Strange Stories from Beijing

The following are two funny stories I recalled from my adventures working as a journalist in Beijing. If you would like to read more of these stories, visit my blog at paulinchina.blog.com


The Silk Market Can Be Rough

The Silk Market is a famous tourist hot spot in Beijing. If you want anything from silk, to luggage, to pearls, you can get it in the Silk Market. I was going there with a few friends from work to pick up some gifts for people back home.

As we walked through the crowded first level, hawkers tried various techniques to get us to buy things. To avert their attention, I usually go with my all time favorite, wo meiyou qian, which means “I don’t have money”. As I was dodging the stalls and crowd, one pretty young sales woman came up to me and started rubbing my stomach. I looked up at her in confusion and she said, “What is this? You have baby? Pregnant? Buy shirt, no pregnant!”

It took me a second to get over the shock of being called fat in such a creative way. I said I didn’t want anything and kept walking. A moment later, another pretty young sales woman pushed me on the chest and then punched me as hard as she could in the shoulder. I looked at her and indignantly yelled “What the hell was that for?”.

She calmly replies, “Hey you white boy, buy jeans.” I replied in angry bad Chinese, “You hit me, I won’t buy your stuff!”. She shrugged and moved on to hitting her next potential customer. I left the market that day with a bruised arm and a somewhat damaged physical self-image.



Beware the Taxi Cab Comedians

This story takes place as the photographers and I set out for the train station that would take us into Hubei Province. Though the subway was a more frequent form of transportation, we thought that for once we would splurge a little and split a cab.

Unfortunately, hailing a cab in Beijing can at times be a surprisingly difficult task. After 20 minutes of unsuccessful attempts from the sidewalks, my co-workers and I discovered that it was much more efficient to stand in the middle of the road and flail our arms desperately. Using this tactic, we were finally able to capture a taxi.

Everything seemed normal at first, the same yellow exterior, black pleather interior, and disinterested driver who mumbled to himself in an inaudible whisper. After briefly looking up the word for train in a travel translation dictionary, we were off to the the train station.

I sat in back with the Scottish photographer Yvette, while the Canadian photographer Geoffery sat in the front seat, already clicking away at the passing buildings with his camera. In between pictures Geoffery got a look at the driver and did a surprised double take. He swiveled back to us and said with eyes widened in horror, ”Holy shit, guys, he’s asleep!”

Yvette and I looked at the driver, and watched as his head nodded off to the side. Just as disconcerting was the car's sudden increase in speed. Simultaneously we all screamed “Hey!”. The cab driver woke instantly and resumed driving normally as if nothing had happened. Pausing only momentarily to wipe drool from his chin.

All three of us exchanged looks of bewilderment and shock. We then stared back at the driver. An unspoken agreement passed between the three of us, and we all went on high alert, ready to yell if he attempted sleep again. The driver just continued on, seemingly oblivious to our attention.

After a few minutes of silent patrol, we broke out into nervous chatter and tried to shrug it off as a minor scare. Just as we reclaimed some sense of saftey, however, the driver’s head slid to the side again and light snoring could be heard. Once again we yelled, while Geoffery quickly tapped him on the shoulder, and once again he calmly woke and resumed driving.

Thoroughly scared, we debated about getting another cab. The only deterrent was that we were sure that we would miss our train if we did. For two photographers and a journalist on their first major assignment, this was a fate worse than death. In the end, it was decided that we would continue keeping and eye on him, and hope for the best. Two more times our driver nodded off, and two more times we desperately woke him. At last we neared the train station, adrenaline pumping through our viens.

Just as the entry ramp came to view, the driver turned to regard us. He then, fully concious, began to fake an outrageous snore before bursting out into giggles. We sat in the car silent and perplexed for a moment.

Geoffery was the first to get it. “Damnit, He was just f!@#ing with us!” Seeing Geoffery’s indignant expression, the driver let out another bout of giggling. He then began to loudly hum Ode To Joy!

At first we exchanged angered and confused looks, but the sheer ridiculousness of the situation gave way to nervous laughter, which then gave way to an uncontrollable ruckus of laughing and a harmonious humming of Ode To Joy.

Exiting the cab with red faces and wide smiles, we paid the now friendly driver. It was an interesting start for our journey to Wudang.