Page 3 from: April 2013
V I E W P O I N T
Manfred Beck
Editor
After having attended ICM’s recent three-day Electronics Recycling Asia congress in
Guangzhou, me and my friend Stefan Krafzik, who
is publisher and editor of Germany’s ‘Recycling
Magazin’, decided to do some shopping and sight-
seeing before flying back to Europe later that day.
Having satisfied my love of fake watches with the
purchase of two Patek Philippe timepieces from
possibly the world’s largest wholesale market, we
strolled through the old town and stopped at a small
restaurant for a late lunch, during which we dis-
cussed everything from the recycling industry to
tastes in music and the pros and cons of marriage.
After several more beers, we noticed darkness was
slowly falling. It was already five-thirty and our
planes were leaving around eight-thirty, so we
decided to return to the hotel and pick up our lug-
gage. We settled the restaurant bill and went in
search of a taxi. It had now started to drizzle and
the street was a sea of umbrellas. And while there
are some 18 000 taxis in Guangzhou, they all
become occupied as soon as it rains.
After 45 minutes spent trying our luck in different
streets, we were getting a little worried about miss-
ing our flights. As our hotel was on the outskirts of
Guangzhou, it was too far to walk and we had no
idea what bus we could take. Just as we were about
to highjack a car, we saw a rickshaw coming towards
us. We exchanged a quick glance, nodded and
stopped the vehicle. ‘Shangri-la Hotel?’ we asked
the driver. He nodded. ‘How long will it take?’ we
asked. ‘I very fast driver,’ he said with a smile. Stefan
and I wriggled ourselves into the seat behind the
driver, which was obviously made to accommodate
two Chinese people in comfort but which was very
cramped for two full-sized Europeans.
At this point, the driver took a map out of his pock-
et and studied it for a while. ‘Shangri-la Hotel,’ I
repeated. ‘Yes, yes, I know now,’ came the answer.
He stuffed the map into his clothing and, without
looking over his shoulder, dived into the dense traf-
fic. It then dawned on us that this might be the
proverbial ride to hell – and our anxiety proved to
be justified. Our driver paid no attention to other
road users, slaloming around pedestrians, bikes,
cars, buses and motorcycles as if it was the most
natural thing in the world. When he came to a red
light at a crossing, he simply pressed on without
even bothering to look around, let alone stop. Every
time this happened, Stefan and I closed our eyes
and strengthened our grip on the seat railing.
But the worst was yet to come as the driver took a
slip-road to a very busy highway. Cars, trucks, buses
and motor bikes – our driver paid them not the
slightest heed. He rocketed his rickshaw into the
middle of the road and stayed there, riding stub-
bornly through the dense traffic. Stefan and I
thought that our final hour had arrived. I looked at
him, held out my hand and, when he gripped it,
said: ‘If we don’t survive, it was a pleasure to have
known you.’ ‘The same here,’ said Stefan, whose face
looked pale in the growing darkness.
After a few kilometres, the driver
changed lanes and we sighed with relief
as we saw the exit road. But to our sur-
prise, he passed it without slowing
down. A few hundred metres further
on, we saw another slip-road joining
the highway complete with ‘No Entry’ sign. But our
rickshaw demon either did not understand the sign
or did not care; he launched his vehicle up the slip-
road while Stefan and I watched in horror. Some
cars were seemingly heading straight at us but we
just managed to squeeze past them all with a hair’s
breadth to spare.
The roads then became quieter and, within
minutes, we reached our hotel. With trembling
voices, we thanked the driver and paid him double
for not having killed us. ‘Thank you, sirs, and see
you next time,’ he said before vanishing into the
darkness.
Next time? I’d rather miss my flight next time!
My wife Helga
loves roller-
coaster rides but
I prefer more
sedate forms of
travel. So when
me and a fellow
recycling
journalist were
running short of
time to catch our
flights out of
Guangzhou,
our choice of
transport
probably wasn’t
the wisest….
The rickshaw express
‘It was a pleasure
to have known you.’
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