Ms. Wong's Wild Ride

When I was young I looked forward to our annual trip to the original Disneyland in Anaheim California, when we would have a free run of the park without tickets on General Dynamics Night. Back then the Matterhorn was considered the true “E” ticket ride, but I held out for a smaller venue located behind Cinderella’s Castle. This was “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride,” an attraction adapted from the now almost forgotten Children’s classic “The Wind in the Willows.” After a 45 minute wait you were strapped into a Model T horseless carriage and then zoomed through a maze of teetering obstacles; teapots, bookshelves, English potting sheds, before you careened out onto a road for more sideswiping action before the finale down a train tunnel and a screaming meeting with the light of an oncoming express train. The whole ride was over in 2 minutes but the adrenaline rush stayed well into Frontierland and Fantasyland.

I got a chance to relive this sensation when on Monday here in Shanghai at 10 am my wife Lingling announced to me and her parents that she was going to rent a car. Today. She had only recently received her driver’s license after passing the obligatory driving school course. But we were planning on some automobile
outing in the near future, like a family trip to one of Shanghai’s canalled ‘water towns.’ No, she wanted the car to run some office errands and to basically show off that she could drive. So before I could even organize my affairs and check that my insurance and last will were in order she arrived with her father from Shanghai Avis with a black VW Santana sedan.

We piled in and set off. We drove about 3 minutes to the
Gate of our compound, which Lingling approached at an oblique angle. Passing through we heard a loud bump and a grinding sound – “What the *%#$@?! was that!!” A little too loudly for Lingling’s liking because she immediately invited me to stay home. She had actually hit a metal post and scratched the wheel well, much to the amusement of the gate guard. We then turned into traffic.

A land full of Chinese drivers, all zooming down the YangGuo ring road, oblivious to each other, in out of lanes, no signals, here a giant dump truck carrying sludge, there a luxury Mercedes carrying a high official off to work. There is that great feeling, for a passenger, of the car being slightly adrift in the ocean. You get this
when the driver isn’t really in full control. But her dad was in the front seat giving loud directions while I was in the back with Grandma and Dario. I hoped the other drivers could see the “New Driver” sticker we placed on the window. We heard honks immediately, as Lingling had failed to turn off her left signal. I smiled at them and pointed to the sticker.

We were on a four lane highway, which required lane changes, but Lingling would slow down when it was time to change, when logic demanded one should speed up instead. Every time she tried to change the next speeding car would honk and she would retreat. No urging from me helped. “It’s O.K. if I drive slowly!” Sure, if you are driving in an empty parking lot. I just closed my eyes and grit my teeth. I remember that slogan I saw once on a Mexican long distance bus. “Dios permir mi regresan.”God permits my return.

Lingling had gotten a car with a stick shift, to prove she could drive with one. I made a mental note to keep track of how many times she stalled. I lost track after about seven. Stalling is wonderful. You try to start up at a green light and the engine conks out and the car shivers and there you are, dead in the water as traffic backs up behind how. Skilled drivers can start and accelerate simultaneously but Lingling was not one of these fine F-1 pilots. It would take about four minutes before we were underway again, all the time me praying that that no one please rear end us.

After a scenic drive over the Nanpu River bridge, complete with another slow motion lane change on the circular bridge approach, we actually reached a destination. All we had to do was park. Ahh, the lost art of parallel parking. Lingling made one approach into the slot, tried to straighten out once, and left it at a 37 degree angle with the rear of the car hanging out into the next spot. I didn’t care. I dashed off to a convenience store to get a drink and restore some chemical balance. I was alive!

We had made arrangements to meet more members of the extended family at a restaurant in a dense quarter of Lu Wan district. Dad tried to direct us down a lane filled with hand carts and street stalls and even Lingling refused. She slowly tried to edge back into traffic, watching only the cars. I watched in silent horror as a woman on our right walked into the traffic to pass a stationary trash dumpster, and Lingling actually began to, well, push her along with the car. “LINGLING YOU ARE HITTING THAT WOMAN!” The lady in question turned around, Lingling stopped, rolled down the window and apologized profusely. Here it comes, she wants some money in compensation, but amazingly she asked for none. She had, after all walked into traffic without looking but…oh at least no one was hurt.

We drove around the next day and Lingling only once nearly took the car into a retaining wall on one of her go-slow lane change attempts. But we all had to agree with her that she’d done well for her first solo driving attempt. And she had, at least by local standards. Avis didn’t notice the scratch and beside she had paid extra for collision insurance. It is the avowed goal of every nouveau richein Shanghai to have their own car, but Lingling says she doesn’t want one just yet. Hopefully by the time she does onboard computers and large rubber bumpers will take all of the excitement out of Chinese driving and you can just punch in your destination, close your eyes, and relax.