Old Dali Market

As she served us our breakfast at the sturdy wooden table in the courtyard of the Lily Pad Inn, our host Erine told us that it was market day in Old Dali and that after we finished eating she would escort us to the market. I thought that she would have had better things to do, but we were happy to take her up on her offer.

A young, reserved Chinese man of about twenty also joined our little market-bound group. I assumed that he was yet another guest to whom our host had extended the same offer.

Most of the open-air markets that we have been to in Asia are largely geared toward the tourists. Lots of sunglasses and t-shirts mixed in with all the other wares. You get the sense that even the local handicraft in these markets is produced with the outsider in mind. The Friday Market in Old Dali was refreshing because it truly was a local market put on by locals for locals. It was all hand-woven rice winnowing trays and hand-made baskets with straps meant to be carried on one’s back. Lots of dried red peppers, meat cleavers, and straw brooms. All of it was made locally, intended for local use.

While ninety-five percent of the people in Mainland China are ethnically from the Han people group, China is also home to 55 officially recognized minority groups. Yunnan province is home to China’s biggest cross-section of ethnic minorities. In particular, the region surrounding Dali is home to the Bai minority people.

So many of the Bai people in the market –the women in particular- were wearing traditional Bai outfits. I couldn’t help but conclude that the locals were doing so not because they were trying to attract tourists and tourist dollars, but because that’s simply how they chose to dress on market day. Many of the older women wore their long hair in a big bun at the back of their head. But then they also wore large-brimmed straw hats. The result was that their hats were riding high and pitched forward at a jaunty angle.

Some guys have a weakness for watches, some for imported cigars. I have a weak spot region-specific, traditional handicraft that captures a little bit of the unique essence of a place. It’s a good thing I’m a social studies teacher because it provides cover and justification for my penchant for junk from around the world.

Almost everywhere we looked in Old Dali, we saw people wearing large straw baskets on their backs. Men, women; old folks, young folks. They wore them in the fields while farming and they wore them to the market to do their shopping. They were not only functional, but I found those baskets to be quite beguiling. And to my great joy, the Friday market had a wide selection of baskets: big ones, small ones, and in-between ones. I was in the process of trying to decide whether or not a medium-sized basket could fit into my backpack when I espied something all-together different in the stall across the lane.

There, piled high, was a stack of bamboo shoulder sticks to which farmers attach baskets hanging from ropes. What could be more quintessentially rural China than a farmer’s bamboo shoulder stick? In my mind, I started to formulate the lesson plan for students back in Chicago. I would affix a pair of buckets with rope and then fill them with sand or water and then I would set it on my students’ shoulder. I would make them carry this heavy load from one side of the classroom to the other. For a few brief moments, they would each get a feel for what it was like to be a Chinese rice farmer. This was going to be great.

With the help of the young Chinese man from our guest house who had come along to the market with us, I was able to negotiate the price down to twenty yuan. I couldn’t have been happier. I caught up with Julie and the girls and proudly showed of my latest acquisition.

As we walked out of the market area, an old-timer squinted at me as he tried to figure out what I was carrying and then broke out into a large smile and a silent laugh when he recognized what it was. Whitey bought himself a bamboo shoulder stick.