jamie doom

Editors Note: Haikou is replete with motorcycles in general and motorcycle cabs specifically. There are so many motorcycles in Haikou that the government will not issue any new motorcycle registration permits. Many motorcycle taxi drivers try to circumvent this law by getting out-of-town registrations even though they are living and driving their motorcycles in Haikou. The government responds by seizing bikes and not giving them back until they are payd a fine. It’s common to see large, flat-bed, police trucks gathering motorcycles on any given street on any given night.

The motorcycle cabbies are a unique bunch. They live a ragtag existence. Many of them have false or expired registrations. Their source of livelihood and transportation is in constant jeopardy, but you wouldn’t know it from the way they act. They gather in gangs of five or six and crowd crosswalks, sidewalks, entrances and exits. Haikou has been called one of the most cheerful and laid back cities in China, and these men are the happiest of the lot. They lounge on the narrow seats of their bikes and spend entire days telling jokes, shouting at traffic, and playfully harassing pedistrians by asking them where they are going.

Regular car taxi drivers are moody, political pundits who charge an arm and a leg. Bus drivers are down right irritable, and the busses are too slow. The bike taxi is my choice—the choice of the common man. It’s fast, exciting (no sidewalk to crowded, no ally too narrow), and is usually half the price of a normal taxi. Here are the transcripts of my exclusive interview with a motorcycle cabbie.

Doom: Hi!

Cabbie: Where are you going?

Doom: I wanted to ask you some questions about your profession. Is that OK?

Cabbie: Sure, but it will cost you fifty quai. I’m busy!

Doom: What do you mean you’re busy? You were asleep on your bike when I walked up. Look, there’s still drool on the seat. I’ll give you five quai to talk to you.

Cabbie: I can’t talk to you for less than twenty-five quai. The other bike cabbies respect me too much. They’ll ostracize me for only charging five quai. Please give me face.

Doom: That’s ridiculous. They were sticking sunflower seeds in your gas tank before you woke up.

Cabbie: OK, twenty quai is a low as I could ever go. Even that is taking a big risk. What if someone needs a bike ride to Sanya (300 K away), and I miss out because I’m talking to you. Surely you understand. Twenty RMB, and nothing lower.

Doom: This is getting too complicated. I’ll just ask the guy sitting right next to you then to talk to me.

Cabbie: OK, seven quai.

Doom: Done.

Cabbie: Before we start, want some sunflower seeds? They smell a bit like gasoline, but they should be good.

Doom: I’ve already eaten. Thanks.

Cabbie: (Laughing) You’re smart for a foreigner. You can ask your first question.

Doom: How did you become a motorcycle cabbie?

Cabbie: Well, I used to be a medical doctor. I was ok. In fact, right before I pursued my passion as a motorcycle taxi driver I was pretty close to having a special cure for that whole cancer thing.

Doom: Is green tea part of that “special cure?”

Cabbie: How did you know?

Doom: Just a guess. Anyway, you were saying…

Cabbie: Yeah, so one day I got on my motorbike because I needed to go perform an important surgery. As I was leaving the entrance of my apartment building an aquaintance of mine waved me down. He said if I gave him a ride to the bank, he would pay me 12 yuan. So we got to the bank. I of course refused the money. He’s my friend. He insisted. I refused. He insisted. I refused. He insisted. I then took his twelve yuan.

Doom: You refused three times, so it was OK…

Cabbie: Right! Then somebody, mistaking me for a cabbie, asked me to take them to the grocery store. It was on the way to the hospital, so I said sure. Five RMB.

Doom: I see where this is going. And at the grocery store?

Cabbie: Back to the bank, five yuan.

Doom: Weren’t you late to the hospital.

Cabbie: Ah, you remembered. But I didn’t. Basically, by that time I forgot I had a surgery to perform, and I was hungry. Plus I had 22 Yuan in my pocket.

Doom: Twenty RMB is a big lunch.

Cabbie: While I was hanging out drinking tea and eating, I met some other motorcycle taxi drivers who kind of took me under their wing.

Doom: So driving a taxi is more profitable than being a doctor?

Cabbie: Most days.

Doom: What do you mean?

Cabbie: Well, I only got paid once a month as a doctor.

Doom: How much?

Cabbie: 8,000 RMB.

Doom: Not bad. So how much do you make as a taxi driver?

Cabbie: Well, right now I’m making seven yuan. I might have to change it to ten yuan if you keep asking questions.

Doom: Well how much do you make in a month as a taxi driver?

Cabbie: Yeah, you are getting charged ten yuan now. Anyway, I get paid every day as taxi driver. Not just once a month.

Doom: But how much per day?

Cabbie: I don’t know. Most days maybe fifty yuan. But that’s every single day.

Doom: But that’s only 1,400 yuan a month. You are making less now.

Cabbie: No not at all. See when I was a doctor, 29 days out of the month I made zero yuan. So, per day this is better.

Doom: I see. Do you ever have any regrets?

Cabbie: They first guy I took to the bank, my friend? I wish I had charged him more. I could have got fifteen yuan for that. It was a long way across town. (wistfully) But we can’t live in the past.

Doom: Who are your influences as far as taxi drivers go?

Cabbie: I get asked that a lot. I think Wei over on Heping Lu has a nice thing going. He hangs out near the five-star hotel and gives fat foreigners ten meter rides to the restaurant for five yuan a pop. He fills up his gas tank once every two months and probably clears two hundred yuan a day easy. I also like Chen on Sun Dong. He’s experimenting with passenger peg placements as well carrying compartments on the back of his bike. Basically, I’m just out to find my own cabbie style. I want it to be what is: the best motorcycle taxi ride of your life.

Doom: So is that your philosophy as a motorcycle cabbie?

Cabbie: It’s more than that. I look at my motorcycle as my paintbrush. The streets, sidewalks, parks, and people’s feet are my canvas. It’s not just a ride, it’s a journey.

Doom: I see. What do you do when you aren’t hanging out here waiting for passengers?

Cabbie: I’m always hanging out here waiting for passengers. This isn’t just a job, man. I can’t switch this on and off randomly like Haikou does their entire power grid. I wish I could sometimes…

Doom: Any advice for young, up-and-coming bike cabbies?

Cabbie: Yeah. First, don’t come on my side of town. Find your own street. My street is Gwo Xing. Find your own. Secondly, pay attention to shock life of your motorcycle. Don’t get greedy and start taking three and four passengers at once. It will ruin your motorcycle. One per ride. Share the wealth with your friends. Thirdly, no animal passengers allowed on board. That kind of business just makes us look bad. This is a new century and new thinking. We need to leave that back in the 90’s. Fourthly, padded helmets are for girls. I have seen some people even riding around with face guards on their helmets. Sheesh, pull up your skirt and find yourself a good military helmet or a plastic hard hat to use. If this is a problem then maybe you are in the wrong profession.

Doom: What about children? Do you allow a passenger to bring a child? If so, how many?

Cabbie: I allow one child per parent. I have always been a big fan of the One Child Policy, and I don’t think motorcycles should be any different. But make sure you wedge the kid in good once you get on the bike.

Doom: Well, we are out of time. Thanks for your time.

Cabbie: No problem. That’s twenty quai.

Editors Note: This account is in no way the work of fiction, unless by fiction you mean that it didn’t happen.