(R)Evolution

Happy birthday, People’s Republic. The first of October marked the 58th anniversary of the Communist revolution in China. In a country known for its conscientious displays of state pride, we were looking forward to parades and anthems and lots and lots of…well, tanks. Little red flags everywhere. Guo qin jie kaui le! (Happy National Day!) I frantically memorized the phrase and parroted it at my various classes as a form of friendly goodbye – we got a week off from class, I figured it must be important. They blinked at me and continued putting their notebooks into their bags, checking their cellphones for text messages. Whatever. We were told that National Day Week [sic] was the worst time to travel, being in essence like Memorial Day and Thanksgiving weekend combined: everyone in China goes somewhere – goes home, goes to the city, goes to X local tourist attraction, photos of which emblazon every regional guide book but to which no local has ever actually gone. We planned to lay low at home, get to know Chengdu a little better, and hang out in the main square all day to take in the big show.

A show, indeed. China has an endless capacity for surprises, it seems. Just when you think you have something pegged, a trend, a tendency, it slips in a little something extra or yanks away a rug you were sure was nailed down.

The main plaza (Tianfu Guanchang) in the center of Chengdu’s commercial district is a full city block arranged roughly as a right-angled traffic “circle,” filled with enormous spiraling fountains that play tricks when the mood is right, carefully manicured potted gardens that are easily reconfigured and frequently changed to fit new demands in color scheme, and a large cutout in the shape of a yin yang that reveals a second storey below ground, apparently dedicated to shopping and transit. The north end of Tianfu is an impressive staircase permanently covered in red flowers, which boldly lead the eye up to a magnificent, fit-looking statue of the Chairman lowering a benevolent palm upon the masses. Behind this statue boom both letters and characters, spelling out: SICHUAN SCIENCE AND TECHNOLOGY UNIVERSITY. This is not what you’d call accidental design. The east and west ends of the square are dominated by parking garages, high-rise commercial buildings, and enormous billboards of supermodels. Yes, there is a Starbucks. And a McDonalds. Mao can see them from where he stands.

It is common knowledge that the Party has a refined sense of presentation when it comes to official gestures of elegance and success. One would think it only obvious that the primary political holiday of the year be an opportunity for some such expressions of self-esteem. The weekend before, we had attended a gala buffet held by the Sichuan Provincial Government, a truly lavish affair including dragon-encircled towers of carved taro root and carrots, speakers in three languages, Consulars General from a variety of interesting nations (Singapore, the United States, North Korea, Pakistan), and a quartet of highly ornamental women playing traditional instruments. There were swans built out of cake and fluff. Chinese pastry chefs work structural wonders with whipped cream. We assumed that, if this were happening before the actual holiday, then the event itself would not be something we’d want to miss. We packed bags full of drinking water, umbrellas, bus fare, and cameras, and set out.

It is performance art at both its finest and most trite – rendering the audience the performers. It’s the classic bait-and-switch, but with a twist, and in this case, sublime. We stepped off the bus to find the square absolutely teeming, swarming with spectators. The crowd was up, happy, escaped balloons drifted here and there away from the crowd. Children waved tiny red flags. Old brown women sat on the edges of curbs and cracked peanuts between fingers of the same shape and texture, sucking out the meat and then wiggling their dry hands to rid them of husks and bits of shell. Our eyes scanned across the top of the crowd – easier to do when you’re a good 4 inches taller than the next tallest person. People had cameras out, snapping photos of this and that, posing, laughing, waving peace signs. Girls wore fancy dresses and heels. The fountains did their magic; an invisible source piped occasional puffs of atmospheric smoke onto the square. The crowd ebbed and flowed, slowing and quickening like cooling sap. We waited. We watched the street for tanks or signs of soldiers. Our ears perked through the noise for signs of drumbeats, of footsteps in unison or cymbals or megaphones. Nothing. Slowly, it began to dawn on us. We looked around at the crowd – everyone was fascinated by the water displays, the big buildings; “What are they looking at?” we asked aloud. And then we realized. They were tourists, come in to the capital for the holiday. This was the show – the economic success of Sichuan province, the Starbucks, the ads, the buses running on time, the fountains that would be shut off the moment they all left. A young woman asked us in English to donate money to the Red Cross; we asked her when the parade would start. “Parade?” she asked, “There have no parade. Today special day, maybe you can go to shopping.” Happy birthday, revolution – it is good to get rich.

The sea of tourists at Tianfu Square – the fountains in full effect. Note the Chairman in the upper left corner.

More tourists gawking at tourists. Here you can see the cutaway to the lower level.

Disappointed with our new insights, we decided to explore the layer of the city directly behind the facades of wealth that gild the sanctioned public sphere. One block south and east from Tianfu is a broken staircase leading down into an open-air market, where the real commerce of the people takes place. We wandered about for an hour or more, watching them watching us, buying a thing here and there, small things – a green silk scarf for 5 yuan, a slice of melon on a stick – in order to interact, to practice speaking, to participate and connect. I have always loved markets, from the pre-Levis days of Pike Street in Seattle when I was a little girl (when it was still full of hippies and artists and nobody bought the stupid fish that was bruised by gimmicky hawkers), to buying quilts in Guatemala; from arguing in Turkish fleamarkets in Berlin, to learning Arabic in Moroccan vegetable souks. I was laughed at all across West Africa by beautiful women who wouldn’t explain the herbs they sold, carefully stacked in neat piles on cloths on the ground. I love the immediacy of the exchange: they have something they made, or grew, or stole; they let you see; you bargain, you fume, you walk away, you relent. It is so simple – it seems so honest. Everyone present is directly involved, unlike buying clothes in a store, sewn by faraway hands, shipped, handled, parsed, delivered, folded, arranged, then sold a hundred hands down the line by someone utterly indifferent, uninvested, unempowered to adjust a price or evaluate a need. Those interactions bore me. I enjoy the game and play of street vendors, their art and craftiness. I love the filth of markets, the careful displays above streets of muck. I like the sounds. People were laughing, and eating lunch. A group had unfolded a card table at the side of the alley and were playing mahjong right there in the street, smoking cigarettes and staring intently at the tabletop, fingering the heavy tiles and placing them down with a wonderful, satisfying click. A man was standing on a chair rattling off the joys and advantages of some bolts of cloth; meanwhile, a pack of women chattered and tore through an open bin of scarves, flinging them in the air as they burrowed, looking for just the right color or print, glaring at each before rejecting it back into the heap.

Mahjong

Baby Clothes

And of course, one of the most genuine expressions of a culture’s interests are to be found in the things they consume without thinking. Street snacks are the food equivalents of open-air markets – rough and bright and concentrated, the best often shown by their attention to presentation. Aesthetic detail often means cleanliness, as well.

This is a common street-sweet found all over Chengdu – most of them are crab apples covered in some kind of sugary coating, but there are beautiful variations with bananas, kiwis, and even cherry tomatoes. I thought this was a particularly great display, and had to fight through the crowd for half a block to get close enough to take this picture.

Pomelos are in season. In some small villages, they still celebrate Mid-Autumn Festival and the full moon by peeling off half-rinds of the enormous citrus and wearing them on their heads. Vendors often compete to see who can create the most elaborate presentation by carving the skins and arranging them on top of the fruit. This man went for a more practical approach, but I rather liked the care he put into it.

My vegetarianism probably saves me from some vicious intestinal discomfort, but I do miss out on what I’m sure is excellent barbecue. Note the pan to the right of the beer bottle – it’s nothing but ground chilies, in which the meats are dredged before hitting the fire.

For those who do indulge in street-meats, these facilities are always available. Enjoy.

~ by knifemaker on October 15, 2007.