Taigu's Transit Tapestry: Third Spaces on the Move

Mar 27

In Taigu, the bus system is king. Sure, taxis and electric bikes are readily available, yet both fall noticeably short. Taxi? At least five times the price of an equidistant bus ride for an individual. Electric bike? I’d never hear the end of it from my parents if that became my go-to mode of transportation.

Each day, the lumbering blue and white vehicles amble along their customary routes, boldly marked on the front and sides with their corresponding numbers. My personal favorites? The 1, 3, and 5, of course. Looking to go to the gym? Hop on the five and you’ll be jogging on a treadmill within 20ish minutes. In desperate need of groceries? Jiajiali, a beloved supermarket nestled in the sprawling basement of a bustling shopping plaza, lies smack-dab in the middle of the 1, 3, and 5’s routes. Admittedly, I initially bumbled through a weeks-long period of trial and (much) error. With my shaky ability to recognize Mandarin characters, I found myself on various occasions aboard a bus heading the complete opposite direction down Main Street. At times, tech issues with WeChat's fare payment app left me rummaging frantically through my messy tote bag for cash as the driver awaited, thumbs twiddling at the wheel. Yet, following these small mishaps, I'd like to think I now have the routine relatively down pat:

Stand beneath the bus stop’s towering route sign and wait anywhere between 0.5 and 30 minutes for the next vehicle’s arrival.
Give the bus driver a quick wave and swipe the green QR code on your WeChat transportation app. The payment confirmation’s “ka-ching” will usher you forward.
Select your seat- choose wisely. Excluding rush hour, I usually opt for a window seat in the far right corner for unobstructed views of my favorite Main Street buildings. Keep a close eye out for the miniature pet salon nestled amongst traditional edifices.
Enjoy a ride filled with ongoing conversations amongst fellow passengers, all punctuated with the occasional communicative honk (or two) exchanged between vehicles- a mechanical conversation of their own, if you will.

Note: don’t be surprised if, while aboard, you get drawn into a conversation yourself.

Friend made while awaiting the bus (Tiffany Yuen on the right) - 12-07-23

As my first semester in Taigu progressed, witnessing and taking part in the camaraderie of the town's public transportation system (where buses operate as vehicles of both transport and community) increasingly brought to mind the notion of "third spaces". I was first introduced to this concept through many a rambling phone call with two close friends, whose love of architecture and urban planning almost always comes up by the time our conversations hit the hour-long mark.

Coined by urban sociologist Ray Oldenburg in 1989, the term “third space” refers to environments that promote social gatherings and a collective sense of community. Distinct from homes (“first spaces”) and work environments (“second spaces”), Oldenburg’s term “third space”, signifies public social settings such as bars, coffee shops, parks, etc. Emphasizing the importance of these spaces, Oldenburg noted a concerning trend, in which “life without community has produced, for many, a lifestyle consisting mainly of a home-to-work-and-back-again shuttle”. Fortunately, according to Oldenburg, this negative trajectory could be countered through "happily anticipated gatherings of individuals beyond the realms of home and work”, namely within third spaces.

Oldenburg's original premise of third spaces, created within the context of 1980s/1990s United States suburbia, could not have possibly had a 21st century Taigu in mind. Yet, with the term on my radar thanks to Leo and Thayer, I can’t help but take note of how, since moving to Taigu in September, stumbling upon particular third spaces throughout town has elicited a sense of comfort and routine in my vastly new environment. (While I’d periodically been back to China throughout childhood, my trips primarily focused on visiting my grandparents in Beijing, a dense metropolis merely 3 hours away by bullet train, yet vastly different from Taigu). I think of my frequent trips on Taigu’s buses to the comforting cat café, home to two feline friends, an undeniable cat-lover of a barista, and an eclectic collection of mugs and books, its green couches a prime place to sink into the cushions and chat; The energetic gym off of Main Street, with its usual evening crowd of runners, boxers, and powerlifters, familiar faces increasing as the weeks passed; The sprawling marble-paved plazas near Jiajiali, brought to life each evening by 阿姨 (A Yi, “auntie”) dance troops armed with boomboxes the size of a toddler. (I’ve learned the hard way that if you catch their attention through applause, they’ll expect you to join in for at least five songs). Despite their undeniable differences- it doesn’t get much more dissimilar than a gym and a cat café- these cherished third spaces have acted as pockets of familiarity and belonging, sprinkled throughout Taigu.

Clearly, Taigu is by no means lacking in Oldenburg’s conventional third spaces. Yet, harkening back to my transportation method of choice, there’s something to be said about how, in my eyes, Taigu’s buses operate almost as an intermediary third space. More than just an economic and environmentally conscious means of getting to those “conventional” third spaces, but a unique third space in it of itself, connecting home, work, and daily errands as communal spaces filled with clusters of conversation. In a “small” town like Taigu (“small” at least by China standards, with a population of about 280,000 people), it’s a regular occurrence to witness new passengers clamber up the bus’ steep steps, only to exclaim in delighted surprise upon recognizing a handful of already-seated individuals. The inverse is equally common, with seated passengers taking notice of friends and family members through the window, animatedly gesturing through the glass for them to climb aboard.

Most mornings and early afternoons, groups of 阿姨s and 叔叔s (Shu Shu, “uncle”) perch on the front five rows of seats, spiritedly swapping stories and bits of news in a way universal to most coffee shops and public park benches across the world. The constant ebb and flow of new passengers with the passage of each stop, doors opening and closing with a flourish, only adds to the ongoing camaraderie. Like leaves caught in a gust of wind, they swirl together momentarily before once more scattering out the door on an open breeze. On one occasion, I witnessed a flustered mother, arms overflowing with parcels and groceries, board the bus with a toddling four year old in tow. Preoccupied by the need to pay fare while juggling enough bags to necessitate a small cart, she took little notice of her daughter’s sudden loss of balance with the forward jolt of the bus starting. Fortunately, one of the already-seated 阿姨s anticipated the fall, swiftly scooping the child onto her lap mid-sentence. Seemingly unperturbed, the mother proceeded to take a seat next to the 阿姨s holding her daughter, before hopping into the ongoing conversation on happenings in town.

View from gym of plaza with people dancing - 10-23-23

On another occasion, seated on the 5 bus hurtling back to campus, I felt a persistent tap on my shoulder. Startled, I removed my headphones and turned towards the aisle, finding it filled by a smiling familiar face. A master’s student working part-time in the Foreign Affairs Office, the first person to greet me in Taigu, having been tasked with scooping me from the airport at an ungodly hour. For me, chancing upon her friendly face on the campus walkways has always brought about a feeling of familiarity and comfortability, her energy undeniably jovial. Yet, happening to cross paths on the 5 bus amidst the hectic bustle and chatter of rush hour, catching up for the remainder of our commute only broadened my thoughts of Taigu and its community as home, beyond the campus walls. I’ve had a number of similar encounters with my co-fellows (who would often first send me “look behind you texts” before clambering down the aisle to chat), and even a handful of my own students (who, less boldly, would send over a wave from a few rows down).

Writing this in Sabang, on the tail-end of my trip through Thailand, Vietnam, and Indonesia, I find myself looking forward to returning to Taigu. To the clamor of passengers. To the hustle and bustle of rush hour. To the occasional emergence of familiar faces from the crowded rows around me. While Oldenburg probably did not have Taigu in mind with his creation of “third spaces”, and most definitely not Taigu’s buses as “intermediary third spaces”, the town's camaraderie and sense of community undeniably flows between its plazas, cafes, and gyms through Taigu's woven tapestry of bus stops and routes. So download the WeChat transportation app, wave down a driver, and climb aboard!

Old town pottery studio tea house third space - 01-09-23

Oberlin Shansi