Beijing
Travel Guide for Backpacker:
McDonald in Beijing
We jogged to a McDonald's restaurant next door, and, thinking of
lunch, entered through the door. Getting inside was a challenge.
People were seemed to be stalled on the stairway, and, once we had
made it to the second floor, humanity was tucked virtually
everywhere. We pushed, as politely as possible, to what appeared to
be an empty table far back on the streetside, and plopped our bags
underneath. While Katarena and Enrique returned to the swollen crowd
in front of the cashiers to order food, I thought I might be able to
round-up a few chairs to go with our vacant table. I should not have
been surprised to see the chairs appear, along with occupants, who
apparently made excellent use of them--not only did it make the
table useless for us,
but also made it easier for
them to sit
and wait for their
food. I didn't squabble about the table; they had the chairs, and
had sat down, shifting our bags to a vertical stack and then
leisurely enjoying their long awaited meal.
They knew to whom the bags belonged, and
I think it was a repeat of our Swift(less) Ferryboat from Dublin to
Holyhead: “Sorry, mate, but satchels don't mean the same as bodies.”
It was
obvious to me that they knew the only
other two well-traveled gringos belonged to me, who had just started
to wait to order food. They knew they had ample time to finish their
own meal before relinquishing the table to us. They knew, all right,
and as soon as my children arrived with lunch, they vacated, giving
us the table and both chairs. I still stood, half-sitting on the
window sill as rain
slowly moved down the glass.
We ate our small sandwiches and, as soon
as we rose with our packs, another pair descended upon our table
with the same eagerness as we had. We slowly pushed our way through
the crowd and down the stairs, out into the light rain. There, we
were analyzing our my transcribed hostel information, comparing it
to our Lonely Planet China guide, and not making much sense out of
either. I figured they may be too much out of date, but a woman
approached us and, in fluent English, explained that we had come in
on an “express” bus that didn't stop anywhere close to where we
wanted to go.
“However,”
she explained, “this map (in LP China) is accurate. You need to go
back along Chang'an Jie to the subway, then go to Dongsishitiao
stop. From there you can take another bus to the Great Dragon Hotel,
and find your hostel. I can take you, no problem.”
There was a problem. I did not want to
pay for this specialized escort service, particularly after I had
read in the LP book about students who attached themselves to
foreigners for a variety of reasons, then expect reimbursement.
“No, thank you, you've given us all the
direction we need.” I replied, and we were off, walking across the
busy street filled with buses, cars, trucks, and bicycles. Lots of
bicycles, but not as many as I had thought, certainly less than in
Amsterdam. All the same, it was still a full street.
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