Over the summer, I read Erin Morgenstern’s The Night Circus, which was a rich and vibrant novel about a mysterious, supernatural, traveling night circus. It was a fantastic piece of magical realism, but I’d bet money Erin’s never been to China.
Friday night (March 14), I witnessed my own night circus, and while there were no acrobats, trapeze artists, or pachyderms, there were plenty of illusionists, magicians, and fortune-tellers.
Let me explain.
At about 5:00 on Friday afternoon, Kay picked me up at the high school and we walked to a restaurant she’d been waiting to try. About an hour and a half and two enormous soup bowls of rice, tofu, beef, shrimp, and veggies later, we left the restaurant to visit the Wushan night market, or, as I referenced, my night circus. (Oh, right. Dinner also included the most adorable little glass pudding pot you’ve ever seen. So cute!)
The Wushan night market is an incredible spectacle, as well as an assault on the senses. As you enter, tables and tables of goods and wares stretch before you, backlit by buzzing electric bulbs and jerry-rigged cables. Heaping piles of clothes in every hue and fabric urge you to dive in and sort, sift, tug, and caress to gauge quality, seam stability, and softness. Meanwhile, other tables are covered with glittery rhinestone hairclips, brassy “gold” jewelry, and bootleg CD’s and DVD’s. The talented illusionists and magicians of this circus market offer buttery smooth leather “designer” handbags and sharply emblazoned “Coach,” “Gucci,” and “Prada” wallets, all of which look incredibly realistic. Honestly, they’re good fakes. Scary good. Magically good? The fortune tellers, on the other hand, predict which unwitting market-goers to target, and through their psychic powers, glean starting and ending prices for each particular item a customer/circus-goer eyes.
Elsewhere in the market, ladies’ tights, leggings, and shoes are strung up to resemble a slightly scandalous and risqué can-can scene, and a cacophony of sounds adds to the chaos. Voices rise and fall, haggling, bartering, and bantering. Vendors and merchants (or ringmasters and ringmistresses) shout and cajole, wheedle, convince, and persuade. Friends converse and question, hem and haw, hesitate and pause. All of this is then punctuated by the sharp sizzle of deep-fried night snacks being dropped into hot oil.
Street snack aromas—fermented (stinky) tofu, savory dumplings, and crispy flatbread pockets—permeate the air and lure passers-by, just as caramel apples and popcorn entice regular circus goers. According to Kay, the food carts are the most profitable enterprise at the Wushan night market, as people (visitors and vendors alike) are hungry, and as there’s no haggling over prices for food. I will say this only once, as there’s simply no convincing some people—stinky tofu isn’t that bad. In fact, I almost, even, kind of like it. The cart guy seemed perplexed as I failed to react in the appropriate “Western” way (which would be covering my mouth, gagging, and running away in horror) to the aroma—he kept eyeing me suspiciously, as if I, in turn, was an illusionist or shape-shifter.
Okay. I’m done with the analogy now. You’ll have to forgive me; I teach English for a reason.
In any case, the night market was so interesting, and so visually stimulating. I bought a few small things, as well as an adorable “designer” skirt that cost the equivalent of eight dollars. EIGHT DOLLARS. I love China.
Also, Kay is a fantastic bargainer.
At about 5:00 on Friday afternoon, Kay picked me up at the high school and we walked to a restaurant she’d been waiting to try. About an hour and a half and two enormous soup bowls of rice, tofu, beef, shrimp, and veggies later, we left the restaurant to visit the Wushan night market, or, as I referenced, my night circus. (Oh, right. Dinner also included the most adorable little glass pudding pot you’ve ever seen. So cute!)
The Wushan night market is an incredible spectacle, as well as an assault on the senses. As you enter, tables and tables of goods and wares stretch before you, backlit by buzzing electric bulbs and jerry-rigged cables. Heaping piles of clothes in every hue and fabric urge you to dive in and sort, sift, tug, and caress to gauge quality, seam stability, and softness. Meanwhile, other tables are covered with glittery rhinestone hairclips, brassy “gold” jewelry, and bootleg CD’s and DVD’s. The talented illusionists and magicians of this circus market offer buttery smooth leather “designer” handbags and sharply emblazoned “Coach,” “Gucci,” and “Prada” wallets, all of which look incredibly realistic. Honestly, they’re good fakes. Scary good. Magically good? The fortune tellers, on the other hand, predict which unwitting market-goers to target, and through their psychic powers, glean starting and ending prices for each particular item a customer/circus-goer eyes.
Elsewhere in the market, ladies’ tights, leggings, and shoes are strung up to resemble a slightly scandalous and risqué can-can scene, and a cacophony of sounds adds to the chaos. Voices rise and fall, haggling, bartering, and bantering. Vendors and merchants (or ringmasters and ringmistresses) shout and cajole, wheedle, convince, and persuade. Friends converse and question, hem and haw, hesitate and pause. All of this is then punctuated by the sharp sizzle of deep-fried night snacks being dropped into hot oil.
Street snack aromas—fermented (stinky) tofu, savory dumplings, and crispy flatbread pockets—permeate the air and lure passers-by, just as caramel apples and popcorn entice regular circus goers. According to Kay, the food carts are the most profitable enterprise at the Wushan night market, as people (visitors and vendors alike) are hungry, and as there’s no haggling over prices for food. I will say this only once, as there’s simply no convincing some people—stinky tofu isn’t that bad. In fact, I almost, even, kind of like it. The cart guy seemed perplexed as I failed to react in the appropriate “Western” way (which would be covering my mouth, gagging, and running away in horror) to the aroma—he kept eyeing me suspiciously, as if I, in turn, was an illusionist or shape-shifter.
Okay. I’m done with the analogy now. You’ll have to forgive me; I teach English for a reason.
In any case, the night market was so interesting, and so visually stimulating. I bought a few small things, as well as an adorable “designer” skirt that cost the equivalent of eight dollars. EIGHT DOLLARS. I love China.
Also, Kay is a fantastic bargainer.
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