one liter of cooking oil
one half liter of soy sauce
a pound of rice
one large eggplant
a sweet red pepper
hot pepper flakes
a pound of tofu
garlic, leeks and ginger
two pounds of apples
one snap-lid food storage container
two trash baskets
two plastic storage boxes
two dozen clothing hangers
a large handled water dipper
a small package of "Tide" clothing detergent
a large bottle of "White Cat" dish detergent
two towels
two washcloths
a roll of toilet paper and a dispenser
two heavy duty bicycle locks
a desk lamp with built-in dimmer (slogan "We piant the seed for beeter desk lamps")
twenty individually packaged servings of breakfast cereal ("Huashi Black Sesame Oatemeal is refinedly made of the barley, high quality blace sesame seed, non-fat milk powder, sugar, maize, and so on, with the scientific method, it has the strong fragrant flavor and very much nutrition.")

Some of what we bought is absolute junk. One of the waste baskets broke when it slipped from our hands and hit the pavement before we even paid for it. The bike locks would yield to any half-serious bolt cutters or even a good pair of metal cutting shears.

The bicycles themselves (which were bought for us, so I apologize for sounding ungrateful) look like serious mountain bikes but are pathetically flimsy. The (plastic) brake actuators flex when you squeeze them, shamefully reducing the already limited braking power. The cantilever brakes are not cast, but stamped metal. Tightening the seat post bolts causes the frame to deform under the pressure of the nut, which itself cannot withstand the force of the wrench.

The tools which I brought from home, attack the equipment here like weapons. Screw slots inevitably shear as the screwdriver turns, vise grip pliers crush the parts they are expected to secure. It's like watching two mismatched armies; slaughter and carnage wreaked upon the defenseless.

Things break regularly, or never work satisfactorily. Electrical plugs fail to mate with sockets, keys open locks only reluctantly, one of our new bikes has already needed to have its freewheel replaced (after two days of riding!) But none of this feels frustrating or depressing. The consequences of failure are never severe. Everyone excepts the possibility and is prepared for the inevitable.

For example, Deb's bike began skipping as she pedaled up hills. Under loads, the crank would slip, spinning without driving the rear wheel. During the course of the next few hours it got worse and worse until it became impossible to pedal even on level ground.

We pulled over to the side of the road to figure out how we were going to get home. We noticed that ahead on the next block was a bicycle repair business. That's not as lucky as you might think because there is a bicycle repair shop on almost every block. In fact, we realized that we'd stopped right next to another repair shop.

I was skeptical that the problem could be easily fixed. But the repairman was cheerfully confident. He disappeared behind the small glass front display case holding bike locks and chain wheels (which, along with tire pump on the sidewalk, was all that identified his trade) and returned with a new freewheel.

He quickly turned the bike over, removed the rear wheel, and unfastened the old freewheel using a large nail wrapped with a strip of rubber held carefully in pair of pliers and struck with a hammer. Deb meanwhile struck up a conversation with the two women at the shop (who tried to convince her that we needed better bike locks.)

By the time the repairs were completed, Deb knew where they came from (Sichuan), and how long they'd lived in Kunming (8 years.) They'd learned our ages (they had guessed that Deb was 30 and I was 50, something Deb translated for me with a little too much glee) and what we were doing in Kunming.

It was a totally pleasant diversion. No one gave any evidence of being inconvenienced or annoyed. We were delighted that we had found someone to get us out of our jam, they were happy for the business and the conversation. The bill for the repair (parts and labor) came to less than two dollars.

Now you could argue that the bike should not have broken; that if it was built to higher standards, with better materials and proper quality controls, this would have never happened. Yes, but getting it fixed was not really a problem. And a bike that never broke would cost too much. After all, *my* bike didn't break (at least not yet) so maybe it was just bad luck.

"Sometimes you eat the bear, and sometimes the bear eats you." That's not a Chinese expression as far as I know but it could be. The manufactured world here is no more or less reliable than the natural world. And nobody expects it to be otherwise. It's not what I'm used to but it doesn't feel so bad. I can get used to this.