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Getting Lost in Beijing

It was a typical Wednesday commute to the Beijing This Month Publications office. As I stood at my bus stop, I took in the scene, the sight, the smells of China's capital. There were blaring recorded warnings as buses approached my stop; horns were honked in traffic as irritated drivers pounded their steering wheels. In each passing bus attendants barked instructions like "Wang li zou," (move inside) to passengers. Outside, cyclists survived innumerable "near misses" in the traffic, swerving to avoid determined cars and buses.

When my bus arrived at 8 a.m., I struggled with the others crowding into the Te 5 bus, lucky to find a second-level seat. Relying on my memory of the sights around my bus stops, because of my poor ability to speak and read Chinese, I waited to disembark at the right stop.

As usual, I got off at the stop that has a KFC and a McDonalds nearby and began waiting for the 822 bus, the one I've always used, because it drops me off right in front of the residential street that leads to Beijing This Month. But, despite waiting for about 20 minutes, the bus never showed. Thinking I might have erred in getting off at the wrong stop, I checked the bus routes to make sure the 822 stopped there, but none of the signs at the bus stop said "822." Had I made a mistake? I got back on the next Te 5 bus to look for my stop. I rode the bus for a few more stops until it arrived at its terminus and I was told to, "Xiache" (get off). 

By this time I was confused and starting to get flustered, because I was supposed to be at the office at 9:30 a.m. and it was already 9:15 a.m. So I interrupted a taxi driver, who had been talking with some other fellows, and showed him a piece of paper with the name of my transfer stop written on it, including the bus number I was seeking. He immediately told me to get into his cab; he would take me to where I needed to go. But, to my surprise, I realized the cabbie also had no idea where I needed to go, despite his stopping and asking three different people. I got out of the taxi. My head was throbbing; now, I had no idea where I was and had paid 40 kuai to a taxi driver to get there. 

So I decided to return to my original stop, the McDonalds and KFC stop, and ask someone there to help me. After getting on and off the Te 5 for the third time in an hour, I tried to use my first-year Chinese to ask the bus-stop attendant where I could find the bus I wanted. After exchanging "Wo bu ming bai's" (I don't understand.) and "Shenme qiche keyi wo yong?" (Which bus can I take?), she finally understood what I was trying to ask and informed me that my memory had not failed me. In fact, the 822 bus no longer travelled along the route I was used to and had been replaced by two other buses.

After allowing the nice Chinese bus stop attendant to push me onto the right bus, I settled down for the ride and thought about this unforeseen challenge. Of all the situations I fear, getting lost in a foreign country where I don't speak the language has to be at the top of my list. I never thought anything like this would happen. Perhaps I should not have been, but I was surprised at how many Beijingers had tried to help me that morning: five people in total, within an hour. I thought about how in the United States many people might not even have stopped to help because they are so busy and focused on their tasks at hand or simply don't want to "get involved." Had it been me on the opposite end, would I know what to tell a person, especially if they didn’t speak the same language as mine?

I now figure out which buses to take by asking a few more Beijingers; this has helped me conquer my fear of getting lost in Beijing. Although my Chinese isn't much better, despite months of study, I know that I can rely on Beijingers to help me find my way.