The Longest First Night in China: Part 6. On the Road

It was around midnight when we left the airport, and there were only a few other people in sight. Outside, a man offered to take us into town in his unmarked “taxi.”

“Great,” I thought to myself. “From black market money changer to black market taxi. Maybe on the way we can buy some DVDs for movies that haven’t come out in theaters yet. Heck, let’s rob a bank while we’re at it!” I kept my reservations to myself and hopped in the backseat of the car. In the front seat sat a man whose face I never saw, while Xiao Mei and I shared the back with a young woman and her baby.

We sped out of the parking lot and onto the highway, and I clenched the door handle in white-knuckled terror as we plunged into the controlled chaos that passes for traffic in China. From my vantage point in the back, I stared wide-eyed as snapshots of daily life in China streamed past at lightning speed.

Our taxi vied for a place on the road in a fast-paced struggle among men and machines of every shape and size. Street merchants pushed and pulled carts piled high with vegetables, cardboard boxes, and rubbish through the middle of busy streets. We sped by mopeds and electric bicycles with only inches to spare. The yellow line dividing the road into two halves didn’t seem to have any meaning for the passenger bus barreling the wrong way down our lane. It, like every other object on the road, seemed to careen straight toward us, only to swerve aside at the last possible moment.

Noticing my death grip on the door, the driver inquired innocently, “Is driving different in your country?”

“Yes,” I responded in as natural a voice as I could muster from lungs that didn’t want to breathe. “It is slower.” The other passengers laughed.

“Driving here isn’t easy,” the driver said with a lazy chuckle. Then, leaving one hand on the wheel, he casually leaned back to get a good look at me. I could feel my heart race faster with every moment that his eyes were diverted from the road. He could probably smell my fear, but he took his time and said, “That’s why you should pay me more!” The car erupted in laughter.

What a joker. I probably would have laughed as hard as the other passengers if I hadn’t been so terrified of dying in a fiery, multi-car pileup that would leave my broken and bloodied body strewn across the road.

We made it to downtown Baoan in one piece. The driver, still reeling from his high speed antics, dropped us off on a street full of flashing lights and sped off with a laugh.