Beijing Part IV : Cultural Revolution

I've found a place to love in Beijing. Though I'm sure an exhausted and thoroughly bored Charming Calvin would beg to differ.

Somewhere just outside the ancient city gates lies a shaded glen where beleaguered households down on their luck assemble to shamefully hock their family heirlooms in the relative anonymity of dawn's early light. Hardly any pines or cypreses left, jam-packed highways zip across on either side but the reputed thieves' market survives and thrives especially with the recent onslaught of revolutionary Chinese commerce. Not to mention mad tourists like me.


What can I sell today?
After trudging wearily ( and almost reluctantly, poor fella ) behind me today, Calvin would readily assure anyone within hearing distance that I collect utter rubbish. And I'm proud of it too. Happily for my unusual hobby, what seems like the entire accoutrements of centuries past in China has been collected and presented for sale at the infamous Panjiayuan Market.

Or at least a perfectly made reproduction of said thingamabob.

If there is a particularly trinket - the tackier the better - found anywhere in China, rest assured you will find it here. From Ming pottery to Mao-memorabilia, from Jingdezhen teacups to jade bracelets, from military binoculars to miniature deities, Panjiayuan has a little bit of everything, including oil paintings, lacquered Tibetan altars, opium pipes, Miao headdress, wooden puppets... I practically went stir-crazy wondering what to buy.

As usual, locals would warn gullible foreigners to be wary of overly priced fake antiques. All I have to say is this... if you've seen similar statues in multiple stores with various sizes even, is it even remotely possible that it's a Tang Dynasty antique recently dug up in a fortunate farmer's backyard? Seriously. Not even if the overly enthusiastic salesman swears on his sainted mother's tombstone.

For me, I always make it a point to set an acceptable price range in my head ( in China unfortunately usually 1/10 of the unscrupulous dealer's price ), remain firmly unchanging despite the pleas of the conniving touts and later steadfastly refuse to compare prices after the purchase ( unless you can return it, why bother? ). Rarely have regrets that way. Which is how I came back with a lacquered Tibetan stool, a painted ethnic drum, a pair of embroidered bound feet slippers, multiple carved wooden panelings, a couple of paintings - and a disgruntled boyfriend in tow.

Then it was off for a bite of Kentucky Fried for lunch though I found myself astonished by the minute size of the pieces. Seems like spring chickens in China are only about the size of house pigeons back home - or could that be due to an overdose of hormones on our part leading to oversized poultry? Small enough that even Gulliver would have found it microscopic - which made me wonder at its evident popularity since it seemed that everyone and their grandmother had popped over to that particular franchise for lunch.

Liliputian drumsticks could hardly satisfy our hunger so we trooped off to a restaurant for the famed Peking Duck. Though I've had the duck quite a number of times, I've gotta say that the original in Beijing certainly lived up to its legendary premise.

And may I say the heart of the duck has the texture of a well-cooked sausage surprisingly enough.

Our feast certainly wasn't over though since Calvin and I met up with my hitherto unknown relative - who actually turned out to be my third cousin surprisingly enough. Warned prior to our meeting that we were already stuffed to the gills, she promised to keep the order to a minimum. An understatement if any. Soon the table was filled with dishes - fortunately of vegetarian delight - which managed to underscore the amount of dripping cholesterol we imbibed with the duck earlier.

But through it all, I could only think of going back to Panjiayuan. :P