I don't know what happened to all the intellectuals during the Cultural Revolution, but the taxi drivers in Beijing appear, to this reporter at least, to have taken over the intelligentsia. The Poli Sci department at Beijing University may disagree with that, but these icons of public opinion are one of my favorite things about living here. These rustic and charmingly simple 40-somethings (I guess that's about the average age, though some are deceptively older or younger) have an opinion on 'everything under heaven' (as it translates in Chinese) and want to talk about it with whomever is riding with them, especially if you choose to sit shotgun. It's a Beijing custom, unlike in America (though I've taken few cabs in my motherland) to sit up front if you're riding alone. To sit in the back means that you're either not in the mood for conversation or that you've got some business to take care of while going from A to B (more and more, people are choosing the latter, as I've observed that most Beijingers spend a greater part of their day on their cell phones). Now, A to B may only be 3 kilometers apart (yes, Frank and I have had to convert to the international standard) but with Beijing's unnerving traffic jams, you may have a sit-still-waiting time of 30-45 minutes, easily. That means that there's a lot of time to pass if you're like me and forget to bring a good book/CD player/Chinese study cards. I try to remember to bring something productive to do if I have to go somewhere, but oftentimes I just plain ol' enjoy shooting the bull (as it translates into Chinese, and in English as well, strangely) with my driver for that day, especially when he's friendly. I've not heard it said, but I bet that those-in-the-know would agree that if you could convince taxi drivers of something, basically you've got the whole city (or country - depending on your intended parameters) sold, too. They are China's biggest propagandists. They drive around this metropolis 18 hours a day, listening to Communist Talk Radio, of all things. <Who got them on to this?> If a cabbie has his (mainly 'his', though more and more, there are some 'hers' seen in the driver's side) radio on, you can bet which station he's tuned in to. But fear not, they have a mind of their own, too. They are well-informed of the canned answer (which are the same invariably from driver to driver), but their real opinions vary as much as the number of cab drivers in the city. Almost without exception, this is how it goes once we've flagged down a cab:
Cabbie: Where to?
Me: "X" place
Cabbie: Oh, your Chinese is so good. (Don't fall for this being a true statement - they say this to every foreigner who can say a word of Chinese) Which country are you from?
Me: Take a guess.
Cabbie: mmmm... (if I'm wearing my "Russian" hat, as I call it - it's furry and brown) Russia?
Me: No way. Guess again.
Cabbie: I don't know. I give up.
Me: Ok, I'll give you a hint. We're the greatest country in the world.
Cabbie: You don't look Chinese.
Me: I know. I'm from Xinjiang (a territory in west China whose inhbitants are more Turkish-looking).
Cabbie: Really?
Me: No. I'm Just kidding. I'm an American.
Cabbie: Ah, America. Good. Do you like it here?
Me: Yes.
Cabbie: How long have you been in China?
Me: Almost two years altogether.
Cabbie: Wow. How'd you learn Chinese so quickly?
Me: I studied in America.
Cabbie: So what do you do here in Beijing - study or work?
Me: I'm a private English teacher.
[*Note: If Frank is in the car, though, the conversation deviates from mine at this point:
Cabbie: So what do you do here in Beijing?
Frank: I'm a cab driver, too.
Cabbie: (reaction differs from driver to driver) one could be - NO, YOU'RE NOT! That's impossible! - or another common one - Hahahahahaha......... No, you're not.]
Cabbie: Ooh, that's good. How much do you make an hour?
Me: It's not my American custom to tell others things like that. (I hate telling people our price per hour when it's the amount that they make in weeks)
The conversation is not as predictable from here on. Usually 'the Iraq war' topic comes up, but it's not a guarantee, though if the ride is long enough, your chances are greater. Sometimes they want to show off (in a self-deprecating kind of way) the little English they have learned. The Aussies (there are enough of them there) must have gotten fed up with the cabbies' terrible English (or, more likely, their own inability to learn Chinese), so their government recently supplied the city's drivers with English language kits, in hopes that other Beijing 2008 Olympic-watchers won't get as frustrated as they have. Pulling out one of these kits one day, a cab driver showed me what he's been studying lately:
Driver: Where can I take you?
Passenger #1: To the Great Wall Hotel, please.
Driver: Where would you like to go?
Passenger #2: To the airport, please.
Passenger #3: Can you take me to a department store, please?
Driver: Yes, certainly. or simply, OK!
It's hilarious to hear this actually come out of their mouths, if you can imagine.
On selection -- There are three and only three flavors to choose from. The most expensive kind come in at 2.00 RMB per kilometer, but one is unlikely to find one of these high-class types anywhere other than at the grandest hotels of Beijing. 1.20 and 1.60 (RMB/km) are what we usually see scooting around. There's a minimum charge of 10 RMB for the first 3 kilometers, and the rate per kilometer raises once you've gone further than 15 kilometers. It took Frank and me, I'm ashamed to say, a long time to figure the majority of this out. After getting dooped one time by a "black cab" (an illegal, unregistered one without a meter), we started watching the meters like hawks. It's harder than it seems (of course it is, if Frank still doesn't quite get all of it)because there are about 3-4 meters within the main meter all calculating at once, depending on the cab company (or so we think).
The smaller cabs (1.20 RMB/km) are all the same make and model and color -- every one of them is a red, rinky-dink Chinese-made car. The 1.60 RMB/km are a bit more upscale (meaning: they have A/C and more room) and are French-made (go figure) and red. Inside, the driver usually has a bar encasing him (I don't know why - Beijing is one of the safest cities in the world). In the center console, you can bet there's a banged-up, clear plastic thermos filled with green tea leaves and hot water that looks quite putrid. Serving as either decoration or an insulator for the tea thermos, there's a (dirty) colorful knitted handle-type thing that their wife/daughter/mother has made for them. The smell inside the cab can often be worse than the air outside. I think that all the 1.20s should be sent back on factory recall because the exhaust pipe was installed on the inside. I don't bother putting the seat belt on anymore, unless I really want a great big dirty stripe diagonally across my torso. On the occasion that I see my driver pull his across his chest (but, of course, never actually fasten it) when he thinks he's passing a policeman, I try to as well (my late grandfather would love this about these guys). I am sure that I am the first person to give it a try it since the crash test dummy.
All taxis display a large drivers registration card and photo on the passenger's dashboard. Most of the time, the dude in the picture doesn't even come close to what you see when you peek your head over to the left and look through the bars. They must use their best 10th-grade school photo or something.
A great thing about China is that there is no tipping or sales tax. Yes, I understand the capitalist concept of tipping and taxes, but in many ways, it is nice to pay exactly the price that's on the bill. Sometimes though, I wish there was a way to reward good service here. Beijing cab drivers struggle to make ends meet. They work long hours and have little money left over after paying their monopoly bosses. They are required to pay about a set amount each month to the bossman, regardless of whether it's been a good or bad month for them. On top of that, they have to pay for gas, car maintenance, any traffic violation fines, and income tax, which leaves little that's leftover to feed Little Wang and the wife. If any of them ever got to hear about the organization of labor unions and their subsequent strikes in The States, Beijing would be crippled immediately. At least half, if not more, of the cars on the road are red cabs. I'd imagine that that concept wouldn't fare too well over here because the labor supply seems endless. Due to a limited number of posts, the cab drivers wouldn't let out a peep of dissatisfaction for fear of being easily and promptly replaced from a waiting list of countryside workers just dying to get to work in the big city.
I don't know if this is true or not, but purportedly, there are 40-60 deaths per day in this city due to car accidents. The death toll and death rate per 10,000 automobiles in China is eight times more than that in America with almost 80% being caused by improper driving. This rate is expected to only worsen by 10% every year, too. Punishment is too lenient, so the cabbies say, to deter bad drivers and coerce them to drive more carefully. I agree with the cabbies – they are the only good drivers on the road. From what I see, there are two reasons for all this road chaos: (1) there are too many cars on the road with a sticker/sign on the back of their car that reads “New Driver” (in Chinese, of course - it's the law for your first year of driving). And, (2) as the timeless joke goes, “Why couldn’t Helen Keller drive?” --- “...because she was a woman”. As bad as this joke is, most of the bad drivers here are women. <No one get offended, please.>