Seeing a world outside the bubble

Growing up in the Midwest, I never experienced an actual "Chinatown." While New Yorkers and Californians boasted of bubble tea shops springing up on every street corner and described their weekly feasts of dim sum and lychees, I simply nodded, bewildered. My city's Chinatown originally consisted of a small Chinese grocer specializing in canned goods without expiration dates and a laundromat. Though it has since expanded to two restaurants, a "pharmacy" filled with foul-smelling herbs and another grocer, it has yet to reach the appropriate size to attract bubble tea stands.

Forever intrigued by actual Chinatowns, I hopped onto the Dinky with a couple of friends one fine Saturday and wandered into Manhattan's Chinatown. It looked nothing like my city's Chinatown. Colorful scarves streamed from the tops of stalls, while metallic belts dangled below. The scent of raw seafood wafted from a store's outside display — mounds of uncooked shrimp lay on top of melting ice, dead squids and octopi were stacked with their legs tangled together and fish lay limply on the stand. At every street corner, vendors accosted us with shouts of "Purse! You want purse!" and shoved laminated magazine displays of almost-real Dolce & Gabbana and Fendi handbags into our faces.

The sheer mass of people and — for lack of a better word — junk that area squeezes together never ceases to amaze me. Luckily, that day my friends wished to purchase a colorful Asian-esque painting of their names, so I was not left alone in my touristy wonder.

After asking every street painter on Mott Street to name their price, we finally settled on a middle-aged Chinese woman. As she whipped out a long white sheet already filled with bamboo shoots and flowers, she began the customary round of customer flattery. She thanked me for bringing my friends to her table but reprimanded me for bargaining with her.

"After all," she said in Chinese, "I don't make enough money. It's only because I'm so nice that I'm giving you such a low price."

Embarrassed, I thanked her and to make amends for my bargaining, I asked about her family. She came from China, where she had previously apprenticed in name-painting, and only came to America because of her three-year-old son, who apparently had no father. "America is nice if you have family," she said. "I miss China. I think about home all the time."

Her small son suddenly ran over and clung to her arm, insisting that he was hungry. Apologizing profusely, she stopped painting and settled him down to eat. "He runs around all day. He has to take care of himself," she sighed.

She continued to paint, only pausing at the end to whip out a purple cardboard frame. Of course, I had forgotten. She would not let us leave paying only for the painting.

Despite her story, I began to bargain with her once again for the frame. I wanted to help her, but I worried that she had embellished her story to soften me. This was supposedly a popular technique among Chinatown sellers.

Naturally, she refused to lower the price. "If I lowered the price, I'd be buying the frame for you!" she exclaimed. In the end, I convinced her, since my other friend would be buying a painting from her as well.

But was it even worth it? She had not charged much, so perhaps I shouldn't have bargained at all. While she could have been lying about her circumstances, she probably was not living a terribly comfortable lifestyle. It was impossible to know whether she would use the money responsibly or not, but who was I to judge what she did with her money or with her life?

As we left the sidewalk stand carrying the paintings, we heard a high pitched voice shout, "Bye! Bye-bye!" Curious, we turned. The painter's son stood on the other side of the street, waving wildly at us. We laughed and waved back. I'm not sure if he came of his own accord or if his mother had sent him. I'm not sure if his mother will use the money from the painting to benefit him or let it fall into the hands of a scammer. I am sure, however, that the next time I go to Chinatown, I will walk to the paint stand and tell her son hello. Anna Huang is an ORFE major from Westlake, Ohio. She can be reached at ajh@princeton.edu.