No Price Too Low

I woke up at 7 today and hoped to get some serious one-on-one time with my elusive friend The Internet, but the connection in my dad's office is so darned finnicky that in one hour, I was able to respond to four e-mails and correct one blog typo before it was time to head out for a day of sight-seeing, courtesy of the Shanghai Cancer Institute.

The first stop, on the outskirts of Shanghai, was Zhujiajiao, an ancient canal town (think Venice) in which tourists are supposed to wander around admiring its ancientness. Mainly what we did was wander around looking for the best prices on cheap souvenirs while trying to avoid eye contact with the old women who hover from tourist to tourist asking for money, hands extended.

Probably the most interesting thing that happened while there, besides having an eel head plopped down on my plate at lunch, was watching our guide, endearingly referred to as Xiao Li, turn haggling into an art form. He was tall and skinny, but the drab orange blazer that hung from his body and the way he was constantly taking a casual drag of his cigarette made him seem older than his 30 years.

Anyway, after letting Xiao Li know that we were interested in, say, a certain pashmina for my 82-year-old grandmother, he'd walk over to the merchant -- cigarette at his side -- lean in, and start muttering under his breath in Shanghainese. He'd smile the whole time, eyes darting back and forth from the pash to the vendor. Usually in these situations, when the vendors look offended, that's when a counter-offer is made and you eventually end up with some kind of compromise. Not with the mighty Xiao Li. I don't know what he would say, but things usually ended with us holding the goods and the merchant pouting badly. (I think the upside for them was that he could bring them customers in the future.)