Lessons from China #1
Striking A Hard Bargain
Arriving in Yichang (宜昌) in the dead of night, we stumbled towards the dim lights and the faint sound of crashing waves. Suddenly, we were ambushed. Like caribou on the plain, the wolves trapped us with ruthless efficiency. The wolves, in this analogy, were elderly Chinese women selling souvenirs. Don’t laugh, I’m serious.
Selling souvenirs to wealthy foreigners is big business. These elderly women might not seem like a threat with their ponderous gait and wizened old smiles, but beneath the surface lies a ruthless predator. They hunt alone and they hunt in packs. They ambush you in narrow alleys or herd you into main squares. Once they corner you, which they will, their persistence and tenacity can become overwhelming. Not dismissing them out of hand is your biggest mistake. Unfortunately, most English people are too polite to do just that.
Once they’re in the ring with you, it can be a rough old ride. In my first encounter, I was toyed with, allowed to throw a few hopeless punches, only for my opponent to effortlessly duck and weave. Then, once they tired of foreplay, they let loose a barrage of blows I never saw coming, putting me on my back, leaving me staring up groggily into the dim light, wondering what had happened.
‘’50 yuan’’, I murmur, ‘’50 yuan’’. I just wanted the fight to end.
I would like to clarify that I never been physically assaulted by an elderly Chinese woman selling souvenirs. That’s certainly not to say I’ve never been physically assaulted by an elderly Chinese woman, because I have. An elbow in the ribs was a peculiar and unwelcome sensation, given that in European cities I would be short enough for elbows to generally connect with my chest. That’s the grim reality of the Chinese metro system. I was no match for a wily old fox hardened by 60 winters of eating nothing but rice and boiled vegetables. I still eat packed lunches made by my mummy.
In fact, ignoring how melodramatic I have been on ‘abuse’ from these hawkers, I didn’t really mind. Actually, I came to quite enjoy the game of negotiation. I learnt to go toe-to-toe with these jackals. It was their turn to stare wide-eyed (…) as I countered with an insolently low offer, permitting them the opportunity to knock me a little higher to the figure I had first had in mind. I learnt to courageously turn my back on souvenirs I really desired, playing that I was ready to walk away. I would suppress a smile as I felt them glare sullenly at my back, ready to nonchalantly turn back once they dropped their price. I learnt to negotiate to no avail for a few items I didn’t care for first, to disguise my bid for the item I truly desired.
Unfortunately, this is of little use to me now I’m back in England. Shopping here is so staggeringly benign in comparison. The big issue newspaper seller doesn’t chase you down the street. Quite the opposite; when you refuse him, he smiles at you any way and wishes you a good day. As if he didn’t just hear you say no (well, ‘’no, thank you’’). As I pass him by, I look back, daydreaming. In my mind, he transforms into a grizzly old Chinese lady. She hurries after me, her souvenir tray jangling noisily.
‘’Sir, Sir! Book! Book! Read! Book! Handsome!’’, she cries, ‘’Please! Sir! Book!’’.
‘’50 yuan’’, I murmur, ‘’50 yuan’’.