You Don’t Have to Take Your Clothes Off…

A quick post to whittle down the treasure chest of mini stories I have still yet to share.

In this weeks episode we’ll discuss Chinese taxis. They are cheap, dangerous and unfortunately, a must, if you actually plan to get anywhere in a reasonable amount of time. From 50p on the back of a motorbike (or 80p for a brace of passengers, the record we have seen is a kingly five pillions so far) to a point and poke journey across motorways where lane markings are the unknown relics of a system long since forgotten, a cab ride in China always has the potential to be an adventure or a nightmare, or both. As we discovered to our detriment on our first Saturday night out in the big city.

Until then our only short journeys had gone relatively smoothly but on that night there must have been a full moon perhaps (though I couldn’t confirm that as I’m still yet to see a truly clear sky.) Having been previously advised to get two taxis, from Guangzhou to Foshan and then onwards to our school, we found ourselves extremely fortunate to find a taxi driver who claimed (in Chinese) to know exactly where we were going, eliminating the taxi transfer.

Needless to say, this turned out to be a corker of a false claim. Since the journey should have taken an hour (which still only costs about 20 quid) it was past the two hour mark that we began to get a little worried. Especially as there seem to be no street lights in China and many of the main roads appear to be nothing more than dirt tracks. Journeying down such a road in the heavy darkness was disconcerting enough without the driver halting suddenly outside a small hut which appeared to have no logical purpose for being there. Our pilot for the evening jumped out to rouse the single inhabitant of said hut who stumbled out onto the highway wearing only a t-shirt to offer his sleep addled directions.

When accepting help from a man with no trousers at three in the morning you know you’re in trouble and it really did become a laugh or cry moment. We opted for the former.

Of course we lived to tell the tale and now considered ourselves hardy veterans of Chinese taxi travel. Or so we thought….

Cue Sunday and a late wake for our trip to the Chinese Walmart. Outgoing taxi: relatively painless. Though we did have to get the driver to speak to a Chinese teacher from our school on the phone. Return taxi: unanticipated disaster.

The biggest problem was just hailing a cab at all. Though they were in abundance outside the shopping mall, they either chose to ignore us completely or were stolen by more spritely potential passengers who weren’t laden down with pillows, a duvet and a fold up bicycle. Then the sky darkened, the bats littered the air above us and the whole city seemed to smell a storm coming. Bad news for acquiring a ride. Nonetheless we finally bagged one! 50 yards down the road however saw us delivered as the prey to flashing blue lights in the rear view mirror. Frantic thoughts dancing through our minds of corrupt policemen demanding passports were put at ease when the driver returned to the car and we were permitted to mosey on out of town.

Simple? Not quite.

One corner later and the car came to a halt with a bang. With smoke pouring out of the bonnet it was run for your lives time. Or at least for the one us who wasn’t wedged in the back seat because of the previously mentioned bicycle. Escape ultimately came and we were left trudging the carriageway once again while our driver tackled his vehicle with a fire extinguisher.