
Beijing
The first thing I learned about the Dirt Market is that no one in Beijing calls it that. In fact, if not for the emails we’d swapped in advance of my trip, Holly would have wondered what the heck I was talking about.
Lesson #427: Don’t always trust your guide books.
The Panjiayuan Market, on the outskirts of southeast Beijing, is a massive, open air collection of antiques, curios, and kitch—the vast majority of them knock offs. Sunday afternoon brought good sized crowds, combing the stalls for everything from Mao alarm clocks to jade Buddhas.
Several artisans were hand carving stamps made from semi-precious stone, using Mandarin characters to phonetically spell out people’s names. Of course, I had one made for myself—a red stone piece topped by a lion-like creature (starts with a “p,” the actual name eludes me now) that symbolizes wealth and success. You look through a book of Western names, find yours, then the artisan carves the characters cross referenced in the book. Holly inspected it closely, and verified that, yes, it translates to “Baxter.”
Of course, now I need to find the red paste ink used with them, pretty sure that trying to pack some from here would end in catastrophe.