I am a Dog.
Trip Start
Dec 2007
1
40
41
Trip End
Aug 2008
Beijing,
China
Monday, March 17, 2008
You would think finding a bicycle in Beijing would be very easy, and it is...do a degree. You see, everywhere you look, you'll find bicycle shops. In fact, on just about every corner of the city there is a grisly old bicycle repairman. He has a pump and patch kits, and a rolling repair shop with nuts, bolts, chains and anything else related to the bicycle family of vehicles. There he will sit all day, everyday, just in case somebody rolls by with a flat or a broken chain. No, it is not the availability of bicycles, it is the ability to purchase a bicycle that is my problem. I take a few minutes as I stroll about my immediate neighborhood to stick my head into the various bike shops on my street. There are big bikes, and small bikes. There are huge Mountain bikes with 20-something gears and tiny little bikes with 5 inch wheels. There are folding bikes and even disassembling bicycles that can be broken down to 4 small parts and can placed in a briefcase, so you can carry your bike on the subway, or into your office, like an old school businessman with a case full of briefs.
There are plenty of bicycles, but strangely no one really wants to sell me one. I wander around looking at bikes, as the only person in the shop, and no one approaches me. I sit on bikes...I squeeze hand brakes...spin pedals backwards...and sometimes I even pedal around the store. No one moves a muscle. I grab a business card as I leave, smile at the shopkeeper and go next door to the next bike shop...where I find the same thing. Finally I go to a very big mega-super department store. This is the store I told you about previously, the Costco on Steroids, with a two story grocery store in the basement...topped with 4 more stories of everything from washing machines to toothpaste. Here they have at least 25 different brands of bikes...Kids bikes, three wheeled bikes, and even motorized bikes. I want a bike, and I figure this is my best bet. I walk through the multiple rows of the every possible combination of gears and tires and handlebars and brake pads and paint jobs. There are bright pink bikes with flowers and wicker baskets, and there are red, black and silver racing bikes with stripes and scary sounding names.
I pick out a bike that looks nice and make eye contact with a young salesman. He steps up to me, and begins speaking furiously in Chinese. I smile and point at the bike...He talks again. I don't understand, but I try to get the price by pretending to write on an imaginary piece of paper with an equally imaginary pen. He talks again rapidly and points at me a couple times. I point at the bike and he escalates his screaming and then hops on to the left side of a bicycle near-by, pushes off with his free foot and coasts to the opposite side of the bike area. I stand there in bewilderment. My guy starts working on the bike and I am forgotten. I try several other sales assistants and they speak, more like scream at me breifly, and move along.
I finally realize that I have become a dog. Just as the family dog wants to participate in the activity around them, they don't understand what is happening. When the dog inquires about the situation with a well timed bark or nose nudge, they are spoken to in a language they don't understand, and they are expected to know what to do. Just like a dog I have learned a couple words to help. The dog might learn, "Sit, Stay, Heel, or Car" that's about it. I might learn, "Nie Hou (Hello), Directions, and a couple restaurant items, that's about it. Just like the dog, my needs are only a minor distraction for the others in the room. The dog may want go out...I might want to buy a bike, either way it is a major pain in the ass for the people who are in charge. And soon, just like the poor puppy, I'm outside with my tail between my legs trying to figure out why I can't get what I want. Perhaps I'll do what I can to make them notice me, like taking a large dump in the middle of the living room on the really expensive 18th Century Oriental Carpet.
