Driving Around in Circles To Buy a Car in Beijing
When we moved here last year, we took over a 1993 Beijing Jeep Cherokee with a booming V8 engine. I felt hardcore and macho driving it, with every liver-rattling bump reaffirming that I was on a rugged, wild adventure. But we bought two minivans in the last seven years based in large part on federal safety tests, so piling our kids into the back of a 13-year-old car with rear seat belts that barely worked seemed a little odd.
After one late night, death-defying drive down the truck-crammed Jing Shun road that runs outside our compound, I told my wife Rebecca that we simply had to buy a new car. She agreed and we figured that in a few weeks we'd be driving a new vehicle. Instead, we were setting out on a several-month ordeal that left me wondering how Beijing could be adding 1,000 cars a day to its already crowded streets.
We wanted to buy a minivan that we could comfortably move around China in while also accommodating a visitor or two -- something with seven seats and two airbags -- and began exploring our options. Buicks are surprisingly popular here, the top of the minivan heap, but they are owned almost exclusively by agencies that provide cars and drivers to corporate customers. The starting on-road price (including all licensing and the hefty taxes nondiplomats must pay) is about $31,000, with top-of-the line models going for over $50,000. That was far more than we were prepared to spend for a car we only plan to have for about two years.
Jacob Paul
Alan Paul and his new minivan.
A couple of friends had purchased cars with the help of African expat "Beijing Bob," who was said to make the process quick and painless. After browsing his Beijing Car Solution Web site, I told him we were interested in a Mitsubishi Futurer, which has a starting price of just over $20,000 total as well as a confusing array of Chinese named products all grouped together. He said he would arrange for us to see them. The next day, his employee Alice called and said the dealer was "close, close. Off the 4th Ring Road." Rebecca would be coming from the office to meet us there.
The 4th Ring Road runs fairly close to our house, but it also circles Beijing and once Alice's driver got on it, we turned south and drove nearly to the other side of the city, passing at least two Mitsubishi dealers en route. After 40 minutes, we got off and drove through a maze of side streets before emerging near a string of car dealers. Oddly, rather than pulling into one of them, we parked by the side of a dirt field bisected by a metal construction fence. As I got out of the car, Rebecca called to say Mr. Dou, her office driver, was lost. This furthered my feeling of being on another planet; he never gets lost. Alice's driver took the phone and he and Mr. Dou had an animated discussion.
Meanwhile, a young woman appeared, peeling back a section of the fence to allow us through. We crossed more dirt before entering a large, unmarked hangar-like structure. Four or five vans sat in the middle, each covered with a heavy layer of dust and grime. Alice cheerfully said, "Here they are." The dusty cars represented the different models, from cheapest (manual transmission, cloth seats, no air bags) to most expensive (leather seats, dual airbags, DVD player). It was the strangest way to view new cars I could imagine.
By the time Rebecca arrived, it had started raining and the dirt field was growing muddy. We asked if we could take the top-of-the line model for a test drive. They seemed puzzled but said okay. We circled the bumpy dirt road around the large building. The car seemed okay, though I had serious reservations about the in-dash DVD player, and big questions about just what made this car, which bore a Chinese logo, a Mitsubishi. "Mitsubishi engine," Alice explained. "What about this one?" I asked, pointing to the next cheaper model. "Mitsubishi design," she said matter-of-factly.
The next stop was what Alice described as a Hyundai dealer. We drove almost an hour to reach the showroom, where they obviously had some connection with Bob, but they turned out to sell "Hindais." At least I think they did; maybe it was a joint venture with Hyundai, but the van said "JAC" and it only had one airbag, breaking the main requirement I had laid out. We returned home after spending hours literally driving around in circles, annoyed and confused and no closer to having a new car.
A few days later, I piled into my old Jeep and found a Mitsubishi dealer near my home, only to be told "mei you" ("don't have any") when I inquired about a van. The salesmen signaled to wait, then disappeared into the back. A moment later, another guy emerged. He spoke English and explained that his name was Liu and he had his own company, Expat Cars, to assist people like me. A few days later, he and I canvassed the city, looking at Volkswagens (too small), Buicks (too expensive) and Kias (surprisingly too expensive) before ending up at another "Mitsubishi-designed" dealer, where the vans were actually inside a nicely lit building. They seemed like a good choice and it was possible to get leather seats and automatic transmission without the insane dash-mounted DVD player.
For roughly the same price, we could get a used Buick and we briefly considered it before realizing it was a five-year-old Chinese-made GM product with no warranty. I called Liu and told him we wanted the "Mitsubishi" and we went back to the dealer to pick a car and settle on a price. They were asking 168,000 renminbi, or $21,000. I was suspicious that Liu couldn't get them to budge more than a few thousand; this is a country where you haggle over one-dollar socks. We asked Mr. Dou to go there and try to bargain; sure enough, he got them lower, but just a bit. We struck a deal and felt relieved to be done with it.
Figuring out how to get the dealer 160,000 renminbi shouldn't have been difficult since we had the money sitting in the bank, aware that financing was not an option since we are foreigners. I was about to learn just how na?ve I actually am about international finance. I transferred the money into a Citibank account designed for expats in which we usually only keep a small amount of cash for ATM withdrawals, then walked into a Beijing branch to transfer the money to the dealer's account. Liu was waiting to go pick up the car.
The nice people at Citi restrained their laughter and explained that I could not access my U.S. account. Tracy Tian, a bilingual bank manager who would prove to be something of a guardian angel, patiently explained that I had to open a separate renminbi account, then transfer the money. Ready to scream, I opened the account and wired in the funds.
I then had to convert it from dollars to renminbi, which can only be done at the rate of $10,000 per day. After three more trips downtown, I could finally see a light at the end of the tunnel and could only hope it was not a train. When I had 183,000 renminbi in the account I asked Tracy for a cashier's check and she looked at me as if I had inquired if she ever laid eggs. They don't really do checks in China so I had two choices -- withdrawing bags of cash, as most Chinese customers do (there is no currency larger than a 100 renminbi note), or transfer the money into the dealer's account, which I chose to do.
Mr. Liu text-messaged me the account info and I filled out the forms and waited for a confirmation-of-receipt call that never came. I had filled in a faulty, too-short number because the SMS message had been cut off. I panicked, fearing that I was the victim of an elaborate con job. Could all this time with Liu have been a complicated setup? Did I really know who he was? Tracy talked me off the ledge, assuring me the money would be returned to the account "eventually."
I didn't rest easy for two days until I got a call that the cash was back. I made a final trip to the bank, where I filled out the forms and showed my passport again, then withdrew almost 20,000 renminbi to pay taxes and licensing fees. That afternoon Mr. Liu drove our new van to the house, took the cash and returned with license plates and proof of insurance. A few days later, we drove downtown, where we met one of Rebecca's colleagues. "Nice car," he said. "But what is it?" I smiled. "Mitsubishi engine and design." I could walk outside and check the model name now but why bother? We like it, and the seatbelts work.
北京买车记
去年刚刚搬到北京时我们买了一辆二手的1993年版8缸北京吉普切诺基(Beijing Jeep Cherokee)。轰轰作响的引擎、翻江倒海般的颠簸，这让我感觉像是在野外探险，很有男子气魄。不过，我们7年来曾经买过的两辆微型客车都经过了联邦安全检测，而如今却要把孩子们放到这辆开了13年、后座的安全带都已经失灵的旧车上，这实在有些让人放心不下。
有一天深夜，我们在挤满卡车的京顺路上行驶时差点儿走进了鬼门关，之后我对妻子说，我们必须买辆新车了。她也表示赞同，于是我们开始憧憬着几周后换上新的坐骑。然而买车的过程却并没有那么惬意，我们花了好几个月才最后敲定，我真不知道在北京这样拥挤的道路上为什么汽车保有量还会每天增加1,000辆。
我们想买一辆微型客车，可以驾上它游览中国的名山大川，有时也可以载上一两位客人──有7个座位、两个安全气囊的哪种──于是我们开始物色。别克在中国的受欢迎程度令人瞠目，在微型客车市场别克可谓翘楚。不过它们几乎全部掌握在那些为企业客户服务的代理商手中。包括各类牌照费和高昂税费在内，买别克总共算下来大约要花上31,000美元，高档车型甚至要超过50,000美元。我们只打算在北京再待两年，可不想花这么多钱买车。
一些朋友已经在非洲人“Beijing Bob”的帮助下买到了车，据说Beijing Bob可以帮助大家找到捷径，减少很多麻烦。在他的Beijing Car Solution网站上浏览了一番后我告诉他我们对一款三菱风行(Mitsubishi Futurer)很感兴趣，起价20,000美元左右。他说，他会安排我们去看车。第二天，他的手下爱丽丝(Alice)给我打了电话，说经销商“很近很近。就在四环外。”于是我让我太太下班后在那里碰头。
我们家的确离四环路很近，但是四环路是环绕北京的一条环形路，爱丽丝的司机上车后我们便一直向南驶去，几乎开到了北京城的另一端，沿途还路过了至少两家三菱汽车的经销商。40分钟后，我们穿过了一片小巷子，看到了一排汽车经销商。奇怪的是，我们并没有停在任何一家经销商门前，而是停在了用金属栅栏分隔出的一片泥土地上。在我下车的时候我太太打过电话来说她的司机窦长路迷路了。这更让我感觉像是到了外星球一样；窦长路从来不迷路。爱丽丝的司机接过电话，听上去是对窦长路详细指点了一番。
就在这时，一位年轻女士走过来，她拨开栅栏，让我们进去。我们又穿过一片泥土地，来到了一处宽敞、但却未作任何标记的像飞机库一样的地方。四、五辆小客车就停在当中，每辆车都落上了厚厚的一层土。爱丽丝兴奋地说，瞧，就在那。这些盖满尘土的汽车分属不同型号，最便宜的是手动档，座席全部为布艺，没有气囊，最贵的有皮座，双气囊和DVD播放器。这是我能够想像得到的最奇怪的看车方式。
等我太太到的时候，天空已经下起了雨，道路开始变得泥泞。我们问他们是否可以试驾一下最高档的那部车。他们看上去有点为难，不过还是答应了。我们围着那个硕大的建筑物兜了一圈。汽车性能还不错，不过我对那个DVD播放器实在不敢恭维，而更大的问题是，我们不知道这辆车是哪儿来的，那上面用中文写着“三菱”。“三菱发动机，”爱丽丝解释说。我指着旁边一辆更便宜的车型问，“那么这辆呢？”“三菱的设计，”她的语气很平淡。
下一站拜访的是爱丽丝所称的现代(Hyundai)经销商。我们又开了一个小时来到了现代的展厅，他们明显与Bob存在某种关系，不过他们卖的是“组装现代”。至少我认为是这样；也许是出自现代的合资企业，不过车名叫“JAC”，只有一个安全气囊，不符合我们的基本要求。在四环路上几乎兜了一圈后，我们回到了家，精疲力尽，而且新车离我们仍然很遥远。
几天后，我开着突然发现在我的家门口就有一家三菱经销商，不过当我问及那个型号时，他们说没有。销售人员示意我等一下，然后就进了里屋。一会儿，另一位年轻人走出来。他用英文作了自我介绍，告诉我们他姓刘，拥有一家叫做Expat Cars的公司，专门为我们这类人服务。几天后，我在他的带领下又逛了一圈北京城，看了大众(Volkswagen)（太小），别克（太贵）和起亚（出奇地贵），最后选定了另外一家“三菱设计”的经销商。不过这里的展厅宽敞明亮。它们看上去还不错，有皮座椅，自动档，没有那么笨拙的DVD播放器。
以同样的价格，我们是可以买一辆二手别克的，我们犹豫了一下，最后还是觉得这种中国产、已经开了5年的二手车可能缺乏保障。我们给刘打了电话，告诉他我们就定“三菱”了。我们又回到那家经销商选车，并打算侃侃价。他们的要价是人民币168,000元，约合21,000美元。我觉得好像不太能指望刘去帮我们侃下几千美元。在中国，甚至买1美元的袜子都可以侃价。于是我们决定让窦长路试试，他果然压低了价格，不过只是一点点。成交，终于可以松一口气了。
我们本以为向经销商付款不应该太麻烦，因为我们有钱存在银行里。作为外国人，我们没有融资权。但后来我才意识我对国际金融的理解是多么地天真。我把资金转到了花旗银行(Citibank)专为外派人员设计的一个帐户中，我们在这一帐户通常只保留一小部分可以在自动取款机上提取的现金。之后我走进花旗银行在北京的一家分行，打算往经销商的帐户划款。刘已经在等着提车了。
花旗银行的工作人员倒是彬彬有礼，忍住了没笑。但他们告诉我，我不能动用美国帐户。一位会讲英语的银行经理Tracy Tian耐心地解释道，我必须单独开设一个人民币帐户，之后才能划款。我就差没大喊大叫。不过我还是开了帐户，把资金转了过来。
然后我还要将美元兑成人民币，并且每天只有10,000美元的兑换限额。来来回回去了三趟，我终于看到了光明，只希望不要再有麻烦。然而当我在帐户上存足了183,000元，让Tracy帮我开一张现金支票时，她那种奇怪的神情就好像我在问她她有没有下过蛋一样。他们在中国根本不使用支票，所以只有两个选择──要么提出一大袋现金，要么转帐到经销商的帐户，我选择了后者。
刘以短信的方式告诉我他们的帐号，我填了表，然后开始等待确认电话，但电话始终未来。由于手机短信显示不完整，事实上我填的帐号是错误的，位数不够。
我开始心慌意乱，我是不是掉进了一个精心设计的陷阱？和刘的所有来往会不会都是骗局？我真的了解他吗？Tracy把我拉到了一边，向我保证钱一定会划回来的。
接下来的两天里我仍然心神不定，直到最后接到了通知我钱款已经划回的电话才放下心来。我再一次来到银行，填了表，出示护照，然后取出近20,000元准备支付牌照费和各种税费。那天下午刘把我们的新车开来，拿走了现金，将一系列牌照和保险证明交给了我。几天后我们驾车进城时遇到了我太太的一个同事。“好漂亮的车，”他称赞道。“不过这是什么牌子？”我笑了。“三菱的发动机和三菱的设计。”我完全可以去查一查这个车型的名字，不过何必还要自找麻烦呢？我们喜欢这部车，安全带也能用，这就够了。
Alan Paul
