Don't Take That Taxi

Each of my guides has warned me about taxis in Shanghai. Most of them are not real. I need to find the ones that have a sign on the top and a license in the window. Only take those, or my safety can’t be guaranteed.

 DON’T TAKE ANY OTHER TAXI.

 Whoops.

 I mentioned in one of my blog posts that the trains stop about 10:30 p.m., depending on the route. Last Thursday night, I found a hotel that had the Internet. Then I went to a late dinner. Then I got on the train to head home.

 It was close to 11.

 I guess I boarded the last train on Line 1. I didn’t know that.

 When I went to transfer to Line 3, which is what I take to my apartment, the entry gate was locked.

 A very slight case of panic set in.

 I have walked around much of this city. Take me to Zhongshan Park, and I am fine. The French Concession? No problem. The Old City, the Bund, Nanjing Road? Been there, done that.

 Not so at the Shanghai Railway Station. And, I forgot my map.

 Maybe more than a slight case of panic.

 I saw a man closing up a ticket window. I walked, or maybe jogged, OK, a full sprint, to the man before he left.

 “I need to get to Chifeng Lu. How do I get there?” 

He looked at me like I was speaking Chinese.

 I wish.

 I tried my best to use what I have learned of the language. “Chifeng Lu.” Yes, that was it.

 He said, “taxi.”

 “I want to walk.” I used two fingers running on my hand. Maybe that would translate.

 He looked at his map. And laughed. Really hard.

 “Too far.”

 So, I went up the steps to the street.

 Every taxi driver in Shanghai knew what I didn’t. That is why they were there waiting for me.

 I’ll give you one guess as to how I was greeted. The 6’4” American guy, carrying a really nice briefcase, a fanny pack that was probably filled with money and looking completely helpless.

 About 50 drivers rushed me.

 I held up my hand and yelled “how much?” Actually, I said it in Chinese, “duoshao qian?”

 Every driver yelled out something. Unfortunately, I don’t know my numbers. That’s when I heard one man say “fifteen.”

 I went with him.

 We walked toward his taxi, passing all the taxis that had the sign on the top and the license in the window.

 His car was a dark blue or black, small four-door sedan. Maybe a small Hyundai.

 No sign on the top.

 No license in the window.

 No way I should have gotten in.

 But, I did.

 I did what I could to increase my chances of survival. I sat in front. I kept my briefcase on my lap and I placed my hands on top of it, ready to defend myself.

 Then, he turned on Chinese music.

 I began to dance.

 And sing.

 There was no way he would try anything with me. I was crazy.

 So he sang, too. At least he knew the words.

 When we arrived at Chifeng Lu, I took out 20 kuai. He looked at me funny. “Fifty,” he said.

 Oh. I had heard wrong. Maybe this is where he robs me?

 I opened the door, placed both feet out and then put the 20 away and took out a 50.

 Next time, I’ll make my train, or at least I will find the sign on top and the license in the window.

 But, it won’t be as much fun.