Suzhou, under my skin

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It occurred to me that two days left isn’t enough. Not enough time left to do all the things I haven’t done yet and all the things I don’t know that I haven’t done and are still left for me to find - but two days is it.



So, I sit on the roof of my kitchen and write a list and I figure a route to best cover as many things on the list taking the most efficient route but I’m always awake before the train ticket shop is open, or the calligrapher opens his windows, or The Bookworm is open and my tummy is rumbling through not eating breakfast. It is 6.30am and, in some parts, this city has already been fully awake for 2 hours. So, I figure I’ll start the day by heading out of town on my upwardly mobile wheels and go to Shan Tang Jie to buy Patti’s present and fruit for me, before it gets too hot. This little jaunt would normally be 'a walk in the woods', but I wobble on a toy bike with tiny wheels and a loose stem that holds the handles, jostle for space with hundreds of others in the bike lane, often with bikes coming in the opposite direction, cross junctions that have no laws, and feel the heat stripping the skin from my arms and forehead so much so, that it makes me speed up towards any shadow there may be cast by a spindly tree or dirty lorry or some other large object which occasionally makes me randomly veer slightly, so it isn’t as straightforward as a little bike ride to the shops. The shop, as I know it, is the heart of the fruit, veg and animal market and it’s not exactly a shop – it’s a table with a hut behind it and a strong woman to negotiate with.



I wobble through the tourist shopping part, which is still sleeping, keep going towards the real market with every fruit, vegetable, animal, bird, fish or edible creature (often still living) that there is to buy. I park the stupid bike alongside the rest of the gazzilion bikes under a bridge at the beginning of this bazaar. This really wasn’t on my list of things to do and already I’m sidetracked. Honestly, this rambling tiny lane with small shops on either side, with houses above and washing hanging over the street and fruit and vegetable stands in front leaves only a tiny space for people to walk and pass of about 3 strides wide. The length of this area which must be about half a mile is cobbled and holds a few thousand people all wanting to buy the best, the freshest, the cheapest, the biggest – all the superlatives are here.



I want the dragon fruit but know that the price for me is different to any other person in this place because of the colour of my skin. My price could be up to 4 times higher than the price for a Chinese person and possibly 6 times higher than a local Suzhouneze person. I watch my target purchase. The locals come to press the dragon fruit, check the quality then buy. When they ask the price, I listen with a big fat stupid grin, the vendor catches me listening, I laugh, he laughs back – I’m onto a winner but still wait. I want to make sure that I get the same price as everyone else. Yi Jin – half a kilo is I forget how much but he tells me and I ask if it is the same price as the locals. They all fall about laughing and as a customer is just receiving his change, I peer into his hand to check it to see what he's paid and am happy that the market trader is not fleecing me. I pay the same as the locals, in fact, I get more, better, riper because everyone is trying to find the best fruit for me, in a mountain of dragon fruits. It becomes a little game. I leave with 3 big fat ripe dragons for 9 kwai and a wink.

I walk on and here is the point where I find the thing I didn’t know existed before I woke. A crowd is gathered around a man with a mic and a side-kick. They have a large barrel type container placed on the wheels of a shopping trolly and over the back of the handle is draped a very long, large dead snake, some unidentified animals that look prehistoric and some scaly animals a bit like big lizards which all look like they’ve been dug up. All these thing's tails are hanging in the barrel which has brown peat coloured liquid in. The man with the microphone is gathering people round like a prophet and he is telling them something special that I have no idea about but it is significant because I can tell from the tension – I figure it all goes back to the brown dirty water which he is rubbing onto pulse points on people’s wrists like perfume. They’re coming to him in flocks to seemingly be cured or anointed or have some kind of medicine. I’m getting more and more curious and get closer - so long as he doesn’t touch me with that damn dirty water. It is at this point that I lift the camera and he flicks his hand out to me with the sponge-like thing holding the dirty water to shoo me away and I get a good flick in the face anyways. I laugh and walk on but think he won that one - just.

You can buy anything here. A frog or turtle or a bag of or dragon fruit or fabric or a duck’s tongue or heart or head and you can get cured by a microphone wielding medicine man. But my eye is set on a present and I know where I’m heading.



Last morning in Suzhou



I wobble on the stupid bike to Cai Gen Lin’s. He is cutting hair, as always, in the same 12 square feet of space. Tiny bits of fluffy old man’s hair is dropping to the floor and I watch and know that by the way Cai Gen Lin folds the wet towel to wipe the face of the man then give him a wet shave, that he will know the exact contours of this head and face and neck and of the next person and the next and the next because they have been coming here for a hair cut and a wet shave for ever. Even if he couldn’t see, he would be able to tell me each person that walked through the door just by contours. I’m silently sitting on a tiny bamboo chair – the back of which has rubbed a mark across the wall where people have sat and waited in line. I’m totally silent and don't know why.

Cai Gen Lin and I have known each other since 2008 when I used to walk my dog past his house every day. In 2009 when Chris and I split, he listened and understood. He gave me wise words which I have carried in a pocket in my mind ever since. He said: Falling down is not terrible. The terrible thing is that you don’t stand up in time.
You should stand up and brush off the dust and go on walking proudly as you used to do. He also told me to let it go. and with that, I have let more and more things go. In the Easter holiday of 2010, I took Patti to meet him and his wife and in the winter of 2010, I returned again only to see him grieving over the death of his mother. This man and his wife are Buddhists, they live a simple and good life which has possibly remained unchanged for over 30 years. He is 67. But this year, he greeted me with a photograph of 2 grandsons. The photograph was overwhelming for me to see. 2 Children is still forbidden in China unless each of the parents are an only child. Two boys is the greatest of blessing in China now. So, we have been through many experiences together. friendship, support, understanding, broken relationship, living, dying and being born and he is the person I most greatly admire and respect. This morning, during the 2 hours with this man, in between hair cuts, we talked about the differences in our countries and once again he told me that this house isn’t his, this money that he has earned isn’t his, nothing is his. And I agree. We just pass on through life. It seems to be our destiny to see each other every few years but really, if I never see him again, I carry his beliefs with me.



When I left today, he knew I might never return. We shook hands for the first time, quite surprisingly, he held his arms out in the universal gesture of a hug. So, I hugged him, or he hugged me. I have no idea which but when I looked at him, a thousand moments passed me in a glance and we shook hands again and I held back stupid tears to push China away again.



But it is too late, China is under my skin, its dirt and dust and mould and grit are under my skin and this tiny barber’s shop in the old lanes of Suzhou becomes another place I do not want to leave.

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Photos

you know those expensive edamame beans in the UK?
buy em by the ton here.