Saturday, June 3, 2006

There's the rub

An old woman on the bus today wouldn't stop rubbing me. And its not as if I was wearing my soft old "scrubbed denim" jeans that (I thought) made the old men want to rub my thighs.

I was just crossing the road when I saw the bus approaching - it would be nice not to have to wait around in the oppressive heat for a bus this morning. But, of course, ten o'clock on a Saturday morning is a busy time, and the bus that lurched to a halt in front of me was packed to the doors. Even though it was a 'K' bus (air-conditioned, supposedly) the warm breath of the multitude aboard nearly forced me back down the steep stairs as I pressed my plastic IC card against the reader and reached for a handhold. The driver revved the engine and jerked the bus into motion once more over the uneven surface of Jiang Kang Lu. I tried to smile back at the staring faces, though I hardly know why I bother.

A lady and her small daughter sharing one of the high inward-facing seats near the front slid down off their perch, preparing to exit by the front door at the next stop, and an elderly woman and a middle-aged one indicated the spare seat between them to me. As smoothly and gracefully as I could muster on the bouncing bus (ie, not very) I dragged myself over, slid my backpack onto my lap, and clambered up onto the seat.

The old woman on my left was obviously extremely pleased to see ... touch ... rub me. She chattered happily - I didn't understand a word - all the time rubbing her gnarled old hands up and down my arm and side. She paid no attention to my repeated "ting bu dong" -ing. ("I don't understand", for those of you in places where you know what people are saying to you ...). I'm not even entirely sure she was speaking Mandarin, a lot of local people like to carry on in their own "Wuxi Hua" local dialect.

I gently patted her on the leg, and told her I am from "Ao da li ya" (Oz), and the woman on my right was concerned that maybe the old woman or the rest of the bus hadn't heard it, so she announced in a loud coarse voice that I was from Oz. They then proceeded to loudly discuss me. I set my face in a bland smile and stared out the window ... The old woman got off at the next stop. Maybe that was what she was trying to tell me.

Breaking all the rules

Last week I was on a bus ...

The driver was crazier and angrier than any I've seen for a while. Usually I am amazed at the lack of road rage, at what these drivers just put up with from other motorists - overseas he would at least be yelling and using finger gestures. But this driver had really had enough, and he started yelling at some idiot woman in a little green car who was stuck at an angle between two lanes, fiddling with her mobile phone. It was so dramatic and unusual, and he looked a little embarrassed after, I almost burst out laughing.

The bus stopped at the next stop, the one before mine, and a frail-looking elderly lady staggered on, aided by her middle-aged son. Seeing there were no other empty seats, and knowing I was about to get off, I stood up and went to the back door, indicating to the old lady she could have my seat. Well! I must have put a wrinkle in the space-time continuum and upset the laws of nature, because there was such a fuss. The driver actually got up out of his seat and came back and started shifting people around. He wanted the old lady in a seat occupied by a younger person - I guess I was the wrong person to give her my seat - and the son to be seated very close to her. Meanwhile a loud discussion broke out among the people toward the back of the bus, who (as far as I could tell) were trying to explain that I really only got up because I wanted to get off the bus ... OK Time to use that bland facial expression again.

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