I’m in China now. After a tiring 16-hour trip, it’s almost amazing to me I’m safely in Xi’an.

But I didn’t come to talk about my flight. Nope, I’m here to talk about my driving trip. The one from Xianyang International Airport, which is nearby to Xi’an, to Xi’an. I’m talking about that thirty minute driving trip.

Nothing strange, you think? That’s what you know, which is just so little about me.

When I got into the car inside the airport, I thanked the driver, a friend of my dad’s sister’s husband. He told me as he drove away, “No prob. I work here, anyways, so no hassle.”

Then he began to honk his horn. On the highway.

That was strange, because there was only about five cars that I could see. I began to ask him why, but I hadn’t gone half through my word when he honked his horn on the highway again.

My mom asked him why (funny how grownups only listen to grownups, don’t you think?). He replied, “There were a few people crossing the highway, so to play it safe we—” he honked his horn, and then continued,”—honk our horn.”

I had never seen that happen before in America.

The driver continued, “But that’s not bad. In the morning, we have (honk) old grampas and old grammas that come onto the highway to exercise.”

I opened my mouth. “To exercise?”

“Yep. And that’s not the worst part of the bad part. They walk backwards on the highway and put on some music.”

“Walk backwards?”

“Yep.”

Now at this point, I’m amazed. In the morning, on the highway, old people exercise on the highway by walking backwards??

That also never happens in America.

We go the rest of the way in silence. Not the horn, however. That goes off about every half minute.