Lost in Beijing provokes some existential angst

I blame myself for getting into the taxi in the first place. I had written a mental note to myself the night before, reminding me to go to the ATM before heading off to work. I was distracted by my increasingly frantic search through my wallet and pockets for any notes or coins to pay the fare as we cruised along.

When that failed to rustle up the necessary readies, I began phoning friends to see if they could meet the taxi and hand me the relevant cash.

Then I spotted the meter had already turned to 30 yuan ($4.60) for what is generally an 11 yuan ride. I was in a part of the city I didn't recognize. To my bemusement, neither, it seemed, did my driver.