Baby Wearing

For my sister-in-law, a big fan and currently near-constant practitioner of baby-wearing, I have discovered the Chinese version of this practice:

see the little blue hat with white pom-pom?

Yep, that's a baby, wrapped in a sleeping bag, stuffed into a big basket, strapped to his mother's back.

Fabric Market: Adventures in Shopping

Yesterday, TJ and I headed down to the fabric market.  My main objective of this trip wasn’t to capture photos or stories; it was to collect the clothes that I had commissioned for our upcoming Hawaiian vacation.  However, I did manage to snap a few pictures to share this experience with you.

The fabric market was not in its finest form yesterday, as both vendors and customers are already disappearing for the Chinese New Year holidays.  To give you a sense of the madness, though, I’ll share this little anecdote: I took my friend and super-shopper Sarah to the market, and 30 minutes later she was looking for the exit.  Knowing that I tend to develop heart palpitations after five minutes in a mall, Sarah was in disbelief that I enjoyed "shopping" here.  What can I say, I’m settling in I guess!

The market consists of six floors, each housing maybe one hundred little stalls arranged in an illogical maze-like pattern.  Stalls tend to specialize in a fabric or style.  Some simply sell bolts of fabric wholesale, supplying the tailors with a wider selection than each vendor could possibly carry independently.  Some sell premade scarves, belts, gloves, and other accessories.  Some are proper tailors who custom-sew men’s suits or shirts to order.  Some copy western fashions, from outerwear (leather or cashmere coats) to ladies’ fashions such as Mad Men inspired dresses, prom-like ensembles, and an array of blouses and cardigans.  It tends to run the gamut from current fashions to terribly ugly and out-of-date oddities, with some Chinese styles thrown in for good measure.  Generally, they can recreate their own samples, produce a nearly perfect replica of any item you bring in, or work from a photo you supply from the internet or a magazine.  On the upper floors there are specialty shops dedicated to zippers, buttons, and other detailing, so that you can theoretically pick out your trims, find your fabric, and then take it all to a third shop where the tailor will create your unique piece.  The prices are cheap (<$15 for custom fit men's dress shirt) and everything is negotiable, making the fabric market the perfect place for me to practice my haggling skills in Mandarin.  Mini-lesson of the day: tai gui le = “too expensive!”

endless fabric options

fabric for dress shirts

the scarf shops remind me of the street-corner stands in NYC

suits galore

hideous "western" fashions are instant time-travel

Chinese silks, Chinese styles

The whole experience sounds ridiculous for one simple piece of clothing: choose a stall, design an item, pick fabrics and closures, have measurements taken, negotiate the price, return a week later, check fit and quality, final measurements and negotiations, and walk away with your new clothes.  For a person who detests shopping, I’m really not sure how this has become appealing to me.  I think perhaps it’s because the fabric market makes shopping a big adventure, an exploration of a Chinese subculture that is both seedy and extravagant at the same time.  And the one-of-a-kind, perfectly fitting, and reasonably priced pieces I now have are little pearls harvested after much patience and persistence.  You can see my gray cashmere winter coat that has been keeping out the Shanghai chill here.  Stay tuned for a post-Hawaii blog post to witness more fabric market creations!

Just Another Morning at Fuxing Park

I’ve written shamefully few blog posts lately.  Part of that is due to a child who suddenly doesn’t remember how to be still; it’s tricky to write when TJ is constantly crawling towards some new danger that we hadn’t yet predicted and properly baby-proofed.

But another factor is my lack of inspiration recently.  Dare I say that life has become fairly routine and predictable?  It took a visit from a non-resident -- my friend Sarah who flew all the way from NYC to be with us for the holidays -- to remind me that there is plenty here to write about.  Perhaps my bearings are shifting, because what I now consider familiar and common was a source of awe, laughter, quizzical expressions, and photo opportunities for Sarah.  One weekday morning, she accompanied TJ and I on our standard stroll, and I introduced her to the daily activities of Fuxing Park.

Upon entering, we hear the sound of one of a handful of choirs singing (this one is accompanied by an accordion).  They have lyrics or a song list or some sort of instructions hanging up to the right.  Sometimes these singers approach the harmonies of a church choir, but more typically it sounds like a karaoke bar with well-lubricated patrons.

We then approach the large lawn in the center of the park, which in the fall was filled with kite-fliers and student bottle rocket competitions on the weekend.  But the winter sport of choice is some sort of two-handed yoyo with a whirring/zooming noise that can be balanced on a string, spun around, tossed into the air, and even passed between fellow players.

We stroll past many tables of men playing mah jongg.  Some of these men appear to be old, perhaps retired.  But many are younger, and definitely fit, as is proven when they break into physical fights over some sort of game-related drama. So why aren't they working?  I actually wonder this of most park inhabitants, but it strikes me particularly with the card players, because clusters of these gamblers can be found tucked all over the city streets, all day long.

 

Then it's on to the group playing badminton without a net.

Sidenote: it's extremely difficult to photograph a sport with super-thin racquets and tiny darting shuttlecocks.  Apologies, but hopefully you get the gist.

 

Next we circle around to the man writing beautiful calligraphy on the sidewalk with a long brush dipped in water.  He writes in the traditional vertical style (here actually viewed from upside-down) and I'm guessing it's some sort of poetry, but I have no idea.  This man has many admirers who come by to read his creations before they evaporate and disappear.  I love the impermanence of these messages; it reminds me of the sand artist in Wash Square.

 

One of the most popular park activities is ballroom dancing.  From small group lessons with coaches to huge flash-mobs united only by a boom-box, dancers are everywhere.  I love seeing women (typically of the older generation) changing into their special dance shoes, the worn heels and scuffed toes revealing years of dedication to this hobby.  I also marvel at how this is both sport and social engagement; I've observed many (seeming) strangers who begin dancing solo at the fringes and are eventually invited to pair up with a random partner.  Here we have a well organized group practicing a set routine with impressive synchronization.

Throughout our wanderings, we encounter many people "exercising".  I use this term loosely because although I do believe the intention is physical wellness, most of the actions of the park inhabitants do not resemble our own ideas of what exercise looks like.  First of all, gym clothes do not appear to exist.  A few nights ago when we saw a man jogging in a blazer, Matt joked that this puts a whole new spin on "sport coat".  But mostly, the differences are in the actions that constitute the exercises.  Unfortunately, most of these don't photograph well: walking backwards, walking in slo-mo, walking while humming and clapping, statuesque poses.  Here's the best I could capture on camera: one man shrugging repeatedly under a tree, and another swinging his arms so as to violently beat his chest and back.

Let's not forget martial arts.  The couple on the left were a treat because I've rarely seen this done as a tandem act, and the woman on the right was one of Sarah's favorites due to her hot pink satin ensemble (you can't tell from the photo, but she had the yin/yang symbol on her sneakers -- awesome).  She also maintained remarkable focus, considering her choice of location was smack in the middle of a busy walkway.

Sadly, there are many more activities that Sarah and I failed to photograph: the dilapidated amusement park, the synchronized maracas-shakers, the fan dancers, the samurai-sword spinners, the hushed reading and knitting circles, the potty training toddlers with exposed bottoms, and the myriad of people staring at TJ in her stroller as if she is the most eccentric sight in the park.

Thank you Sarah for contributing some of the photographs for this post.  And for reminding us that we live in an absolutely crazy place.