There’s a different kind of shopping on Hong Kong Island. To most tourists, shopping in Hong Kong is about big designer names: Gucci, Prada, or Chanel. Or tailored suits, copy watches, and cheap electronics. There’s another dimension to Hong Kong shopping: The alleys of Central District.

Midday shopping in the dark, at the Central Market on Hong Kong Island.

Even at midday it is dark in the alleys. Walking through the twisted, canvas-covered passages is akin to exploring a network of caverns. The stalls are a riot of color: Fresh meat and fish, vegetables, and medicinal herbs via for attention. Hawkers call out in Cantonese, and shoulders brush as locals do their shopping in the claustrophobic byways.

A stall owner calls to a neighbouring stall. Central Market on Hong Kong Island is not a quiet place.

The Central Street Market encompasses the areas of Graham Street, Peel Street, and Gage Street, and currently has 130 licensed stalls. The market dates to 1841, it was originally called Middle Bazaar. The area is currently slated for redevelopment, with parts of the market area slated for destruction.

Shopping for clothes in Central Market, Hong Kong Island.

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I’ve made some great friends on these old intertubes. A lot of people use the internet as means of distraction or entertainment. I use it to connect to a life I’ve nearly forgotten. Lately, instead of looking westward I’ve turned my attention closer to home.

I recently met (virtually) some cool new China bloggers. Like me, they are “teaching the English.” Living in China is not easy for a temporary resident. It’s not especially easy for a seasoned expat. I generally steer clear of the pissing and moaning common to China’s expat blogging community. My blood pressure is high enough without angry rants.

I digress, as I often do. I’ll get off my soapbox.

Expatriate Games (a wicked name for a blog, I might add, being a fan of the book the name is taken from) is a fantastic photo blog. EG, as I kindly call him, shoots fantastic portraits and scenes from life in China. I wish I was so skilled. Check out his flickr stream.

A China newb, Graham Woodring, blogs at An American in the Far East. He hasn’t been in the Middle Kingdom for long, and I look forward to his thoughts as he experiences a different culture and life. I hope his search for milk is successful.

Go west, it was once said. Josh at Far West China, blogs from The Middle Kingdom’s western frontier, Xinjiang Province. Josh mixes news and photographs from western China and recently won the 2008 Best China Blog award.

Most foreign residents in China love shopping: Haggling in the market, searching for the ultimate (and often campy) bargain. There are many global devotees of online auction house ebay. Few know about China’s own ebay-like site: Taobao. Yes, it’s all in Chinese, which makes navigation difficult, but Taobao kicks proverbial butt.

One enterprising soul has created the Tao Bao Field Guide, featuring interesting (and wacky) products for sale on the Chinese auction house. More importantly, The Tao Bao Field Guide offers step-by-step instructions on registering an account, searching for items, and starting your online shopping spree — All in English. I no longer have to bother my coworkers.

The good things about new friends, regardless of real-life or vitual status,  is they soon become  old friends.

Unrefrigerated meat always tastes better, or so I guess. The markets of Central on Hong Kong Island, China, sell a variety of meat and produce. The fish is packed on ice. The same cannot be said for the pork. Captured: September 13, 2008. s

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Yesterday was a plethora of frustrations.

I went shopping for some camera items in the electronics district. The glitzy Canon booth was manned by someone who wanted to play “screw the foreigner.” That’s not entirely true, they try to screw everyone.

Bargaining is an age-old tradition in China. I asked how much the lens was. The clerk picked up a calculator and typed 6000 元. I snorted and walked away. He tried to call me back, but I was insulted.

To put his price in perspective, another shopkeeper quoted 4200 元. I have used the line, Wo bu ben. Wo de lao po shi zhong guo ren, in the past during such situations (I’m not stupid. My wife is Chinese). Yesterday, I couldn’t be bothered. I don’t need Kreskinesque abilities to know a trip to Stanley Street in Hong Kong, and a non-insulting camera shop, is in my future.

Back at home I decided to change the theme of this page. I’ve wanted to for a while, something with a wider post area for larger photographs. I found a theme I liked, downloaded it, and began to customize. I found some bizarre code and after checking in the Wordpress forums discovered it was actually hidden spyware. The author was counting my hits. Cheeky.

Long story short (too late), I wasted three hours with this nasty theme (six if you count finding a new theme and customizing that.)

Above is my taxi driver from yesterday. Not my best work, but try shooting in a jiggly taxi with a non-IS lens. Getting a light reading off a rearview mirror, and focusing on said mirror, is a challenge.

I won’t lie; I miss giant, North American-sized appliances. After two years in China I am sick of small things. The microscopic dogs, tiny sandwiches, and itty-bitty apartments, can drive you to the brink of insanity. Add to this less-than-adequately-sized appliances and you start to feel like a big laowai in a very little pond.

When I lived alone I had few problems. My fridge was my own. It held beer, cold cuts, cheese and the condiments needed to consume the previously listed items. The dastardly icebox stands five-feet high and is 24 inches wide. This would seem ample room, until you add a wife to the equation.My refrigerator now holds items I cannot name in English or Chinese. There are condiments so spicy that even looking at the bottles requires protective eyewear. Trying to jam these items and my stock of foreigner basics into one, cooled box can present problems.

At the local appliance superstore I saw a gleaming, stainless steel fridge. It was broad and sturdy. It had an ice maker in the door and was the diameter of an ancient redwood. I nearly wept when my gaze fell accidentally on the marvel of engineering. Who knew there was such a beast in China? It was almost worth the three months salary. It could replace the television, I told myself, it was far more interesting.

Luckily, the women that packs my formerly bachelor refrigerator with questionable Chinese delicacies was on-hand and dragged my away before my wallet rose above the horizon of my pocket.

Married life, sharing essentially, something I failed in kindergarten, is not easy. If I could base a fridge buying argument on that truth perhaps I could justify the purchase?

Perhaps not. The fridge is too large to fit in my kitchen. There’s only room in the bedroom and I think someone would draw the line at that.