This post is long, far longer than I prefer to write. However, it deals with a relatively traumatic, and I think quite humorous series of bike accidents that have forever changed my perspective on Chinese pedestrians.
Most Chinese people do not look when they cross the street. This has long been a curiosity for me, something that I have accepted as incomprensible, yet interesting and rather entertaining. What is going through these people's minds, I wonder? How do they survive for so many years when cars go whizzing within inches of them everyday? And how do they maintain that blank look when staring death in the face?
This weekend that curiousity has been downgraded to some degree of anger. No longer can I smile when somebody nearly walks casually into the path of my bike without looking. As I was riding back into town from a thrilling ride in the Kunming's eastern mountains, an old lady suddenly stepped into the road right in front of my bike. With no warning whatsoever, I applied the brakes sharply, causing me to skid out. I nearly stopped time, but it wasn't to be as I rose up over top of my bike and slammed into the poor lady's back. She never saw what hit her till we were sprawled out together on the warm asphault.
As it turned out, the lady received a small scratch on her face and possibly a bruise on her knee. The only other visible sign of physical harm were two large dollar signs that lit up her eyes at the sight of a foreigner on an expensive mountain bike. As it turns out, the symptoms of this affliction are all too common in China, where pedestrians know instinctively to fake a serious injury and put on spectacular acting performances in order to realize a favorable financial settlement. I have been forewarned about this habit, and many have told me that if at all possible, most Chinese will just keep on riding whenever they believe themselves to be at fault in an accident.
The pathetic sight of this old lady was too much to bear however. My conscience would not let me ride off without trying to help her. Damn conscience! So along with two friends I walked the lady to the nearest hospital. That's right, she walked without any problem for about 2 kilometers. Then her son, who had been called to the scene shortly after the accident, realized that it wouldn't look good for her to arrive on foot, so he came with a scooter to carry her the last 100 meters into the facility.
This is where things got really interesting, as the woman and her son insist that they not go to this hospital, but would rather go to another one further away. Ridiculous, I said. If she needs to see a doctor, she should do it as fast as possible right here at this hospital. Eventually they agreed, but when we got near the front door, the son suddenly mysteriously disappeared into a side door. Meanwhile the elderly woman refused to enter without him.
If she needed medical treatment, as she insisted she did, why wouldn't she go inside, I asked? Confused with her attitude, I went inside to speak with the doctors, who said they were prepared to look at her. Several minutes later, the son reappeared from the side door of the hospital and we all entered together. Suddenly the doctor I had just spoken with a few minutes before was unavailable and now we were told "there are no doctors, its a holiday." It was not a holiday, it was a Thursday afternoon during a regular working week. Something strange here and I don't like it.
There is another hospital a few blocks down the road, the son told us. So we proceeded on to see if we could finally get a doctor to put some alcohol on her scratches, kiss her knees and set us on our way. Of course, the queesy feeling in my stomach told me that things would not be this easy.
Arriving at the next hospital, about a quarter mile down the road, we were soon being yelled at by a security guard who turned out to be the lady's daughter. So this is why they wanted to come to this hospital. I knew immediately I was about to get ripped off. But at this point there wasn't much I could do except sit back and observe the shady system of accident liability and hospital procedures. Determined to make it an entertaining and enlightening experience, I maintained a joyous smile as the lady's daughter layed on her verbal assault.
Within a few minutes, a large crowd had gathered to watch this spectacle. I can't blame them, as there was almost no where I would rather be myself at that time. A pain the ass, to be certain, but honestly, where else could I see firsthand the crooked, twisted system that rewards a woman for such a blatantly stupid move as stepping into a busy street without looking for traffic. She was lucky there wasn't a truck. In fact, that helpless, miserable look on her face merely disguised a deep inner sense that she had really hit the jackpot.
My German friend Bernhard said it best, "Her great great grandchildren are going to still be talking about the day their ancestor was clobbered by a foreigner on a bicycle, and how on that day the family's fortune changed forever for the better."
Despite the pressure applied by a crowd of partisan Chinese onlookers, the two of us remained relatively up beat about the scenario. After all, this lady had walked in front of my bike leaving me no chance to stop at all. It wasn't my fault I insisted. The daughter asked, "She wouldn't have fallen down on her own, would she?" My curt response that I wouldn't have fallen down either didn't go over too well.
And throughout all this arguing over who was at fault, the little old lady just sat steadfastly. Refusing to go inside the hospital to get any kind of treatment until she was certain that I would settle up and pay her bill.
Soon the cops had arrived. Lazy cops, these. They didn't ask any questions of Bernhard or I, the only witnesses besides the lady herself (who, in fact, could hardly be called a witness at all since her back was turned to the accident!). They were quite content to get all the information they needed from the lady's daughter, who of course was working at this hospital when the incident occurred. "This foreigner was riding like crazy, not being careful and hit this poor old lady, " was the version I heard her tell the police. Of course I objected, noting that she wasn't present. But it mattered little to the police.
"It is your fault," they told me. "She is an old lady. You know, in China, if you hit an old person, it is your fault." This seemed ridiculous to me, so I fished for more information. "It is usually that way," I got, as they dodged any specifics about the law in China. At this point I resigned myself to the fact that I was going to half to pay for this lady's medical bills, but felt reassured knowing that treatment of a scratch on the face shouldn't cost more than about $10 in China.
Within a few minutes, two more police officers had arrived. I could tell as they drove in that these were higher ranking officers because on seeing their car pull up, the two cops already on the scene immediately took out a clip board and began asking me for my information. This was comical, to say the least. The new officers had seen enough Hollywood blockbusters to know that when you arrive on a crime scene you should wear the sweetest sunglasses available while remaining cooly aloof toward all inferior officers. They pulled off the role perfectly.
By this time, the lady finally went inside to get some medical treatment and I stayed outside trying to make some sense of the situation with the officers. Now at least I got a more clear answer from these cops, who apparently had read whatever traffic law does exist in this country. If you hit a pedestrian, it is your fault. It doesn't matter if she steps in front of your bike into the road when there is a perfectly good sidewalk. The fact that she is old is important, but it is your fault regardless of her age.
"Show me your passport," the highest ranking officer said from behind his dark sunglasses.
"I don't have it," I replied.
"Why not?" he asked in a very confused, almost shocked tone.
"Well, I was just riding my bicycle through the mountains over there, and I didn't want it to get damaged."
"You know that you must carry your passport at all times by law."
"No, I never heard that."
"It is the law. Now call somebody to get your passport for you right away."
"I'm afraid that won't be possible, as its in my apartment and I have the only key right here."
"Okay, well, we are going to have to confiscate your bike as evidence."
"Evidence of what?" I ask, suddenly angered by the thought of losing my beloved mountain bike forever to these corrupt police officers.
"Evidence of the accident."
"But there is no damage to the bike. What will you inspect?"
"We will need to run some tests on it to determine what happened."
Now the stress was mounting, but in my determination to save my bike, I strung together the best Chinese explanation of logic that I could muster: "Sir, I have told you what happened. I hit this lady with my bike. If you find evidence of damage on the bike, the most you can do is learn that, yes, in fact this bike was involved in a collision. You won't have learned anything!"
"I am sorry, but it is required by law that we take any bike involved in an accident."
Handing me a clipboard, he asked me sign a form with about 800 Chinese characters I could not recognize.
At this point, I realized I was in way over my head. Fortunately, a Chinese friend's dad is a lawyer here in Kunming, so I got Jia Jia on the phone and begged her to send him out. It took a long time due to traffic, but eventually she came herself and spoke with the police on my behalf, relaying messages to her father by phone.
The verdict: It was indeed my fault. I will have to pay her medical bill. Go inside and see what's going on with the lady in the hospital. Upon entering, we discover the lady's been put on an IV, and has this ridiculously huge patch covering the entire left side of her face, completely obscuring one eye. This was so absurd, I could barely contain myself--not with anger, but with disbelief and a certain sense of the humor of it all.
The doctor, who we later discovered was her son-in-law, said that she could not walk. It didn't matter to him that she had walked for more than a mile after the accident. Were there any witnesses to this, he asks. Yes, I was there and so was she. But she of course lied and said she couldn't walk at all and my word means nothing in this country.
So at this point four hours have passed and I am ready to go home. I get the bill, $30 so far, and borrow money from my friend to pay for it. We get out of there, all of us still smiling, and I'm told by several of my Chinese friends who had arrived to help that if this ever happens again, I should just keep on riding.
In order to get my bike back, I'm told, I will have to meet with the victims family at the police station the next day and reach a mutually satisfactory settlement. This will be interesting. They are going to come after me for all they can get out of this.
Labels: china, China traffic
