Lost on Planet China - J. Maarten Troost [84]
The watch seller leapt at it before I could utter another word.
“Well, it’s a very nice watch,” I offered. “It makes you look like a very wealthy man. Which, of course, is exactly the image you want to convey in a bus or train station in the middle of China.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
We left the island and walked across a footbridge that took us over a narrow channel of water and six lanes of traffic and headed toward the Qingping Market, where I hoped to introduce Jack to the peculiar wonders of authentic Chinese cuisine. It’s different, I’d told him. He’d wanted different. Food is different in China. He’ll love it for its differentness.
Whereupon we stumbled over a tiger paw.
At the entrance to the broad expanse of the Qingping Market, a vendor had laid out a red blanket upon which lay an assortment of animal parts.
“What’s this?” I asked the surprisingly burly salesman.
It was the paw of a Siberian Tiger. An endangered species. And then he demonstrated how he’d saw the claw out. Two claws were already missing.
“This, tiger tooth.”
I held it. “And this?
“Rhino horn.”
There were tiger tails, monkey skeletons, lungs and other organs, and a plethora of horns, all from species that didn’t have them to spare, and all arrayed on this red blanket at the entrance to the largest open market in Guangzhou.
“What price?” he asked me as I beheld the tiger tooth.
“Big problem taking this into my country,” I said.
“No problem,” he said. “I mail it.” And then he imitated a plane.
Oh, sure. I’ll look for my tiger tooth in the morning mail.
“Well,” I said to Jack as we walked on. “That counts as one of the more appalling things I’ve seen in China, and that’s a very high bar.”
And then, as if we were lost in some grim Humane Society nightmare, we began to wander past stalls selling frogs, chickens, eels, turtles, cats, scorpions—big and small—dogs in cages, ducks in bags, and snakes in bowls. There were 2,000 stalls in this market, and this, apparently, was where Noah’s Ark unloaded its cargo. If you were planning a dinner party and looking to tickle your guests’ palate with a delicately prepared Cobra heart, perhaps followed by some bunny soup and sautéed puppy, the Qingping Market is the place for you. And if your needs should involve a tiger penis and a rhino horn, these, too, can be found in the market. Once relegated to medicinal uses, the consumption of endangered animals has become a mark of status in the new China. Siberian Tigers are rare, ergo they’re expensive, which means they’re valuable. Nothing makes an impression in China like Tiger Liver Soup.
We stopped in front of a crate of cats.
“You do realize we’re still in the food section,” I observed.
“I don’t feel like I’m in Sydney anymore,” Jack said.
As we turned to go, Jack tripped over the sidewalk and stepped into a fetid pool of water and animal waste and who knows what else. Jack, it should be noted, was wearing sandals. If there was one pool of water that one didn’t want to step in, it was quite likely this one in the Qingping Market in Guangzhou.
“My feet are wet,” Jack observed with a touch of panic in his voice. “I’m not going to get sick, am I? This isn’t how you get SARS, is it?”
“You might have a problem.”
“Seriously, I can feel something eating through my skin.”
“That doesn’t sound like SARS. Maybe gangrene.”
“I’m really starting to regret this trip.”
I vaguely recalled that SARS had begun somewhere in southern China before killing hundreds and leading to a panic when the government was slow to grapple with the problem. But I put it out of my mind as we made our way to a restaurant with an appealing courtyard facing the river. Chinese people were dining in private open booths. At the entrance, the hostess told us that No, we could not sit there, and seated us on a viewless terrace.
“That was weird,” Jack observed.
“Not really,” I said, feeling like an old, grizzled China expert. “Many Chinese look down on us. Thus, we’re not worthy of riverside booths.”
On the illustrated menu, we considered deep-fried whole