On Friday I drove in China for the first time. I walked out of the subway near the 4th ring road and my translator and a driver showed up in a nicely kept Jinbei. I put on my aviators, hopped in the drivers seat and shifted into first. The thing drove like the VW van I had in Hawaii 10 years ago and infatuation quickly become love. I like how I can lean over the steering wheel, how I’m elevated and can see across the landscape. I like how there is no power steering (though for another $1000 one can have upgrade) and how while rolling over a speed bump my head almost hits the ceiling. I can feel the road. It’s comparable to using a Leica (though the front end of a Leica, the lens, is arguably much more beautiful and undeniably practical): Unforgiving and basic, but pure. There are no bells and whistles, no anti-lock brakes or air bags and you must be on constant alert for drivers who may have never passed a driving test but were successful at paying somebody off.
We drove out to the factory, which makes wood and steel furniture for a company in Denmark. Bam, an idea came to mind when I saw some of the furniture laying around the factory. Might there be a way, if I buy a Jimbei on Monday, to have this factory custom build a bed and drawer configuration after I remove the seats? And might they also agree to build a steel safe and drill it into the body of the Jimbei so any curious and daring thief would not be able to remove the computer and camera equipment worth 3 times the Jinbei retail price? I hit the drawing board as I thought of the beloved Jinbei:

After lunch we spoke with a crowd of workers and discussed constructing this seemingly basic but suddenly complicated design. “The police will not let you drive through Beijing with that thing inside.” “If you buy the Jinbei with no side windows you might be ok.” “We use mostly particle board here so we’ll have to order more plywood.” “There must be several layers between the wood and metal, with foam, to prevent the equipment from bouncing around.” My simple idea became an engineering confounder for NASA scientists. After the head worker and I took measurements we discussed where the steel box would be placed. I thought the rear end would be ideal, or the side door area, so photo equipment is easily accessible. He thought behind the drivers seat would be better and safer and made the smart observation that anything heavy placed in the back of a Jinbei might go through the roof (or the floor, for that matter). Eventually I successfully made the case for placing the steel box close to the side door, inside the wooden rectangular case.
The head worker said it would take a week to build but that if we met the boss of the factory (who is good friends with the owner, my translators father) perhaps we could have it built in a couple of days. So we went upstairs to meet the boss. The worn, cheaply dressed and comical boss did not look like the boss I expected to see (except for the chain smoking) and later I learned he was previously a farmer who sold his land to the owner of the factory so the owner could build another factory. The boss was now a trusted friend with a knack for business and had worked his way up. We walked into his office amidst heavy conversation with a couple of Chinese buyers, one of whom spoke perfect english. They looked at the plan and the english speaking buyer said, after much deliberation in the group, that the minimum I should expect to pay would be $3000. What?! Isn’t this a Chinese factory, I thought to myself. There must be a cheaper price, especially for me as I was a friend of the owner’s daughter. The buyer explained that the factory would have to stop production on other things and create a special mold. Much time would be put into making something the factory would not be able to mass produce. I thought of other photographers and travelers who might be interested in a similar construction, maybe 3, and realized he was probably right. The head boss cracked some jokes about my expectations, the room relaxed and eventually the buyers left. Then, the translator leaned over the desk of the boss and started to negotiate. I’ve learned that negotiating in China is a way of life and, in fact, should be enjoyed. Why not enjoy something that, in China, is often inevitable if you want to get things done. The boss dangled a cigarette with two inches of ash from his weathered fingers and tenderly told the translator she was annoying but that, if given time, he would make the piece in April for 3000 RMB. I will be leaving China in April for two months and it was impossible to contain my excitement.
We left the factory and visited another making similar furniture items before driving back to the 4th ring road. While walking through this factory, we suddenly heard some loud barking towards the back. We then saw a cage with two massive Tibetan Mastiffs:

Now, this iPhone photo by no means does justice to the oversize presence of this dog. The water pale in the background is probably 2 feet wide, if that gives any scale to this dog’s lion-like size. And what a presence, I mean the thing has a mane. Some even claim, mostly Tibetan Mastiff breeders and owners (as might be expected), that Marco Polo described the Tibetan Mastiff as “tall as a donkey with a voice as powerful as that of a lion.” I guess there is a reason why they are such a status symbol in modern China, and so EXPENSIVE. As one Chinese woman, who recently spent $700,000 on an 18-month old Mastiff, put it: “Gold has a price, but this Tibetan mastiff doesn’t.” The Mastiff in the photo above comes in at a cool $150,000, but hey, would you rather have him or a nice place in Augusta, Michigan?