V 1 N. 15 How To Buy A Bicycle In Beijing

 

How to Buy a Bicycle in Beijing (1988)

George Brose

            Without a car, moving around in Beijing was possible based on one’s ability and willingness to pay foreign currency for taxis, patience, and pushiness to ride buses and subways, or with a moderate sense of adventure to use the most popular mode of transport, the bicycle.  Throughout his stay in China, Edwards depended on all of the above, but the order of importance in his list was ascending from taxi to bicycle.  To go where he wanted,  when he wanted, the bicycle was the fastest, most convenient method of moving through the city via the bike lanes of the north-south and east-west grand roads or the hutongs,  the network of small streets and alleys.  They were a remnant of the previous dynasties of China.

A Hutong Rider

            Early in Edwards' China experience,  Liu Xiao Hue had become his guide for buying a bike.  They left one weekday afternoon from in front of the university on Bus #22 and rode south for two miles on Xinjiekouwai Street.  At the university where they boarded the bus it was a wide avenue at least six lanes for cars, buses, and trucks, and a lane on each side for bicycles.  As they crossed the Second Ring Road at Deshengmenxi the street narrowed down to two lanes for everyone.  It was tree shaded and lined by old, one story buildings all lower than the walls of the Forbidden City.   In the last emperors’ time it had not been permitted to build more than one story.  It was in deference to the emperor and a way to keep people from seeing into the Imperial Palaces and places of authority.  Now many of these buildings were receiving a cosmetic upgrade.  New fronts were being added, breaking up the old architectural lines.  The grey block construction and grey tile roofs were disappearing behind brightly colored sheet metal facades, larger windows, and neon signs.  They got off the bus several blocks above Chang’an Avenue, at twenty-five lanes one of the widest in the world.  It ran east and west out of the north end of Tiananmen Square At this point Xinjiekouwai Street was now called Xidanbei Street.  On the east side of Xidanbei a flourishing used bicycle market had squeezed itself onto the sidewalk.  Sellers, all men, were gathered in small groups in front of a large bicycle repair shop.  Any bicycle parked near to one of these groups of was obviously for sale.  If you looked at one for more than a few seconds, someone would break away from his colleagues and begin touting the virtues of his particular mount.  His companions quickly followed to form an audience for the sales pitch.  If a buyer showed interest, the audience would gather  more closely siding with the buyer or the seller, and everyone seemed to be involved in the repartee between the players in the transaction.  The air was heavy with the smell of garlic shoots that came from the breathing of a hundred people gathered round the participants.

            The whole scene reminded Edwards of a gypsy horse market in northern England he had once seen in a National Geographic , except this time the currency offered was not gold sovereigns but would perhaps be Foreign Exchange Certificates, FEC, the much sought after bills that gave someone possessing them access to many foreign made products in the Friendship Stores or a variety of other uses for things like travelling abroad, bribing an administrator for an apartment, enrolling one’s child into a better school, or securing a business license.  Sellers were always willing to take a lower numerical price if, FEC were being spent.  The black market exchange rate for Renminbi  RMB or people’s money was about two for one.  Somedays it fluctuated downward a little but never lower than 1.65 to one.  He did not  really know what drove the market up or down.  Was it police pressure on the traders or true market demand hidden somewhere in the system? 

            Edwards was hoping to buy one of the famous Flying Pigeon bicycles, so popular for their sturdiness and reliability.  Most bicycles in China were still Henry Ford black, although a few colors were  starting to appear on locally manufactured bikes.  Unfortunately no Pigeons were for sale that day.  It took a good connection to buy a Flying Pigeon new.   Most brands sold new in stores tended to fall apart as the purchaser wheeled it out of the door.  They were poorly assembled by the clerks.  It normally meant a long series of visits to the street repair stands for adjustments and tightening on the bike.  For this reason there were thousands of bike repairmen and women on the streets of Beijing.  At the strictly controlled wages of workers, the bike mechanics earned as much as a medical doctor in a local hospital and on a good day even more.  This day he found a Shanghai bicycle that suited his needs.  The seller insisted that Edwards  take a test drive, and they all made jokes about whether he would return with the bicycle .  The seller said he would keep Liu Xiao Hue as a hostage until Edwards came back with the bike.

            A quick tour of the block indicated everything worked at the moment.  The bike as well as most others on the street was a design rip off of a turn of the century British Raleigh similar to the one on display in the Forbidden City.  That one had belonged to Pu Yi, the last emperor of the Qing dynasty.

            He rode the bike back to the market and dove into  the serious bargaining while the crowd regrouped around him and the seller.  They exchanged comments, through Liu Xiao Hue’s interpretations, on the qualities of the bike.  He  thought the tires were too old for the three hundred RMB the seller was asking.  The seller replied that  they were imported and would last longer than Chinese tires.  They both  hoped for the seller’s  sake that  the secret police were not listening to that statement.  He then asked the seller the age of the bike.

            The seller pushed his cap back on his head and scratched his brow, reached into the pockets of his black suit, took out a few scraps of paper, looked at them as if studying the pedigree of a thoroughbred race horse.  He looked at some of his friends and exchanged comments with the movement of his eyes, then looked back at Edwards,  and finally at Liu Xiao Hue and spoke to her.

            She blushed a little then grinned at the seller.  She turned to Edwards.  “He says.  ‘Do you ask a beautiful woman her age when you first meet her?’ “

            Edwards replied that it seemed to be all right in China to ask such questions.  She translated to the seller, and the spectators roared with laughter.  He claimed it was three years old.  Edwards said it looked more like ten.  The seller  absorbed that jab and and being a part-time t’ai chi practitioner rebutted that there were not better bicycles on the street, and age has more respect in China than in Edwards’  country.  Edwards then offered him two hundred RMB knowing that a local would not pay more than one hundred fifty, but it was also important for the seller not to lose face dealing with a foreigner.  He countered  two hundred and fifty.  Edwards then indicated that he might be able to pay in FEC bills, and the crowd surged forward again, just as the bargaining appeared ready to break down.  Finally they agreed on one hundred and twenty-five FEC which was the equivalent of two hundred and thirty RMB at the current black market rate.  Edwards  got his  bike, and the seller  got access to the outside world with foreign currency, and the crowd got its amusement.  His Chinese had not been good enough to deal in the subtleties, but Liu Xiao Hue made some of the comments clearer to him, and she seemed to be laughing with the onlookers and at their comments.  They left the informal market, Edwards pushing the bike and Liu Xiao Hue walking beside him.

            “Next time you make a big purchase, let me buy it for you by myself.  With a foreigner present, the price doubles.”  She handed him a small red, plastic card holder with a Beijing bicycle license inside.  “Foreigners are never asked for an ownership and license certificate, but Chinese are stopped regularly by the police and must have these with them.  Also, here is the key to lock it.  It has a built on lock over the rear wheel.  Don’t trust Beijingers not to steal an unlocked bike.  There are lots of stories of honesty  with foreign tourists, but notice that most people carry a large ring full of keys with them to lock all of their possessions.”

            “If you do all my shopping for me, I’ll never learn much about the Chinese.”  Edwards replied.

            “But when you overpay, by what to us is a month’s salary, it hurts us who are your friends.  And it will disgust some who are having a hard time feeding their families while you waste your money.  If you want to waste your money, you should waste it in some more practical way.”

            “If I offered to take you to a great restaurant, would I be wasting my money?” he asked in a teasing manner.

            “You might, depending on your motives.”  She tried to look stern when she said that, but she was almost laughing.  “First you must learn to ride a bicycle in Beijing traffic.  When you master that I will go with you to a restaurant that I think you might enjoy.  Now for your riding lesson.”

After note:  I had heard that with the advent of E powered cars, Beijing had turned more and more to that form of transport.  Indeed initially it did, but now the bicycle is regaining momentum.  Indeed several hundred kilometers of new bikeways are being built every year in the city.  This reading is a chapter from a book I attempted or am still attempting to write about my family's year in Beijing  August, 1988 through June, 1989 when we were evacuated after the Tiananmen Massacre.