Mincemeat in Crowded Streets

There came a time in Beijing when I no longer strolled with my mouth hanging slightly open.

Instead, I whizzed through hutongs on the gravel road, my tires dodging rocks, bricks, and dirt piles, fruit and vegetables and people, but most of all, other bikes and cars. Squeezing between pedestrians and cars took more aggressiveness than skill because freezing like a deer in the headlights would turn one into mincemeat.

Photo from: http://resources0.news.com.au/images/2008/02/20/va1237292741026/Beijing-trafficReuters-5898689.jpg

Merging into traffic, my thumb consistently placed near the bell (I loved using that thing) on my handlebar, I wound around busses and taxis, careful that other bikers passed by safely. I sped up to avoid being sideswiped or cutoff, but when I realized that I was not comfortable trying to fit three bikers between a stopped bus and oncoming vehicles, I chose the sidewalk.

Even on foot, I found myself in jams comparable to rush hour. Once, on a walk home, I chose to take the narrow path through the hutong behind my apartment. Cars and bikes constantly pursued this route despite its many obstacles, but on this particular day, I simply couldn’t walk through. An ambulance had pulled in front of someone’s residence, and all the cars on either side were stuck. Without anyone to direct traffic, the bikers and walkers had to wait while the cars took turns backing up to give the ambulance more space. If a biker had even the smallest opportunity to get through, they took it, causing even more issues. I chose to wait dangerously close to the bumper of a car, because the alternative was climbing over a pile of dirt, stone and glass.

China has traffic lights, but it seemed that most of the time, people made their own calls. I once faithfully followed an old man who held up his hand to stop an oncoming van like Moses parting the Red Sea. Ignoring the crosswalk lights, which are broken most of the time anyway, I ventured out in front of traffic, pausing in between lanes to wait for a break. It was like a real-life Frogger game, except instead of the traditional obstacles, I had to dodge elderly Chinese men equipped with Malaysian-style straw hats and sandals, pedaling bikes full of vegetables, dumplings and oil.