Hearing the chirping of the birds before my pig liver coloured curtains (never thought that people made curtains that way but they hung just up to the middle of the wall, thus cutting the Paul Smith lined wall paper into an odd half, kind of like a really tall headmistress who was standing in front of you and you're tempted to sneak a look under her skirt - oh, the boredom of school!) emitted the first light of dawn through meant that I didn't sleep all too well last night.
Despite a heavenly dinner of dumplings and chicken wings that cost rock bottom prices, my thoughts were spearing ahead on our trip out to Tibet. So, washing up and throwing on my clothes, I headed out to hit the morning streets. And indeed what a splendid crispy morning. Not a soul in sight except the morning risers down the lane, now plus one. I joined the throngs of patrons for again (breaking my vow) another round of fried "oil pockets", a bowl of tofu and another bowl of soy milk. Part of the liberty of doing away with the comfort of home is that you get to convince yourself that it's all survival mode and that it's totally reasonable to order another oil pocket to stuff your tummy, in case food ran out in the next hour and we were all reduced to mere smithereens. Didn't need to empty much of my money pocket, food was so darn cheap on the streets that it was ridiculous to eat in the hostel.
What was it about the Mainlanders and their food consumption? If my own Government took its administration on the abolishment of the Affirmative Action Plan half as serious as how the Chinese here took after their ritualistic nurturing of the stomach, then I dared to forecast that my country would see a more promising future for all Malaysians irrespective of your preference for a pure black "kopi", milky soy or mocha mix of parentage. I digressed but allowed me to return to the insane bravado of the men and women of China. When my walk towards the Xi'an incident failed miserably to turn up anything more than dull grey lots of constructed dwellings (how the heck do I ask a passerby if that was the place that Chang Kai Shek got arrested?) tweeting with pet birds of the sweetest melodies, temptation to change course did ring in my mind. With the morning traffic picking up from an initial hum, the kids ran off to get ready for school with smart little boys donning a red scarf around their necks while the older ones saluted each teacher that passed through the gates of the schools that dotted the communal streets. Suspicion hung low that CKS's former place of arrest had been morphed into more "practical" use for the people of the Republic. But the fun part of taking the morning out on my own as hubby went off to Hua Mountain, was the fact that I blended in more. Nobody gave me a second glance. I was invisible and it was fantastic! My first uttered word of the day was in Mandarin, I had to read the signs and crossed the road (deftly avoiding having to order a coffin for myself when a bus ignored the red sign) like everybody else.
Passing the East Gate of the city's walls (probably the most well preserved of its kind and class) I turned into this tunnel of humans, vegetables, shouts and bicycles. To heck with the CKS treasure hunt, I went head on into the mass of merging flesh.
Shouts of wares, cures for all evils! Biscuits of all forms displayed like honourable war badges. Need a button? No worries, take a pick from an uncle sitting quietly like a little hedgehog amongst the pride of roaring lions of peddlers... and he sold nothing but, well buttons - red, blue, round ones, protruding ones, cheap! Daily exchange of vegetables, fruits, tofu products happened as crumpled soiled currency flowed from the hands of the little eating shops and restaurant owners doing their shopping. This corner a butcher nonchalantly drummed out the beats of a really dead (and well minced) pig on the chopping board while mountains of "miao xi biang" greeted me. The latter I was never fond of as a Hakka kid but my folks loved them and they were a constant reminder that Chinese New Year was close back in those days when it was a rare feat to obtain them except during the festive days when adults took on a sugary high on those fried up little sticks that twisted together to form the look of well, cat dung.
Another little amplifier blasted out the virtue of a new soy milk making machine while I avoided walking into a pile of dry vermicelli noodles that looked like a haystack. Then the sea of bodies momentarily parted to sneak a view of what I thought only now existed in cheesy kungfu movies. There it was, a long line of sullen faces waiting hopefully and patiently in a line facing a small woman sitting on a tiny stool that my dogs could fit in together. Chinese medicine, mixed only from a "secret" family recipe and promise of a new knee that worked better than before it fell - the new Bionic Man in the making.
There were other stalls of more "small eats" and everyone was literally bargaining, slurping, pushing, shouting. Exhilarating and energising. I made a quick note to pass by some horoscope readers, whom for a small fee will help any seeker to fix what ill-begotten star had shone on their particular animal sign for the year and the coming. It was just priceless to see the devotion of the seekers hanging on to every word of the "master". Belief and unwavering determination to better one's life, to cheat death, to bring on more fortune. So what if I have to pay a couple of coins for some good words uttered? Happily standing around blending along with the trees, my glance distracted towards the clothes section. There she was - in every city you go to, there was always the big mama who will either whip out a damn good meal or just a sight to behold. In this morning, she was checking out some inner wear, all with the serious consideration of a general about to launch an all out WW3 nuclear code. I was getting close to guessing that white was her favourite colour. Very practical woman. Cotton, no? She nodded vigorously in approval when the vendor confirmed product of manufacture. Very wise woman.
She was also a very big woman. And with two gigantic elephant trunks for arms, she stretched the panties in all glory, basking it in the nine o'clock morning sun for all to see. I must have heard a hush fell upon the city as big mama turned it around (and around) to only finally throw the thing back into the heap where it came from. Maybe it had not met her strict international, all circumstances expectation of comfort. Very hard customer.
With every footstep approaching the South Gate, I walked by little gardens of vegetables grown within the inner compounds of the city dwellers. Maybe this was how people had lived before Carrefour came in with aisles of packeted greens? A sleepy grand-daughter was being ferried to her kindergarten class by her grand papa as her mind sat dreamily away in her world of strawberries, polka dots and cartoons. I cycled a long while up the city wall (14km) and for a while too, I was lost in my own state where there was nobody else except the city.
I hope I sleep better tonight. Maybe the tosses were from my own stubbornness to admit that perhaps, just that I was going to miss this city and it was not going to be an easy goodbye.
