Our first days in Kunming were a series of shopping sprees to replace things we didn't bring or that our apartment lacked. Also, in addition to our our daily vegetables and tofu, we had to buy staples such as rice, noodles, oil, soy sauce, etc. From what we can tell, for the Chinese middle class there are five major forms of commerce. We are not discussing the stock market or Internet here, because we are clueless about those realms.

LOCAL MARKET: In Bailongsi, it occurs every day. It begins before we ever leave the apartment and stays open at least until dark. The same vendors occupy the same tables every day, so we have come to know the tofu lady, the cilantro and scallion lady, the fat and cheerful pea tendril man, the rice lady, etc. As I have mentioned earlier, the vegetables are exceptionally fine, and prices amazingly low. An eggplant, red pepper, head of garlic, handful of leeks and knob of the very young ginger root that's hard to buy in the U.S. costs 2 yuan, the equivalent of 25 cents. In fact, almost everything costs 2 yuan--a kilo of apples, a kilo of noodles, an enormous hunk of tofu. It is not clear whether we should be bargaining, but we don't. If the vendors are overcharging us, we can afford this degree of price padding. Bailongsi's market also features chickens, both live and ready-to-cook, caged bunnies, and big basins of fish. Sometimes there is entertainment. For instance, last week a crowd gathered around an armless man who sat on the ground doing calligraphy with the brush held between his toes.

ITINERANT VENDORS: Downtown, along Bailongsi village's main street, and around the perimeter of our market are vendors who squeeze into unofficial spaces to sell a limited array of merchandise. This might be a man with a wheelbarrow of pears, someone selling cheese from the trunk of his car, or a couple selling towel racks in a pedestrian underpass downtown. We bargained hard for the towel rack, but not for the pears. In retrospect, we should have bargained even harder.

SMALL SHOPS: Along with restaurants, these line our village's one street, and most main streets in the city. Usually the entire storefront is open, regardless of rain. Goods, especially multicolored plasticware, spill onto what would be the sidewalk, except that we don't have a sidewalk. (The street itself is only intermittently paved and what might appear to be a sidewalk is really big slabs of cement covering the sewer.) Some shops have clear specialties such as stationery or tea, or odd combinations such as shoes & watches. But a lot sell a bewildering combination of items that usually include toilet paper; plastic basins, buckets, & baskets; small packages of clothing detergent; etc. Beyond these basics, the variety stores then move toward a sub-specialty such as packaged food, hardware, textiles, or cooking apparatus, for instance. Occasionally the combinations are hard to figure. For example, the store with by far the best selection of different batteries also sells shoes. Sometimes prices are marked, but even when they aren't, we haven't bargained because it seems crazy. The teapot I bought here costs less than the tea strainer I bought in Harvard Square.

DEPARTMENT STORES: There are only a few downtown, and upon close scrutiny, they appear to be a collection of separate businesses. For instance, the store in which we bought an iron had at least four separate counters selling appliances including irons, sometimes even the same brand of irons. At least to us, the sales clerks are very attentive. The clerk not only took our iron out of the box to show us, she then plugged it in to prove that it really was getting hot. Of course, it never occurred to us that our brand new iron might not work! Prices are clearly marked. The clerk gives you a receipt which you take to a central cashier. You pay, she stamps the receipt, and you return to the clerk who collects the receipt carbon copy and gives you your merchandise.

THE MARTS: These three stores, N-Mart, PriceMart, and a genuine Wal-Mart are Kunming's answer to K-Mart, and they appear to be a great novelty. While not as large as an American Wal-Mart, by Chinese standards, these stores are huge. They even have separate parking lots for bikes, motorcycles, and cars (actually some of the very, very few car parking lots we've every seen in China, but that's a whole other story). Prices are not cheaper than Bailongsi's shops, but the variety is infinitely more extensive. For example, N-Mart has an entire aisle of sanitary napkins (and two boxes of o.b. tampons). Merchandise ranges from car accessories and bike locks to fresh produce (MUCH less attractive than our own market's), frozen food, alcoholic beverages, international foods (Thai rice, Minute Maid juice, Australian butter). There is clothing and bedding, beauty care products and furniture. However, even in the Wal-Mart, you would never mistake being in an American store. Prices are marked with bar codes and labeled on the shelf. Of the three Marts, Wal-Mart seems to be most people's favorite because it is the biggest and cheapest, but for us it is a 4-mile, hilly bike ride away and we think the aisles are too congested. N-Mart is much closer to Bailongsi and we find it less bewildering. Unlike American discount stores, the number of sales people at N-Mart is gigantic! They all wear royal blue shirts and are genuinely helpful. If they see us puzzling over unfamiliar food products, they will even come over the ask (in Chinese) what we are looking for or to suggest a product they particularly like.

Although N-Mart is undeniably convenient (if you don't mind carrying an ironing board home on your bike), it is much more impersonal than shopping locally. When we stroll along Bailongsi village's one street, the shopkeepers or market vendors from whom we have made purchases give us smiles of recognition or call out "Nihao" to us.

Except for herb tea, toaster ovens, laundry dryers, dishracks, and bleach, pretty much everything we need to buy is available, although not always in a familiar style. In addition, there are also some things we would be unable to find in American stores. For example, dish sterilizers are a very popular appliance. John had wondered about the logic of washing dishes in unboiled water we would never drink, and clearly others have shared his concern. These sterilizers are like ovens, often as big as our smallish Chinese refrigerator, in which you heat the bejesus out of the bacteria remaining on your hand-washed dishes. We have yet to see electric dishwashers.

Also new and different to us, but very common to the Chinese, are underpants with a secret, zippered pocket in the belly. These really appeal to the spy in me, and I suspect I will eventually buy a pair in case I ever need to smuggle diamonds.