Cabbage Hawkers Take the Streets
There is no escaping the frigid winter silently creeping in under Beijing’s lofty autumnal skies. Dropping temperatures nip at pedestrians scurrying about in formidable layers of clothing. Aside from hardy members of the Houhai Polar Bear Club, exposing oneself to the elements for more than five consecutive minutes is anathema and, for many, the only solution is to hibernate. Thus the already crammed streets of Beijing bear witness to one of the great shopping frenzies of the year: the annual winter cabbage sale. Massive loads of cabbage are hauled in from the countryside and sold in bulk on streetcorners. For three weeks locals swarm the towering stacks of frayed vegetables to fill out their caches of winter edibles. Thirty heads of oversized cabbage in the cupboard guarantees that one can always cook up a tasty treat without venturing forth into the bitter cold.
The industrious purveyors of this cabbage deluge never rest during the peak purchasing period. After sunset they spread blankets on the ground and watch over their hulking mounds of produce through the night. My neighborhood cabbage dealer usually lives just north of Beijing where he runs a large market garden. A keen salesman, he is quick to offer a cigarette and always sports a billowing navy-blue suit. Apparently he doesn’t mind the three weeks spent on the street even though others complain about the “bitterness” of the whole entrerprise. “This is when I make all my money,” he explained, “it’s fun on the street and my girlfriend loves me when I get home.” Fortunately nearby residents can’t get enough cabbage – a perennial treat for any old hand in Beijing.
