There's no Fun in Fung Wah
One man's journey from Boston to New York, for only $15.
April 19, 2005
by One of the Ten Angry Men

“You mean the one with all the little Chinese folks? My wife took the Fung Wah twice. The first time she loved it. The second time it took her three days to recover.” An Irish gentleman sitting next to me on the 7:00 PM Acela from New York to Boston.

Travelers looking for a low cost way to travel from Boston to New York have few options. The plane is out, leaving only the Acela or Greyhound.

This was the dilemma facing me the Monday after Christmas. I needed to get to New York, but was too cheap to spend the money for the Acela, and too proud to mingle with the folks who ride the Greyhound.

But there is a third way. The Fung Wah way. Fung Wah bus lines, the famous Chinatown-to-Chinatown bus line. For the low price of only $15, I’m guaranteed to be in New York in under 4 hours. Sign me up.

I should mention it was snowing out. A lot. On the day in which a foot of snow was dropped on the Northeast, I decided to climb aboard a 6,000 pound vehicle and place my life in the hands of a 5' 4" driver newly arrived to this country from China. Theses drivers have such excellent driving reputations (really, just ask them and they'll tell you) , I figured what could go wrong?

Another bad omen: When it was announced that I was taking the Fung Wah, a cop I know came by and said "Really? You're taking the Fung Wah? They're not licensed, you know." He then stepped away and held me in awe, as if I had just told him I was going to climb Everest with only a blind arthritic man from Nepal as my sherpa.

Well, they are too licensed. It says so right on their web site, right under the part about how it was "formed 8 years ago by an experienced bus operator."

"You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy."
The entire Fung Wah bus experience was unpleasant, beginning with my arrival at South Station.

The South Station Bus Terminal, besides showcasing the cream of American traveling society (did you know they make polyester camouflage jackets in a New England foliage pattern?), also sports an impressive array of ticket counters, utilizing all the latest in space age electronic ticketing power and staffed by highly trained, pleasant gate agents whose only goal is to serve the traveling public.

Fung Wah, however, does not have a spot at the ticket counter.

Their ticket agent was instead located at Gate 13. Literally at the door to the ramp, manned by an older Chinese woman and her two teenage sons. No uniforms, not even a tacky polyester visor with Fung Wah stenciled across the brim. Just a hastily erected podium that may or may not have been stolen from a Boston Globe newspaper vendor, a book of vouchers, and a handful of cash.

After buying the ticket, I still almost got on the wrong bus, because I simply stood in a long line behind a sign that said "NY" followed by a slew of Chinese writing. This was the line for the competing Lucky Star bus lines. Who knew there were 2 buses companies going to Chinatown? (Apparently, in the Chinese alphabet a word written in green letters means something entirely different than the same word written in red letters.)

Enter the Dragon
Once I found my bus, I climbed aboard and was able to settle into the last remaining seat.

The bus was PACKED. Clientele was mostly college students loathe to spend their drug and beer money on the Acela, and Chinese travelers who opted to travel all the way to NY to see a neighborhood that looks just like the Chinatown they left behind that morning. And people like me, who know it only takes 3.5 hours to drive to NY, who have fond memories of when Coach NE ran this route 2 years ago, and who think we're so much smarter than everyone who takes the train or flies to NY.

One look around at my traveling companions and I quickly realize that if we were to run off the road, it would be at least 3 weeks before anyone reported any of these people missing. And even that initial report would probably come not from a loved one or an employer, but from a NY police department notifying MA that a sex offender relocating from here had as yet failed to register with them.

There were TV monitors on the bus, which caused some excitement among the newcomers. "Maybe there'll be a movie!" Imagine their disappointment when, 20 miles into our journey, the TV's did indeed come on, but only to play a tape of the 1986 Mahjong national tournament.

A highlight of the trip: pulling into the rest stop 1/2 way to NY, and the driver shouting "TEN MINA! YOU HAVE TEN MINA!"

A lowlight of the trip: imagine a dozen or so Chinese people suddenly sprung from the confines of a bus after 2 hours. Hint- involves lots and lots of spitting onto the sidewalk.

Welcome to New York. Now get the fuck out
Once in NY, the bus drops you right inside Chinatown. No terminal, no directions to the subway. Stepping off the bus, you're on your own, just like that poor girl in the video for Welcome to the Jungle.

Once I found a subway (7 blocks away), I had to determine if I needed to go uptown or downtown to get to Times Square/Central Park, etc. My only choices were the 6 Train or the Q Train.

As a tourist in NY, there is one thing you should never, ever do: stand in front of a subway map, suitcase in one hand, tracing a path to Manhattan along the subway lines with your other hand. So I figured out which train to take in the following manner:

I quickly remembered that Jennifer Lopez's debut album was called 'On the 6', because as everyone knows she's still Jenny From the Block, and that block was in the Bronx, so the 6 had to be the train that took her back home to the Bronx. Since I did not want to go to the Bronx- ever -that left the Q train.

Two days later, when faced with the decision of how to return to Boston, I made the safe and sensible decision. No more Fung wah for me. I instead took the Acela, happy to at last be on a safe, reliable, dependable mode of transportation

*(amended 8/22/05)