Shenzhen Zen

Howl
At the time it seemed like another doomed day in Shenzhen shopping hell. I'd cashed in my chips for a few days making up with C over the New Year debacle and my credit was up.

"Can we take a few minutes visit the outdoor market?" she asked casually midway through an extended trip that had originally begun as a taxi+subway jaunt of 70 minutes to hit Shenzhen's one HSBC ATM machine, buy me a new phone card and us some Western style groceries.

"A few minutes" in C speak is about 90 minutes, give or take 30-40 in real time. Nonetheless there was no mention of malls or new shoes and I sucked it up. "Sure," I said, casually using a flaming tire iron, mace and a spare pitbull to fend off the three guys pushing pirate porno dvds and the foaming, rabid one-armed beggar woman. "Let's rock at the outdoor market, whatever, wherever it is."

Turned out I'd been there before only about 2 years prior to buy bogus Calvin Kline boxers for about 34 cents each that ultimately didn't fit and which now enjoy a place of honor as dish rags in Hong Kong. But the neighborhood had changed and my original focal point, a hotel, was nowhere in sight as we approached the back end. "Hey, wait, is there where I bought the bad underwear?.."

"Yes, yes," she said. "And the two rubber Osam Bin-Laden dolls." I had forgotten about them and the fact that in a weak moment I had wound up giving them to a Thai hooker who had admired them as something her daughter might want. "What did you do with them?" C asked. "Um, er, lost them. Or one of those things, dealies, something, whatever, maybe..hmmm... Hey, look! Shoes!..." I replied.

Subject changed and we wandered aimlessly through the market that was pushing an astonishing variety of crapola ranging from shoddy lingerie to worse jewelry and shoes that could only fit a Hobbit. Until, until we I spotted a half-stall sporting photocopied pictures of Allen Ginsberg, Lawrence Ferlinghetti and John Lennon and from which eminated some of the coolest music I'd heard since hitting Shenzhen. kind of Curtis Mayfield meets the Kazechstan-Cuban Jive Sisters in Frank Zappa's basement. Not your usual Shenzhen fare, pictures, music and all.

Intrigued, I crept in pulling C and found two small walls of Chinese translations of books such as Lolita, Howl. and others about French film, American beatniks, Martin Scorsese, Hindu poetry and one entitled Make Money Like the Jews. "What about the music? I asked C. Do they have it?"

Did they. The sullen kid pulled out four thick photocopied notebooks of CD titles ranging from Klezmer music, Yiddish folk songs, a John Hammond collection, Muddy Waters double disc retrospective, Afro-Franco World Beat, Franco-Afro Beat World, Miles Davis, Ry Cooder, Velvet Underground, Hank Williams, Beastie Boys, Miles Davis, Herbie Hancock, Chet Baker, Diane Krall, Iggy Pop, Rolling Stones, Neil Young, Blink 182, Lou Reed, David Bowie, Rosanne Cash. And many, many, many I'd never heard of. There was more diverse music in this near-closet than any chain or indy record store I'd ever been to in the US. Yeah, they were all bootlegged and there were one or two John Denvers, but nary an Eagles or Carpenters or soundtrack from The Titanic, thankyewjeebus.

"Ten yuan (US$1.30) each. Buy ten, get 1 free. But really can we afford it?" C translated and asked as I salivated and began mindlessly checking off names and titles, eating up my dwindling savings and about 2 weeks of our planned grocery money in the process.

"We can live on James Brown Live at the Apollo, and Lou Reed Rock n Roll Animal for about two to four meals, maybe more, I'm sure. The energy alone will keep us going," I reassured her.