Shopping and walking in China

Shopping is a pastime enjoyed by many of China’s foreign residents. Clothing, electronics, assorted kitsch items: It’s all affordable.

I shot this image last weekend as Mrs. Stevo and I were taking a break from shopping. What attracted me was the lovely and long 4 pm shadows.

I bought a shirt and a headband for my torturous adventures in the local gym. Mrs. Stevo purchased a shirt, a yellow number that proclaims “Superstar” or some such statement to the world. Ah, shopping. I hate it yet love it.

I bought some new duds for my new role as a … I don’t think I have a title at my new job. Mrs. Stevo gave me instructions before I went to the market. No XL-sized shirts. As I’ve lost weight she thought I could wear something a little less tent-like.

And nothing ugly.

Ugly is a pretty relative term. I won’t argue the fact that I do buy ugly shirts: In fact, the ugliest shirts I can find. Anyone who has visited China (no, not Beijing or Shanghai, and certainly not Hong Kong) will know that foreigners tend to be stared at. I figure I will give the staring public something to see, and possibly blind them, with an assortment of garish plaids and neon monstrosities. I use Asian Fashion to my advantage.

Aside: the day before I was wed my bride-to-be and we were taken to a restaurant in Hunan Province. The town boasts (occasionally) one foreign English teacher. We walked into the upscale eatery and the room went completely silent. It was like something from a movie. Every eye was focused on me. I think I was wearing an orange and yellow striped shirt. No, no one to the best of my knowledge, went blind.

Nothing ugly, she said.

Mrs. Stevo’s wardrobe has improved greatly since I first met her. Back in the heady dating days of 2005 she was festooned with lace and sequins. Her color combination were both frightening and interesting. Slowly, with a gentle nudge or two (and several pounds of severed sequins lodged inside the washing machine) she started to wear clothes I would call “classy.” I place the love of sequins at the feet of the Chinese education system. After 12 years of school uniforms you might be up for wearing a sequin or two.

Question: Did I buy anything ugly? Did you disobey the Hunanese fireball?

Unfortunately, no. A pink short-sleeve shirt, and golf shirts, purple and black (they say Polo and even have the little logo, but I don’t think they are strictly kosher). The Lee navy-blue trousers (knock-offs) have a size 34 waist. I haven’t worn something so small since my pre-fat days (before 2002). They are a little tight, not in the waist. I could be an extra on Queer as Folk if needed.

As soon as she returned from work Mrs. Stevo inspected my purchases. All passed muster, except the pink shirt – it was too faded and looked old. A passing grade for me.

I will sneak back to the market and buy something incredibly ugly. It’s a must.

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.

I could embark upon building my own fridge, a bit of DIY in China. My expertise only extends to 2×4s, hammers and nails, not condensers, coils, and stainless steel. I don’t think any fridge I constructed would be attractive or functional.

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.