Saturday, 5th December, 2015
- Day 95/298
- 31%
When bad customer service threatens to lock me into a bad situation, I take matters into my own hands.
When bad customer service threatens to lock me into a bad situation, I take matters into my own hands.
Last night was a late one.
I didn’t get to bed until 4am, after finally setting up my outgoing mail server in Gmail.
When I get up, I’m already running late for my coffee date with Chelmeg. Riding to her shop takes longer than expected, as every street has a cluster of samey looking shops. Eventually I locate her family store, but only because she is standing outside.
We head off in search of a coffee. The first two shops aren’t open, so she calls a friend who recommends the cafe in the new cinema complex. The fit-out is nice and my burger looks great, but it’s cold and they don’t know how to make mochaccinos or cappuccinos. Thankfully the fries are good.
Next stop is China Mobile, to see if I can get my phone on to 4G rather than the lacklustre EDGE connection that it is currently managing.
Luckily the pregnant lady who served me yesterday is there again today. I show her my explanatory notes, E = Edge = 🙁, 4G = 🙂, but she’s a bit confused. I point at the E symbol on my phone, then at the store’s big 4G sign. She fiddles with my phone to access the appropriate settings, but after asking her workmates she comes to the conclusion that it’s not supported, despite the phone case stating Qualcomm 4G. She then inserts my SIM card into her iPhone 5S and it works as expected. For whatever reason, neither my New Zealand iPhone 5 nor my Mongolian Samsung A3 support 4G here.
Bummer. I ask her if she sells any phones that can handle 4G. She shows me a few Android options, starting from ¥ 1000 (NZD 239), which is quite expensive for me. Keen to replace my flakey iPhone 5, I ask if they sell Apple. They don’t, but her colleague walks me down the road to another shop, which does sell iPhones, for ¥ 3000-5000 (NZD 720-1200). This is well out of my price range, but I have a hard time communicating the reason that I don’t want it. It’s not because I don’t like it, it’s because I can’t afford it.
Back at the first shop, I grumpily resign myself to spending ¥ 1000, until the lady leads me to a cabinet of super cheap phones, priced from ¥ 600 (NZD 143). That’ll do! But my nano SIM won’t fit into the cheap Xiaomi Mi phone, so I have to register a new SIM card with a new phone number. Fortunately there’s no charge for this, but I do need more Yuan to pay for the phone. So my assistant enlists the help of a man, who I understand is her boyfriend. He drives all of us down to the ICBC ATM so I can withdraw more funds, then back to the shop so I can pay for the phone. What incredible service!
Next I head to a local bookshop. I want to get another map to replace the one that I left in Ulaanbaatar. One or two have Chinese-English covers, but unfortunately the flaunted bilingualism doesn’t extend past the chapter names. Navigating proves to be a fruitless endeavour and I decide that it’s just not worth it. I have 4G now, so I’ll download some good maps from the local app store instead.
Then I head to a Giant bike shop. My chain is squeaky, but the shop doesn’t sell chain oil, only Giant products!
Finally, I head to a variety shop. Looking for a solution to freezing water, I check out the cool, electronic tea flasks. But it’s just one more thing to keep charged, so I pick up a cheap ¥ 10 (NZD 2.39) neoprene bottle holder instead.
Leaving the bookshop, I do some sightseeing around town.
In the bright sunlight, playful murals jump off building walls, while suburban doorways secret themselves at the ends of long alleyways.
And in a large square, a giant musician plays a lute, dwarfing the Troll.
My stomach rumbling again, I spot a burger sign and head on over, but then I remember that my last burger sucked.
Luckily, the shop right next door has Lucky in its name. It’s a family run business and their teenage daughter Lily enjoys translating my requests and practicing her basic English on me.
I order something and am blown away when an amazing buffet comes out. It looks like Thai food, with peanuts and mint and chilli and awesome marinaded meat and noodles and a small DIY cooking element, all just for me.
Accompanied by green tea and a beer it is the perfect meal and when I’ve finished I’m happily stuffed and healthily socialised.
Heading home, I ride through some of the edgier parts of town, on a mission to track down some more energy food.
My mission is successful and I come away with both Snickers and Oreos.
It’s just another small success in a great day and I feel happily worn out. I’m looking forward to getting home and jumping on the VPN with my new 4G hotspot.
When I arrive back at the hotel, the watchman is waiting for me.
He beckons me to a side room and I wonder if I need to complete some paperwork for the authorities.
But no, the man is showing me that all my stuff is here and he’s helpfully moved me into this new room.
‘Room’ would be a generous description for the rough space that I now find myself in. Sure, it has two beds and a bathroom, but that’s where the similarity ends. Smoke and chatter pour in from adjacent rooms and it’s clear that I would sleep badly in here, if at all. Basically, it’s a shit hole.
The man takes my keys to the beautiful room and hands me keys for the shit hole.
He says that I can store my bike in the same place as before.
Yeah, okay…
And then I just decide,
Actually, no.
No. This is no good.
And I say, no. No, I want to go back to my other room. My other room is good and it’s comfortable and I like it.
So we go back to my old room. And I tell him that I want to stay here because it’s good. I like it, it’s quiet here, see? Shhhh.
He agrees. Yeah yeah yeah yeah. But, just go and sleep in your new room.
No, dude. I just don’t want to sleep in that other place.
No, you should. It’ll be ok, just go and sleep in there.
No, this is not good enough, I say. I paid you ¥ 80, in advance, for a good room, because I wanted a good room.
The man calls someone on his smartphone. Yeah, okay okay okay. You can stay. But what he’s actually saying is that I can get my stuff and go back to the shit room.
Something snaps inside me and I start yelling at him, telling him what an arsehole he is. Perhaps he couldn’t understand my English, but surely he could see how annoyed I was. I demand my money back, I’m out of here.
He gets on the phone again. Yeah, okay, I’ve found you a place to stay. Ha ha, no dude, that’s not how it works. Just give me my money.
He goes to the office and gives me my money back. Yes. Progress. Then I go back to the shit room and drag my half-packed stuff out into the carpark. This is pretty far from ideal, plus I’m dressed for the street, not for riding around in the cold countryside.
Unbelievably, the man then has the blatant audacity to hand me the business card of a hotel, his mate’s place where he wants me to stay.
The business card features a multinational handshake between two businessmen. But the pretty drawing is completely at odds with our situation.
No, dude. I don’t want anything more to do with you, or any of your dodgy mates!
I get changed in the carpark, piling on jumpers and trying my best to ensure that my evening will get better rather than worse.
On the other side of the carpark, men in suits are walking into the wing where my old room was located. It seems likely that they’re my replacements. Perhaps they booked out all of the nice rooms in advance, or the watchman is trying to find favour by shuffling the other, less important guests out of their way.
Well, I paid my ¥ 80 in advance, so that makes me important too.
Then a man turns up on a scooter. The watchman points and explains to me that I can give my bags to him. He’ll take them to my new hotel.
No. I’m not going with that guy, you dick.
The new hotel guy helpfully holds my bike up while I load it and I think this means that he understands the situation. But when I leave, he hopefully rides in front, as if to say follow me. But following him I am not.
I ride to the edge of town before pulling into a carpark.
Putting on a pair of gloves, I attach my new pogies and have a long and profane rant into Voice Memos.
It’s a shame, because that place was so awesome, but their warped idea of customer service completely ruined the experience.
Back on the bike, it’s still cold. The pogies protect my hands, but make changing gears trickier. I eat some of my new sugary treats and stop at a grocery store to buy some water. In explanation of my late exit, I say that some people here are good, but others are dicks and I’m off. The man nods and tells me that I should just ride.
It’s the best advice ever. What was I thinking, fighting to resolve that shitty situation? I’m not bound to any place. I’m not stuck in this town for 13 years at some desk job. I call the shots now and the action has to come from me.
It’s 40km to the next town and 100km to the town after that. I don’t know where I’m going to end up, perhaps I’ll have to camp tonight. But first I have to find the town exit.
It’s a bit of a bad situation, but I believe in myself.
I can do it and I can ride through the night if I have to.
Locating the exit road, I stop and turn around. A clear sky holds a few stars and the top of Sonid Youqi’s multi-coloured Eiffel Tower, which stands tall in a sea of city lights.
But I’m not going that way, I’m going forwards. With the usual shitty visibility, I dodge ice and snow in the bike lane. Passing a few turnoffs that I’m unsure about, I continue on until I reach a building. It’s decked out in red Chinese symbols, flags and neon lights, and a variety of four wheeled vehicles are parked outside.
It looks like a truck stop, but if so it’s a large one. Maybe it’s a restaurant and maybe there’s accommodation too? Or maybe I should keep going? After all, I’m tough, I can ride through the night if I need to. But while I could do that, I’m tired. And I’m still wearing street pants and my feet are getting cold.
At the very last opportunity I take a left and pull into the carpark. On closer inspection, the building looks like it’s still under construction. But I peer through the window and see lots of people seated and eating. I enter the restaurant with the sole intention of buying a hot drink and perhaps getting properly changed in the toilet.
A male staff member welcomes me, so I ask him what’s really on my mind. Is this a place where people can sleep? He says that it is, and, surprised, I decide that I will.
A room is ¥ 100 (NZD 23.94), which is more than I’d like to pay. But he takes me upstairs and shows me a warm, modern, double room. Then a cute lady comes in and recommends that I see a different room, down the hall. I comment that this one is a bit cold. She speaks a little English and agrees. Taking me to a third room, this one is the same as the second but warm. I’ll take it.
The room is brand new. So new, in fact, that the lampshade and toilet cover are still wrapped in plastic. So new, that there’s no connection for the TV. So new, even, that there are no taps in the shower! But I don’t care, it’s warm and it looks great.
I respect these guys, running the hotel. It seems like the perfect job. Providing a safe haven for people, making them feel welcome and relaxed after a long day, or in my case a short day. Providing whatever they need. Avoiding judgement and helping their clients to unload their emotional baggage, so that they can have a good night’s sleep.
I’m not sure if I could do this, but props to them for trying and succeeding, at least with me. I learn that the lady is actually a police officer by day, but works here at night to help her family out. Rather than seeing it as a burden, she seems to really enjoy it.
Heading back downstairs, the staff grab a large thermos from a long line-up, and serve me endless cups of hot tea from it. The TV is playing a martial arts movie, which has English subtitles and is quite good. The lady repeatedly asks me if I need anything, while the man at the next table hands me food and buns. Unaware of how far I’ve actually ridden, their generosity is pure and I don’t feel the need to correct them.
Sitting there, buzzing out on tea and tiredness, I’m dumbfounded and amazed at how my situation has been completely transformed. All it took was one decision, ninety minutes of riding, a few kilometres and a little over twenty dollars.
And it’s not the first time today. I could have gone to the burger joint, but I went to Lily’s family’s restaurant and had a special experience rather than a generic one. I tried to get my 4G fixed despite not speaking any Chinese, and it actually worked. And now, having had the option of staying in a scruffy hotel run by an idiot, I instead took control of my fate, endured a little pain, and am now surrounded by friendly, respectful people and able to relax again.
I feel in tune with nature’s energy. I think there’s something to be said for choosing action over anger, for not being resigned to the destiny handed to you. A lot of people are in jobs or relationships which aren’t all bad, but also aren’t all that good. They accept the inadequacies of their situation, because they feel that they can’t change it. But the slightest change might be all that is required. Shaking off negative people to empower yourself, you earn respect and project good vibes which others pick up on. You don’t have to be a cyclist touring the world, anyone has the option to change it up.
Changing your employer, telling your partner how you feel, riding your bike around the world without adequate planning. All of these decisions carry risks, but the gains outweigh the redundancy, rejection or discomfort that you may well encounter. I don’t miss my old life and I’m not freaked out by my new life in any way. My only concern is stretching my savings, so that I can keep doing this for as long as possible.