Peep this.

Emma came back from Singapore last night (visa issues, don’t ask)- it was late and she took a taxi back from the airport. Now Emma’s been here for a good long while so she’s not easily scared by taxi driving, but this guy was a menace.

After he’d fallen asleep at the wheel (swerving blindly through 2 lanes of traffic) for the third time she decided enough was enough. Emma complained and told him to stop- whilst gesticulating wildly that his driving was 100% safe, the taxi guy hit another couple of pedestrians, 18 traffic cones and a steam train.

Emma got out at the Maglev station and took a different taxi.

Five minutes into the journey, her leg stopped twitching, knuckles relaxed on the door handles and she realised that her suitcase was still in the boot of the first taxi. Hot Damn!

OK OK, call the taxi company- give them the name of the driver- they call the driver- driver says…

There was no luggage

There was no what pal?!
OK Let’s jog your memory- you picked up a passenger from the airport (people often have luggage there), you helped her put something large in the boot, it’s a huge red and yellow monstrosity that the Telletubbies might take on holiday, it’s got my present from Singapore in it, THERE IS LUGGAGE!

When she got home Emma was less than delighted about the situation, I suggested we call the police. The first phone call wasn’t encouraging

Why are you in China? What kind of visa do you have?

All excellent questions, but let’s concentrate on the luggage theft for now eh? A cop on a motorbike turned up quickly and upon seeing a tearful foreigner distraught about her luggage tactfully asked

Do you have some kind of psychosis?

We didn’t get a full diagnosis, but were told to go to the police station down the road where the taxi driver would turn up shortly to tell us what happened to the suitcase.

Turn up he did, 90 minutes later, with a representative from his union, some big bossman from the taxi firm, a round guy who I think was just there in case it turned nasty, and no suitcase.

The driver’s story was that when Emma got out of the car, he retrieved her case and placed it carefully on the ground next to her. Emma then just walked away from the dayglo pink suitcase, probably due to the mental illness.

Well we ummed and ahhed, argued and placated, scratched heads and shrugged shoulders, and smoked and smoked and smoked. Me and her had talked about it before getting to the station and our tactic was that we wouldn’t get involved in a shouting match (4 taxi fellas screaming Shanghainese > 2 foreigners at that game) and generally keep everything very pleasant.

After a while it became obvious that we were supposed to name a price that would make up for the lost bag:

“7,000 RMB”

says Emma.

“We’ll go and have another look for it”

say the taxi guys, choking on their cigarettes.

At around 3am, having exhausted both the search for the suitcase, and us, we settled on 5,000RMB compensation

“Some clothes in Shanghai may be cheap, but look at my shape! I have to buy foreigner shaped clothes!”

said Emma.

Handshakes all round, apologies from the taxi guys,

“Don’t let this spoil China for you!”

from the policeman and we all went home satisfied.

4:13am the phone rings- it’s the police. Someone’s handed the bag in at a police station way way north of Hongqiao thinking it might be a bomb to blow up the Maglev.

They sent a car round for us to go and pick it up. A police car. With proper flashing police lights.

It was almost worth it.

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