through my backpack. No. I told him I might have left it in the last taxi. He rang that driver, but the phone wasn’t there. He asked my number, so that he could ring my phone. I didn’t know my number. I never learnt my cellphone numbers. Idiot. I looked through all the books and notes in my bag to see if I’d written my number down anywhere. No. I considered ringing one of my friends whose number I did have, and then asking them what my number was. I told the driver that I didn’t know my number. My phone was on vibrate anyway, so I just said forget about it and we set off again. We drove along, I was thinking about how I should’ve just waited for the bus and how difficult the rest of my time in China was going to be without a phone. Suddenly my phone number popped into my head: 13685296131. I told the driver, he rang the number, someone answered. Turns out I had left my phone in the first car I had gotten into, the private taxi. The drivers arranged a meeting place. The private taxi guy showed up with my phone. I gave him RMB100 for his troubles (and honesty). When we finally arrived at the airport I also gave the taxi driver an extra RMB100. And I apologised profusely to the other passenger.

The trip to the airport had taken so long that I didn’t have enough time to join the massive queues to check-in. I joined the much shorter line for first-class, elderly and disabled passengers. An angry little official told me to go to the other line as this one was for first-class. I stood there looking confused, doing the whole *I don’t speak any Chinese* expression. A big security guard approached me and pointed to other line. Damn. So I showed him my ticket with the boarding time of 1305 and then showed him my watch: 1315. He took me to the front of the other line. I felt like a jerk pushing in front of everyone, but there was no time to worry about that.

Things finally calmed down when I got to the waiting lounge. I turned on my mp3 player. It’s OK by Delirious?. “It’s OK, you know I’ll live to fight another day”. Too much of a cliché. I switched tracks. Mofo by U2. “Lookin’ for the sound that’s gonna drown out the world”.

[11/2/06] I flew from Hong Kong to Changsha. I took the bus from Changsha airport to the city centre (almost all airports for Chinese cities are located at least 30 minutes drive outside the city) and then got hopelessly lost trying to find my hotel. In the end I took a taxi back to the railway station and checked into a hotel that some tout took me to. It had recently opened and it was cheap (RMB80 a night. I was paying RMB220 a night in Hong Kong).

The next day met up with Sea and a few of her friends (I met Sea last time I was in Changsha. Read about that here. And see the photos here). We hung out in Hero’s Park, and also visited Changsha’s main museum.