TheTraveler

A Monthly Special Feature from The Traveler at TouristTravel.com

Fish heads and Fashion: 15 minutes in Chinatown
by Marnie McCown-Guard

Dateline-- New York . 
Chinatown to be exact.  After a white-knuckle ride from Midtown in a cab smelling of linseed oil and patchouli daringly piloted by a young Bangladeshi hoping for a spot on the NASCAR circuit,  we arrived unscathed.  At least "Eddie", my driver, was-- I emerged pale, clammy and nauseous -- happy to be on solid ground.  Unfortunately, my solid ground was a pile of fish heads.    Chinatown seemed to be in poor standing with NYC Waste Management as evidenced by the piles of ripped garbage sacks lining the streets and the fish heads that escaped.

Late July in New York is hot and sticky, yet I decided that a long sleeve t-shirt is the best garment choice, especially since I now live in Arizona where it hits 112 degrees.  Not brilliant, I know, but being used to extreme heat, I was sure I would be cold in 86 degrees with 50% humidity.  Like I said, not brilliant.

So, having scraped the herring scales and mahi mahi eyeballs off my soles, I went in search of a more air-conditioned shirt.  Chinatown is a Mecca for cheap goods, from troll dolls to knock-off Rolexes and everything in between. I knew I could find something under $10 that would last at least as long as my stay in the city...and I was right.  I ducked into the first stand I came to.  With a cry of "Lady, we have shuts (yes, that's how she said it) for '6 dollar' the Asian proprietress trundled over to me with her fanny pack stuffed with cash and her burning intensity to make a sale.

She invited me into the back, but since I was laden with my heavy camera pack, I was as mobile as turtle on its shell.  As she ushered me to the back of the shirt shack, I bumbled my way behind her, bringing down 2 racks of dresses and 3 piles of "shuts".  Explaining my predicament to her, she whipped out 3 tank tops with the flair of a Vegas magician. "You like?" she grinned, showing me tissue thin tanks sporting sayings like 'hot baby' and 'glitter'.  "Um, maybe something less...flashy?" I countered.

"Okay, I got pa-fick shut" she said and brought out a selection of New York public service shirts.  NYPD, FDNY, NYCSD (New York City Sanitation Department, she tells me...seriously).  I decide on a FDNY tank top since it is the most un-shiny with dark red letters on a dark blue background.  For '6 dollar' I will be properly clothed for steamy city heat.   Before I can ask about a changing room, my style guide brings forth the sales staple of Chinatown boutiques -- the Mandarin collar, silk (polyester, actually) tops.  Fire-engine red, black, emerald green, cobalt blue and gold, all these tops are embroidered with dragons, Chinese medallions and lotus blossoms.  "See deese? Deese look good on you".  Not one to argue with this tiny powerhouse of street side commerce, I agree to try on the gold version. 

"May I try on a small?"

"You need lazh" she said with an indignant huff. 

"No, I need a small. Do I LOOK like I need a large?"

"Chinese are tiny, only make lazh and mee-dum for Merry-cans"

"Okay, I'll try a medium"

"You choice", she replies with another huff.

As there is no dressing room, I have to slip the top over my long-sleeve T.  Not a good look, but the medium fit (hah!) and I agreed to buy it .  At the low price of $25, it was a bargain, I was told, since it normally sells for $30.  As she wrapped my purchases in not one, but two, crinkly, repurposed grocery sacks, she asks if I want to change into my new, cooler tank top.  I readily agreed that I would be happier traipsing around Canal Street.  But, at this point there is still no dressing room.  Looking at her with an expression of confusion (or stupidity), I ask, "Um, where can I change?"

"You change heyah"

"Um, where?"

"Right heyah.  Get down behind table" she answered impatiently.  "I make show nobody sees"

Not wanting to argue, I crouch down behind the spindly-legged, overburden with t-shirts, whip off my shirt and quickly slide on my new FDNY tank.  Mission accomplished -- modesty retained. I gathered my stuff, paid for my purchases and navigated my way through the firetrap of tables, racks and hanging clothes.  Bursting onto the street with a trail of clothes in my wake, I continued my stroll down Canal Street.  This time avoiding the fish heads.

For your own Chinatown experience, hop into a cab and ask to go to the corner of Canal Street and Mott Street or Mott and Bayard. From there, you are right in the thick of things.

Information on the history and cultural offerings of Chinatown can be found at: http://www.moca-nyc.org

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