'Our' market

If I get up early enough, there's the delight of finding a market in our street. A market of almost anything imaginable. Buyers and sellers almost all retired, professional (window) shoppers and bargainers.

I love the ones selling things like this:

Others sell more antique, or jewellery, there's a lady with knitting stuff, a guy with bamboo things, a guy who sells bicycle saddles, leggings, underwear, just anything. This guy sells some type of liquor:

A little further down is where the wet market starts. It lasts all day, no need to get up early for this one.. 

Something I will not stop to wonder about: why are strawberries sold in baskets? In our market, in the supermarket, at the metro station, everywhere I see them, they come in baskets. And it's not just the strawberries. There seems to be a certain way to present products for many things. A this is how we do it way. Makes me feel uncomfortable always. Where's the diversity? 

Delicious, cheap and fresh: tofu, or doufu, in all it's variety. And some seaweed and sprouts. (these too: always sold at the same shop). 

And some veggies for todays lunch. A heaven for the eyes...  

Home

From the day that we landed, I have been working on creating a home for myself here. Perhaps even more true: re-creating my home. I have been scanning the neighborhood for familiar places: a shop for groceries, the gym, the library. I've been scanning the shelves in the supermarket for familiar brands, or if not there: familiar alphabet at least. (I prefer Dove over 巧克力) This all to the point that if I want my Shanghai life can be quite similar to my Amsterdam life. Café latte at Starbucks, pizza extra cheese at Papa John's, hot yoga at the gym, organic body lotion. It's all there.

What else is it that a home consists of? Greeting my neighbors in the elevator, joking with the watchman at the gate, a smile of recognition from my favorite noodle stand guy at lunch time. Those are all important. A girlfriend to discuss the little things of life, the gossip, the burden of motherhood, the different ways of swimming front stroke. A girlfriend who helps with the tackling of incomprehensible Chinese things, like visiting the hospital, changing my phone subscription. They make life easy and warm.

Some things are not so clear. How important is cheese? Is it worth 8 euro for a tiny little piece? Do I want to stick to my buttered brown bread (imported from Germany and New Zealand, you may guess the price) or do I settle for the trendy local bread, made brown with malt syrup and decorated with pork floss? Or rather still buy my lunch in the street for 55 cents?

What makes home home for me is a door to lock when you come home, the freedom to eat pancakes with chopsticks, or noodles with a fork. To come home from the store with something strange, and secretly try if it is meant to be a desert, a drink, a spread, a sauce, or if it doesn't taste good at all. That freedom and safety is what has made our apartment at 588 Tian Bao Lu a homely home so far.