Voices

Riding the wave to work

By Sam Kestenbaum (China Daily)
Updated: 2010-06-15 07:30

In the morning, I leave my apartment early and walk toward the train station, a few blocks away.

The air is cool and refreshing and for these few minutes, before the rush begins, the city is quiet.

But these moments are fleeting. Beijing starts to wake up.

One block from the train station, I'm joined by other Beijingers, stepping out of their apartments and onto the main road, all headed in the same direction.

The crowd continues to grow, more people gushing in from side streets - like tributaries forming one, surging river.

We enter the station, pay the fare and, shoulder-to-shoulder, shuffle through the turnstiles.

The platform is packed; we wait. The train that pulls into the station is also crowded - faces, hands and shoulders pressed against the windows. The doors open, a few people tumble out and we squeeze in.

A subway worker throws her head back and shouts, "stand clear!" as she shoves us into the train. Backpacks, briefcases, arms and legs barely make it clear of the closing doors.

As the train pulls out of the station, I see out the window that another surge of commuters has filed down the stairs - the crowd doesn't stop; the wave continues to roll.

As we come to a stop, our bodies sway together, backward and forward. There is no need to grip onto a handhold to steady ourselves; we're pressed so close together that there is no danger of falling over.

The doors open and we're propelled forward, off the train. I don't feel as if I'm using my legs - another force is moving me. We move like water, looking for the fastest way out of the subway station and onto the street.

Nearing the exit, I see an equally strong current of people pushing against us, coming into the station.

There should be another staircase - another building or bigger subways, I say to myself. There are too many of us, there will be a collision - we'll never make it out.

We pass on the staircase and, miraculously, merge silently. Disaster is averted.

These rivers flow daily. There are no surprises for these commuters. This is overpopulation. This is routine.

Men and women with briefcases and backpacks - migrants and businessmen, foreigners and Chinese - brush shoulders and keep moving. We are the river of commerce and industry, pouring through Beijing.

Stepping onto the street our wave, finally, crashes.

Sam Kestenbaum is a senior editor at The World of Chinese magazine.