A Real Trade Off

It’s a real trade off:  taxi queue or subway coming in to the Hong Qiao Airport at 11:00PM.  The queue is comically long.  But it’s Shanghai and the Shanghainese know a thing or two about moving large amounts of people around.  They do it much better than anyone in Beijing would.  The queue moves swiftly and it is corralled about in long turns that hide what would otherwise be the painful clarity of how long it is you’ll be standing there, before you get your cab and get out. 

The alternative isn’t so bad.  The subway is right down stairs and unlike Beijing where you’d be forced to switch lines four times and walk up and down interminable stairs and hallways, it's a straight shot from the airport to the stop I’d be heading to.  Then you need to walk out into the evening of the People’s Park and promenade for about ten minutes at midnight past endless touts who accost you in grotesque English propositioning you for girls and massages. 

No.  I’ll pass on the subway tonight.  I’ve seen this queue worse than it is now.  So, how many songs was that?  Four?  Five?  Fifteen minutes?  Twenty?  Stepping into my reasonably new Shanghai taxi cab I explain the crossroads I’m heading to and he jets off.  Up in the ears, “Memia (I Am Too Broke)” the impossibly fast sound of F Kenya’s Guitar Band, from the classic Bokoor Studios in Ghana. 

These new headphones I’ve shoved up in there are pretty slick.  I can concentrate on the bass.  I don’t know this gentleman’s name but I would have loved to watch him do this.  The lines are punch perfect keeping up with the Zaireoire twinkle of the two, (or is that three?) guitars.  I’ve heard this song a gazillion times but never noticed that the title is translated there.  So that’s what he’s wailing about.  I can relate.  When I was in San Jose Costa Rica and approached by a pan handler I recalled how to say the same phrase in Spanish, taught to me by a guide, years ago in Cartegena: “I’m clean” Soy limpio, amigo.