On my way to the bus stop, I saw a strange event taking place. It was some sort of pseudo-traditional to-do in front of one of the restaurants down the street from my building this morning. It was clearly a publicity stunt, well covered by video cameras and such as well. I enjoyed the expressions on people's faces, though. It's rare to see people standing still enough but also in a situation where it feels socially acceptable to photograph them.
Although I suppose there's some possibility that it was an actual wedding (the red box is a model of a traditional bridal sedan). That would have been odd, but interesting. Actually, come to think of it, that makes a pretty good explanation for the scene, except that none of the non-costumed bystanders were wearing any sort of formal wear? I don't know. It was a mystery.
Distracted by the picture-taking, I didn't notice that some pick-pocket again managed to get my bag unzipped. I only figured this out because a pocket I hadn't gotten into was nonetheless unzipped. I'd learned my lesson well, though, and had all valuables in inaccessible inner pockets--so the thief found nothing to steal. Still, it was really sketchy, and astonishingly skillful, all rolled into one. I hate feeling like a target, but at least for once I didn't end up actually being one.Then on to the bus and the book-sale. The book-sale was being held by the publishers of the best scholarly primary text editions. I'm always on the look-out for their stuff, and had a long wish-list. When I got there, though, it just looked like a grubby office-building. A security guard was standing in front. I almost lost my nerve, but managed to ask him where the books were being sold. He looked at me with deep skepticism (that foreigner thinks she can read books?) but told me laconically, the second floor. The ground floor was deserted and dark. I found a stair-case and climbed it. More deserted dark hallways. I passed through nervously, thinking that at any minute someone was going to yell at me for being where I shouldn't.
Then suddenly I was in a grubby big room with piles of books everywhere. Beyond that was another grubby room with some books in long rows (spines up) on the floor, other books piled along the walls, and some in total disarray. I've noticed that the one-volume edition concept (like the Riverside Shakespeare) hasn't really caught on here. Everything is published in multi-volume sets. These occasionally get separated or unevenly distributed, so that total disarray area was orphans from sets.
I looked through everything twice, finding one or two of the things on my list and a few other things. At half off, there wasn't much to lose, though I was kicking myself for not going the day before. It's clearly one of those things where the selection suffers when you come late, and the early bird gets the books without the messed up covers.
Never mind, I'm not one to judge a book by its cover.
After I had gone through all the books, and bought a stack that only just barely fit into my expandable backpack, I was exceedingly hungry. I went around the corner to a restaurant whose name was something like Old Home Meat-cakes, and had a Meat-cake. This was actually kind of like a quesadilla, except instead of cheese imagine ground meat with Chinese seasonings. There are all kinds of amazing things in Chinese cuisine that never make it to the U.S. The meat-cake was good, but the noodle soup I had was really mediocre.
As I was finishing up, some people came over and were obviously waiting for my table. They were kind of impatient, even though they didn't have their food yet, and perched on the chairs at the edge. I listened to them speculating about me. "Korean, wouldn't you say." "Yeah, definitely Korean." Then I thought they asked me a question, so I said, "What?" "Oh you understand," they said without embarrassment. "Somewhat," I said. "My father is Korean and my mother is American." Then I took my coat and left. If I were really Korean, would they be able to tell that I was a foreigner at all?
The bus home was very crowded. The ticket-taker was really fed up. "Why does it have to be so crowded today," she lamented as she stood squashed against the rear doors. "It's always crowded, every day," some anonymous passenger responded. That's China all right. I sometimes think how many American cultural attitudes and practices just wouldn't work here. Valuing every individual is great, but what if there's just not enough to go around?
At home, I can't say I was terribly productive but I got a thing or two done. In the evening (yeah, I know, book-glutton) I went to Disanji bookstore to see if I could find the textbook for my Tuesday class. I couldn't, but I picked up another book that was on my wish-list. Then I noticed that in the Disanji building, below the bookstore, there was a very fancy vegetarian restaurant. I noticed that vegetarian food in China only appears at the extremes: either it's extremely low and awful, like boiled cabbage and turnips, or it's extremely elegant and almost overwrought, like this place with a menu that resembled a coffee-table book and a sort of temple atmosphere with mood-lighting, a faux rustic fountain, real table-linen.
One of the most expensive solo-meals I've hand, weighing in at 66 RMB, or more than $8. I had a lotus root stuffed with glutinous rice and drizzled with cinnamon sauce; a plate of roasted mock-duck, fried tofu, and bamboo shoots; a skewer of wonderfully crispy and well-seasoned mock-fish; and a vegetable dish of some solid green stalk-type thing and baby almonds. Everything in delicate portions, but fake-meat is always pretty fillling. I was especially impressed with the fish-skewer, which was really very much like fish. Also, the whole experience made me miss Colin very much. I am so taking him there.
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