It's the people's disposition: 03 (UK)

I met a mainland Chinese woman through two students of mine (a married couple).

   She told me about her experience when she was a post-grad student in Nottingham.

   Being a foreigner not long in Nottingham, she wasn't familiar with the bus routes.

   When the bus arrived at the stop she was waiting at, she asked the driver if he was going to xx Road.  He said no, but he didn't leave it at that:  he went on to tell her where to catch the bus to xx Road, which was something like "go that way, turn left into xx Street, a few yards further on is the bus stop for the bus to xx Road."

   She said to me, "Not only did the driver deal politely and patiently with me, and as if I were the only passenger there and he had all the time in the world, the queue of people behind me also waited patiently and quietly, as if they had all the time in the world as well.  This wouldn't have happened in China:  the people behind would start complaining about your holding them up, or at least start to show impatience which is basically putting pressure on you and the driver to not waste any more of their time.  I was very touched by how kind everyone was -- especially to an obvious outsider."

(UK, c.2010)

The other side of the coin

I cycled for nine years in London in the 80s.  There were some hairy moments when drivers would overtake way too close, or cut in too soon — just to give two examples.  I often thought that drivers should be made to go and be cyclists for a while, just to experience it from the other side.

    A wheelchair-bound student asked me in 1992 if I could go with her to Madrid — she didn’t have the courage at the time to go on her own (she now goes all over the place totally unafraid).  She was post-beginner level in Spanish and felt that she needed to practise her Spanish more, which she thought she’d get by being there for a week.  We were both volunteers for Amnesty and they have an office in Madrid, so she decided we’d go and work there for a few days.

    It was when we were there that I was made to realise how high kerbs are.  What we take for granted, especially when we’re young and fit, suddenly is an incredible height when you’re trying to heave a wheelchair (complete with a fully-grown occupant in it) up a kerb.  Those kerbs in Madrid felt like they were at least six inches high.  And, aged 70 now, my legs and knees are also making that discovery.

    By the same token, I’m now looking, with different eyes, at women with prams getting on and off buses.

    I think everyone should go through the experience of pushing a laden wheelchair or pram on/off kerbs or other raised surfaces for a few times, so that they’d be more aware and perhaps offer more readily to help, rather than leave those people to struggle on their own. 

    (Perhaps some people will say, "Those people with prams chose to have children — it is their own choice, so they have to live with the consequences."  Fair enough, but people do not choose to be wheelchair-bound.)

    (Buses in this country do have ramps for wheelchairs.  Wheelchairs are also electric these days — in this country anyway and from what I’ve seen thus far.)