Poisoned Beauty

I think Chinese markets are a glorious revelation, their herb, fruit, and vegetable sections intrigue and arouse me as nothing else in the world can- and it is fitting, I think, that my greatest love, awash with vivid colors, variety, and the honest faces of farmers, in one aspect so beautiful is in another aspect so horrible. To me these markets are the perfect example of all the rest of the world. On one hand, a brilliant and riotous showcase of all the blessings the earth has to offer. On the other hand, a poignant and true representation of the cruelest possibilities of human culture. Before I enter the alleyways of any such market, I have to steel myself.
One, steel myself for the revelation of rows upon rows of dirt encrusted vegetables that make me weak in the knees. The delectable existence of kimchi vendors- old women hunched amoung all manner of pickled vegetables, wares spread upon rickety wooden tables. Piles of jubilant citrus fruits, cool green leaves laying against gleaming orange rind. Tables piled high with bananas- heaping piles 5 feet across and 2 feet high. The little old men who spread carpets on the dusty ground and upend bags of peanuts, creating peanutty pyramids of delectable goodness to be weighed and distributed by the luscious pound. These things, the bustle of buyers and the multitude of fresh wares, arouse and delight me the way no lover can. So much variety, so much color, so much food! I die every time.
Two, I steel myself for the flesh trade. There is a curious habit of all the butchers that I’ve seen, and I’ve seen quite a few in Southern China, of taking a pig’s face and nailing it, through the nostril, to the front of their butchering block. Not the skull, just the facial skin. Most thighs and flanks still have the hoof attached at the bottom. Skulls with eyeballs intact usually line the left side a block, intestines and organs the front, and slabs of flesh the interior and right sides. Rib cages usually hang from hooks on the right side. And, when I say butchering blocks I mean it in the most medieval sense of the phrase- large wooden blocks line the coursing open air market, individuals wielding cleavers part bone from flesh and flesh from fat as you order. The only animals kept alive in the market are ducks, chickens, roosters, geese and ganders, fish, frogs and turtles. Cows, pigs, dogs, rats, gophers, ferrets, pheasants, and other small fowl are all killed and plied at market as corpses. I’m going to leave off here, as the subsequent posts get into my more visceral reactions.
Suffice to say, this is the dichotomy I encounter at the market. Delight and wonder lines one side, horrid suffering the other.