Beijing Bus Pass

Buses are everywhere in Beijing. They're in the bus lanes, in the car lanes, in the bike lanes. I'm actually not totally sure if any of those lanes exist specifically for any specific mode of transportation; the streets here are chaotic, spilling over the sidewalks and in constant motion. Some buses appear to be on a rail, and move through the city connected to thick wires that hang from telephone poles. This rigging system does not seem to stop the bus driver from attempting to make a left turn in front of oncoming and cross traffic. Instead, like most Beijingers behind the wheel, the driver just honks repeatedly and continues to turn.

There are 3.3 million cars on the road in Beijing--and that's only one car per every five people. The government estimates by 2020 there will be 140 million cars on Chinese roads. I can't even begin to imagine what that looks like. Below is a photograph of a traffic jam in the financial district; see the woman with a child on her bike? It looks like what might happen if I got a job parking cars and worked without my glasses on, but this is actual traffic, in motion.


So it's safe to say buses are a big part of a Beijinger's future commute. The city added about 3,000 more buses by the time the Olympics started, which raised the daily capacity for passengers from 12.5 million to 15 million. Additionally, two new subway lines and an airport rail link have been opened. The subway in Beijing is nice; clean, fast, and very crowded. The bus is just crowded.

One of my roommates is a big fan of taking the bus. In this way she reminds me of Alyssa; always trying to find the best route, bus pass in hand, while I stare blankly at the schedules and fumble for change. A bus ticket here costs 1 kuai--about 14 cents. So Maggie speaks and reads a little Chinese, and she figured out a bus route that would take us from our street to Sanlitun, an ex-pat bar/coffee/shopping part of the city. She's got a pass, which is also usable in the subway, and although it won't save you any money, you don't have to wait in line buying tickets.

Each stop has the bus number and a small queuing space marked off with spray paint, and you stand in a little line according to the bus you need. Some stops have people with battered green flags stationed at each number along the curb, and when the bus approaches they flag it down. I guess this means the buses only stop when there are people needing to get on or off.

So we get on the bus. And it feels like there are 15 million people just on my bus from Xinjiekou. People are everywhere, standing, sitting, crouching on the ground. One of the marquees listing upcoming stops is broken and it flashes over and over OOOOOAAAAEEEE. I can't even see out the window to see what street we're on because I can't get near a window. It's mostly silent, except for a young boy with thick black frames resting on his nose who's cell phone keeps ringing. He's got a Missy Elliott song as his ring tone, and every few minutes we hear, in English: all you ladies pop your pussy like this. Maggie and I laugh at this, and the people around us stare, not getting our joke.
The bus stops and starts frequently. Not only does it make it hard to stand up, it also makes what would be a fifteen minute ride into thirty tedious ones. I can only imagine what is happening in front of us: taxis trying to edge out in front, bicycles loaded down with garbage, crates of beer, or sometimes just two or three people resting on the back, one person taxi cabs the size of a Radio Flyer zooming in and out of the traffic. There are lanes on the street, but I understand it to be more of a suggestion; I've been in cabs where the driver cruised over to the opposite side of the road because it was faster. I think buses do the same.

Because the bus stops and starts so much for traffic and I can't understand the Mandarin on the intercom, it's difficult for me to tell when we've arrived at our stop. Luckily, Maggie's done it before, this bus riding business, and tugs on my jacket sleeve when we arrive near Sanlitun. We're in the back of the bus now, and we have to muscle our way through the middle of the bus to get off before the driver pulls away. It feels like we're thirty people deep and we'll never escape. On the street again, I feel like running, or skipping. Sweet, glorious air! Space to move my limbs! I take a deep breath, and start coughing. A group of boys walk by, and six or seven bicyclists are headed straight for where we stand, and I realize there's no relief from humanity in this city. Gotta keep moving.

Benjamin told me once its best to live very close to something you do daily when living in Beijing. I didn't realize what wisdom that was until I tried commuting. Because in Beijing, it's a bitch!