goodbye bellow, hello boombox

verbal vending

The thought of a peddler shouting out the day's services and goods is sure to bring a sense of familiarity... at least in China.

Even if you have never been to China, you can readily imagine a peddler slowly riding a bicycle through the street, shouting out to the residents.

oral history

I owe a special thanks to a friend, back in OR, for sharing a recent NPR story, relaying the venture of one Chinese businessman set to share the sounds of China with the world.

By banking the sounds of the people of China, Qin Jie (秦杰) is doing more than just sharing culture and turning a buck, or a yuan. He is preserving the very sounds that are on the brink of extinction, due to modernity and economic development.

China's 56 races and countless dialects have a lot to lose in this day and age, but so also have much to give. Now, the race is on to capture all that defines the expanse of China and her many peoples, one [sound] bite at a time.

brink of modernity

With the world's largest population and impressively expanding economy, it is no surprise that the modernization of China is having a large impact on her people and also the culture.

At worst, one might imagine the horrors of tradition simply lost with the passing of a generation. But then, modernization also and often reveals itself in small and surprising ways.

goodbye bellow, hello boombox

What is not commonly known is that these peddlers are often not using their own voice to advertise their services. Gone are the days of the past.

The physical demands on their vocal chords and lungs, alone, are enough to leave any passing customer marveling in a mix of sympathy and equally grand admiration. The call is unique, not only to one's profession, but also to each vendor.

Rhythmic and melodic, a few words aim to clarify how your day will be made easier by answering their calls.

But today, these calls are increasingly digitized and broadcast over small portable speakers. The familiar tinny sound of a poor recording coupled with low qualities speakers does not reduce the effectiveness of the sales pitch.

jiangxi, de'an

For example, the [recorded] sounds of a street peddler, literally peddling, selling steamed breads on a scathingly hot August afternoon on a dusty deserted road in De'An, Jiangxi province, southern China:

steamed breads and dirt roads greet modernity: my latest ringtone*

While visiting a good friend in his hometown province of Jiangxi, we walked from his house to his brother's home in the nearby countryside. From the edge of the small town (100,000 residents) to the adjacent countryside, we follow a dirt road that soon becomes a trail.

In 2001, we took this trail by foot. By August of 2008, the family had acquired 2 electric motorbikes to save the time and sweat of the 20-minute bipedal commute.

Even in the heat of that August sun, I requested that we romanticize the trip and go on foot. With so much to absorb, I didn't want my parents to miss anything. Pausing for a timely pit-stop, I was delighted to be present for what was to come over the crest of the hill.

A peddling peddler, riding our way, selling steamed breads.

And while a peddler selling steamed breads is not so unusual in a small village in China, I was intrigued by the fact that the vendor was using, not his voice, but a taped recording of his announcement.

I fumbled to ready my camera and was lucky enough to capture his passing. Priceless.

my parents and our friends at their home in De'An, Jiangxi

vending today

Over the last year, I have heard the calls of Beijing's vendors for scissor and knife sharpening, as well as candied haw fruit kebabs.

Occasionally I also see a cardboard or plastics recycler, calling out to make his presence known in a residential street.

Even in grocery stores, it is impossible to avoid the ranting of brand-name representatives who hope to win your loyalty with a free sample of instant coffee, strawberry-filled double chocolate wafers, or the latest skin-firming, kilo-trimming yogurt.

"buy 10, get 2 free", but only a local knows that

"Buy 5, Get 1 Free" [买五送一] is a very common sale here, and any mindful shopper is sure to benefit from this phrase on even the first trip to the market.

surprisingly, liquor in a sports-bottle is not advertised verbally

verbal ads

Being a [mostly illiterate] foreigner, I personally want to believe that the custom of shouting out the services to potential customers was born more out of necessity, than out of a purposely flippant intent to ingrain the latest discount in my mind. According to one source, an estimated 9-10% of the local population is illiterate -giving another reason for keeping ads verbal and not simply written. And that statistic does not even include the foreigners!

The sale 'calls' are actually quite helpful to the illiterate, if a bit tiring on the ears. Imagine being on the verge of picking out a comfort of a yogurt selection and need not even look up to know that it is possible to be adventurous and thrifty by choosing another brand boasting of the latest wheat and aloe, honey, or jujube flavors. The salesclerk verbalizes that bargain for your glazed eyes.

Here in China, if you keep your ears tuned, you just might find the next bargain of your lifetime.

And the vendors can save their voices for an evening's round of karaoke.

*This 'mantou' ringtone is available to anyone interested, just send me a request via email.

tread, trains, taxis, tokens

Traveling across Beijing at night -by public transit- can be a challenge, but is always an adventure.

This is true not only for someone who spent their entire life in small towns where public transit was essentially nonexistent, but it is an equal mystery for people who were raised right here in the city, perhaps some blocks down the street.

bicycle by day, taxi by twilight

Bicycles are locked up and the subway shuts down, as it must, when the foot traffic slows. Particularly in China, when night time falls, so do the lights dim, the eyelids droop in waning lackadaisical enthusiasm. This is not entirely true, but most locals would agree.

The foreign community and younger Generation X, on the contrary, may even perk up once the sun hints at setting, and the most experienced of taxi cab drivers swear by the night shift.

taxi master

Indeed, the cabbie of China is referred to as 'Master' (师父), and with full justification granted.

The drivers know that anyone still wearing tread on the soles of their shoes after 11p is entirely dependent on them for any distance over 2 blocks traveled. Business is business!

stranded in the city

While Beijing is rather neatly composed of concentric asphalt 'ring' roads (somehow, the 10+ lane highways are still referred to as 'roads', perhaps because a road is more lovely than a highway?) , the blocks themselves are rather imposing.

To find the next major intersection may require the downing of an energy drink or a changing of the socks. At nighttime, this may not be what the typical pedestrian had in mind.

It isn't for lack of safety that pedestrians hail the next taxi upon setting foot to curb. It may, though, be for lack of familiarity (did I mention, it can be rather intimidating finding your bearings in a concrete, let alone foreign, city? At night? Without stars to point the way? And with a limited vocabulary, should you get lost?) Some might say that 'outsiders' know Beijing like the back of their foot, which is to say, not very well.

Furthermore, the popular and often visited evening venues of Beijing are not necessarily located in adjacent districts. The main University District is brimming with quick minds and thirsty palates, and the night is ever young in Beijing, where many bars double as cafés and smoothly switch from Dos Equis to Espresso while the sun is not yet risen.

But then there are those who are simply out with friends, and the night gets away from them. Or rather, the day sneaks away and leaves all with nothing other than darkness to share. Dinner primes the palate for a fermented beverage, which might be followed or paired with a duel at the billiards hall or a jiving at a local music joint. It may be with purpose, but it is often without intent that the night is suddenly upon them, and the clock is too soon to strike midnight.

trains, no more

There are perhaps no sadder words exchanged between the transit operator's voice over the loudspeaker and the hopeful, but now helpless, passengers. After paying the ¥2 fare, flock after flock of Nightowls are left to climb or descend the stairs once again, back to the level of the street.

And the Master Cabbie is awaiting their return to the curb:

WuDaoKou subway station is popular... when it's running

like fairytale, like fear

I could almost swear that on one of those evenings, I saw one girl limping up those subway station stairs carrying a single glass slipper.

Being as I've recently moved from the University district to a [local] residential area, I too have learned the hard way that the Subway waits for No One. And it is just as well.

will the doors be open?

first time, the lesson

The first time I misjudged the last train to pass through the connecting station, I saw no other alternative than to hail the Master as if obeying a greater order of the urban universe. Having already paid my subway fare of ¥2, the master greeted me at the curbside with his blinker, and I... bid farewell to another ¥23.

It was a fare well spent, however, with not a yuan lost to regret. Aside from the plush seats and door-to-door service, I shared a great conversation with the Master. A private conversation with the common local makes for an enjoyable commute.

He, a native of Beijing, preferred the night shift... because he understood that the night wanderers swarm to the red 'for hire' light of a taxi as do insects to the electric blue killer lamps. Business is rockin', or 'red' as the locals say. He was just 3 years older than I, which we figured out because I am a snake and he is a tiger. -So says the the corresponding zodiac of the Chinese lunar calendar.

A short ride of 15 minutes, coupled with inquisitive conversation, and I was home sooner than the subway could have delivered my commuting tail. And back in my humble abode before the clock struck midnight, to boot!

still in Beijing!

second time, the smarter

A couple weeks later, however, daylight once again teased with the lengthening of the spring day, giving the night ample time to sneak up on me, before I could make the necessary one of two subway transfers.

However, on this evening, it was unclear as to whether there was another train yet to come. Or whether the lights had accidentally been left on to tease where indeed no train would arrive.

I stood pondering aloud (in Mandarin) with the others who hovered in angst, and reasoned aloud that the possibility of the last train coming to save us... was slim. It was the end of hopeful naiveté at best, and we slowly took to the stairs with what little pride we had left.

It is in this fine moment of desperation, when the mind is struggling to cope with extreme disappointment and is toying with regret over timely responsibility, that the bond between fellow passengers can be stronger than any social anthropologist could pry from the grips of any algorithm:

The man who had, in fact, beat me to the unforgiving doors of the transfer station turned to me and asked where I was headed. East and slightly north, near Subway Line 5, I say. He suggested we carpool, dare we fall only half the victim that each of us was destined to the taxi Master.

How could I turn down an offer like that?

As I learned on the walk up and out of the station, he was newly back to Beijing after 5 years studying abroad in Germany. He had guessed that I was Russian or German, but had not expected my Mandarin to be at [whatever] level that it is. And so, we talked our way out to the street side and hailed the next Master to deliver first me, and then him.

Before parting, I contributed a ¥20 towards the fare total, as he was still not yet halfway to his destination, and he left his email with promise of a coffee (only a Chinese living in Germany for 5 years would promise such a toast.) It seems the next time we meet, the night will have receded and the day will brim with promise of a brew.

And so, I discovered once again, by way of this humble reminder, that the world is small. That people want to be and are friendly. That cities are social by nature. That strangers can meet. That the Masters do not win every time.

third time, the charm

Interestingly, there is something undeniably mystic about the number 3, which has been a subject of science fiction and superstition alike for millennia.

And tonight's journey homeward proved to be no exception. It was indeed the third time [tardy] that showed me the Way of Three.

Paying careful attention to exit the subway station at it's southeast exit, I knew I would be rightly positioned to take a taxi in the direction of my apartment (east) without stumbling across an intersection, taking a sky bridge, or having to direct the master through a U-turn (all the while, with hairs raised in fear of being led down a more 'scenic' route.)

Deciding not to fight the rest of the flock for the next taxi, I walked eastwards to where the crowd no longer ventured.

And there It was.

It was as if fate itself had led me to no other place than... the bus stop. How obvious! Could it be possible that there a bus would pass by my apartment and save me from the squeeze of the Master's fare?

After studying the bus stop charts for 3 different buses, desperately searching for something resembling anything close to the one of four characters in my street name, a bus #689 pulled up. And there, lit up above the door was the bus' sign with two of these very characters! It could no more have called me out by name!

Barely believing my luck, I rushed aboard to verify with the driver whether it could maybe, just possibly, be truly headed where I was hoping to head. A nod of his head and a swipe of my transit card later, I found a seat - but not before counting the number of stops until I could walk the last 10 minutes to my address. Home, sweet home.

At ¥0.40 (as opposed to ¥23), I did not even attempt to restrain the twinge of pride that crept over me in the course of that minute.

I think next time I miss my last trusty subway train, I might hitch-hike door-to-door.

pineapple spiral

The Spring and Summer seasons of Beijing meet with street intersections laden with vendors selling wares of pottery, services... and fruit.

oh, pineapple quarters: real sweet treat

For the affordable sum of ¥1, the common people pause on a typical afternoon to enjoy a quarter of a pineapple on a stick - a cooling and tangy refreshment to ward off the dryness and heat of Beijing.

The vendors wheel their goods up to the street curb, pull off a tarp that covers a bounty of fresh fruit, and set blade into action.


fashion meets function

The carving of pineapples is an art.

It is also a very efficient way to carve the pineapple, for the waste removed is minimized, so as to maximize yield. It is done with the fluidity of hands well-practiced and technique well-harnessed.


grandma knows best

My Grandmother grows a score of pineapples in her Floridian yard each year, saving the plumed core and replanting it for an ever-giving harvest. It is only with patience that one raises their own pineapples, and experience warns that a pineapple picked in haste is even slower to ripen.

The perfect pineapple is ready for eating when a tender leaf can be easily plucked from its center; lifting a pineapple so, its own weight should release the leaf.

With this in mind, it was time to try my hand at this art of carving pineapples and see if I could tame this flowering fruit in my very own kitchen.


do try this at home

I set out to pick up a small, but well-ripened pineapple at the local supermarket, which ended up sweet-talking a mere ¥4 from my wallet:

fibrous green plumes and plumply golden flesh

The first task is to fashion the wild mess of leaves into a handle:

trimming of the leaves: the handle

Remove the loose leaves that do not stay tight at the core, useful as a handle during the rest of the carving. Be careful not to cut too deeply at the base of the core, lest your *handle* snap at a later step in the vigorous progress (ask me how I know!)

Using a long, sharp [butcher] knife, graze the outside of the fruit, careful to minimize the removal of worthy flesh.

a shave gets down to the bare stubble

the tool rules

At last, I happened upon the unique tool at a local market (¥5), made specifically for carving pineapples. I decided to take it home and see for myself just how hard it is to carve up a beautiful spiraled pineapple:

3 remarkable teeth, 1 remarkable tool

Not surprisingly, the actual technique and process of carving is not as easy as the vendors make it look. Yes, it must only be learned the hard way: sheer first-hand experience.

nose pointing down, teeth digging in

I also discovered that a secret may lie in selecting a ripe, yet firm, fruit. I chose the pineapple shown here based on ripeness alone. While in this state, it would carve up just fine with a knife, it rendered itself too juicy to handle the firm pushing demanded by the tool.

Nonetheless, even a 'new hand' (新手）, with a bit of luck, will find it possible to obtain satisfactory, if rudimentary, results:

the spiraled pineapple: sweet success!

I have learned a thing or two about carving pineapples: What may be ripe for the tasting may be too supple for the carving.

And 'lo, though I am not a master carver -yet- my taste buds will never know the difference!

eggs benedicite

Making eggs in Beijing can be an exciting deviation from the regular breakfast duty...

the delicious eggs benedicite

Last year, my roommate's mother would visit from Tianjin, a coastal city some 3 hours East of Beijing by slow train. In fact, Auntie would more so *visit* Tianjin and *reside* in Beijing to cook and clean for her 21-yr old daughter, who was self-studying French and supposed to be looking for a job.

Auntie grew up on the farm and still found comfort in taking the longer road. She conserved gray water for later flushing the toilet instead of using *clean* water. She made steamed buns from scratch, along with stuffed buns, date buns, dumplings, salads, sweet potato porridge, and fried eggs.

And I was quite the lucky girl for having many opportunities to taste her many delectable dishes; here, I will share with you the rewards of just one of her dishes, but not without a savory twist.


the fried egg

I learned from Auntie that the best of eggs are fried, one at a time, in a wok with plenty of oil and just the right amount of salt. The edges are crispy, the center soft. And unlike the typical attempt at cooking up an egg, this version of the fried egg stays in one piece as you lift it from the pan and onto your plate.

Of course, no recipe would pass through my hands without some altering, and here is the story of two lil' country eggs that got fried in the big city:

It was a chilly morning in the last days of the 3rd Moon. Not only were there one too many egglings in the basket, but the collective shivering was akin to the chattering of teeth. They could stand it no more and were ready to crack.

There was only one thing to do, and that was for the most brave and martyrous of the egglings to embrace the deshelling of innocence and venture into the Kitchen Unknown, referred to in lore as the Hot Oil Baths of the Land of Wok.

Egglings no more would they be; their destiny would be realized and they were ready for the frying. But little did they know, for the Hot Oil Baths of the Land of Wok was to be just the beginning of one sweet and spicy tale...

the real story

...Don't be shy with the oil. Plain vegetable oil will suffice, and the wok ought to begin with a shallow pool of oil about the diameter equal to the length of an egg. Place the wok over a med-high flame.

Once the oil has heated to temp, carefully crack open the egg and drop the egg into the shallow pool of oil. The water content of the egg will cause a sizzle and pop, and a pot lid serves two purposes here: 1) to shelter the splattering of hot oil, and 2) to steam the egg from above. A sprinkle of salt wishes them well on their way.

secret of the "over-medium" egg: steam

A fried egg is best handled in one piece, and the setting of the whites atop the yolk helps to firm up the egg in its entirety.

the egg wades bravely in oil

When the edges of the egg have turned a crisp golden and the top has clouded over, remove the cover and carefully slide a thin metal spatula under the egg, transferring to a warmed plate with lid. Repeat with twice as many eggs as there are hungry waiting mouths.

the romance of Chinese dining is kindled here: garlic and ginger

With the leftover oil from frying the eggs still heating, quickly add the minced garlic and ginger and toss, sauteing until golden. A medium flame will ensure that the sugars do not caramelize too quickly at the edges before the centers have softened.

brown sugar and spice

When the garlic and ginger threaten to jump out of the wok, satisfy their yearnings with the sweetness of brown sugar (jujube molasses sugar picture above) and the spice of red pepper flakes. The sizzling will cease and the mix will become viscous with everything that Buddhism shuns.

the finish: vinegar and salt bath

When the sugar has softened, add white vinegar and the salt. The mix will turn back into a wet sauce and take only a moment over the flame before begging to be poured over the eggs.

Though the heat of the spice is countered near perfectly by the sweet of the sugar, a bit of crunch will further satisfy any dental sulkings.

For this, simply slice up a [long, skinny, firm] Chinese cucumber and top with salt and sugar before dousing with white vinegar. Shake well for a thorough coating; this version of sweet and sour pickles is meant to have a bite, i.e., should be strong like a pickle, not delicate like a salad:

sweet and spicy meets the crunch: fried eggs benedicite

And not only were the egglings fried in the end as expected, but so too were baptized in the sweet and spicy waters where a tangy pickle awaited their savory succulence.

The End.

ingredients: eggs benedicite

vegetable•oil
2 country•eggs
sprinkle•of•white•salt

vegetable•oil
1/2 bulb•garlic
1/2" ginger•root
1/2 t brown•sugar
1/2 t red•pepper•flakes
1 T+ white•vinegar
1/2 t white•salt

1 sliced•cucumber
1 t white•sugar
1 t white•salt
2 T white•vinegar