What It Felt Like To Be In China
13 million gazers reminded me of my foreigness with every step.
My 15 minutes of fame, Andy Warhol-style, lasted the week long. Was it because of my big round eyes, or my short red hair? Or perhaps of my wearing a rabbit (synthetic that is!)? I got my share of requests to pose for a pic with locals. I suspect that I might have provided living proof that cartoon characters are well alive and kicking outside of the box.
Customer Service exceeds all expectations. Coco and I were strolling along Beijing’s pedestrian road when we spotted this tiny lingerie shop. In spite of its size, it hosted at least 6 staff, all trained to be kind and helpful. Let language not be a barrier! All things worthy of customer’s knowledge can be communicated by means of a calculator or body gestures. Touch the merchandise, better still, look at it for longer than five minutes, and you will have successfully conveyed a strong interest on the item. After a mere ten minutes in the shop I turned round to find, to my astonishment, that a growing load of bras was following me. The lady under the pile of underwear items smiled through the merchandise and pointed at a staircase at the rear end of the shop which lead to an upper floor. It was Coco who translated, “Perhaps madame wishes to try on the lingerie?” So up the stairs I was prompted, and straight on to the changing room. I drew the thick velvet (yes, red!) curtains that enclosed the corner which served as a changing room, to find another shop assistant helping an elderly lady fit into a bra. Quickly I drew the curtains close and turned (yes, red!) to my shop assistant, my face an interrogation mark. In case you do not know yet, there where there is place for two, there is place for four. Minutes later, Coco and me found ourselves heating up the freezing street air in a splurt of amazement:
Coco:
Mine warmed up her hands before shaping my boobs into the bra frame!
Abigail:
Mine prepared a big bra bag for me, and was generous enough to add a couple of knickers, then passed the bill on to me. The minute I declined so much eastern kindness with western kindness, friendship was over, I reckon, because I’m not that fluent at being abused in Mandarin.
Hongxiao, the Pearl Market, was interesting. The uncountable pearls and precious stones stands are located on the fourth floor of this indoors market. Once you have seen a couple, you have seem them all, but the merchandise is very pretty to browse through anyway. Heaps of authentic imitations. Prices range, and credit cards are not normally accepted so it is a good idea to carry some cash on you just in case you wish to purchase something. The remaining 3 floors are dedicated to other fields, from cheap clothing articles imported from emerging countries such as Italy or the US (’tis true! Seen on the very label). It seems that the Chinese designers get their inspiration from the grand American and European brands. Seen so much of it. It is a bit like haiku: they grasp the concept and they take it from there. Something that amazed me is the Chinese’s ability to keep their emotions for themselves. No outbursts of anger. No smiling faces. No crying, no weeping, no pouting, no throwing a tantrum. No hugging, no holding hands, no shaking hands either (if just introduced to someone, nodding in acknowledgment does the trick). Even blowing your nose in public is considered ill-manners. Advise for those suffering from a runny nose: swallow your pride. Chew the cud. Let it be. Whatever. But do not attempt to display the shames coming out of the dark depths your pocket in public. This said, the Art of Spitting deserves a mention here for it unrivalled popularity.