Summer vacation has not come yet, but it was a free day, the students preparing for their graduation tests and the final exam checked. I took the opportunity to go on a shopping trip on foot.

Breakfast left out, I walked along the familiar route, Jiangsu Road, through the underpass at the junction, all the way to Riverside Path. The riverside has been renovated into a garden, with pools, greenery and walks. It used to be an eye sore, however.

Decades ago, Mayor Ma had the riverbed cemented, all vegetation removed from the wetland. When the grand project was completed, the small stream was forced to flow in a channel flanked by concreted banks. The official consideration was that the weeds, undergrowth and trees thriving along the river looked bad. They naively believed that floods could be tamed and additional markets run on the artificial banks after the project was done. Some flea markets did operate there for years. They were swept away by torrents anyway when storms set in. A lot of visitors from outside the city were taken aback by the stupidity of the “well-intentioned” venture. A bird’s-eye view of the river would have shown that its cemented banks looked like a monstrous dragon zigzagging through the city.

My destination was Farmers’ Market on Chaoyang Road, where I have bought tea from a vendor for over ten years. The first time I ran into the country woman, a Zhuxi native, she had a stall at a flea market by the river at the back of Shiyan College. Her commodity is genuine green tea produced in her home county. I love the flavour and aroma, and the price is reasonable.

When I arrived at the fixed stall at Farmers’ Market, she was not there. I asked the veg vendor next to her stall where she was. In no time the kind fella called her back. It was business as usual. She recognised me right away. The last time I bought her tea, her husband was watching the stall. So it was almost half a year since she had seen me. As a patron, I was treated warmly. And I love the small talk conducted in dialects between us, she speaking the Zhuxi vernacular and I the Yunxian counterpart. Of course, we do not pry into each other’s lives. I do not know where she lives, what her children do and what her hubby does. It’s true the other way around. She knows I am a loyal customer. That’s all. What I do and where I live, she has no clue.

Having got the tea, I rambled about the market for a while. Gosh, some vendors I have known for more than 15 years were still there. A couple from Chadian were doing their business. Their produce is always fresh from their own patch. Another couple from Liaowa, Yunxian, sell wild fish (prohibited some months a year) caught off the river Hanjiang. The taste is superb. And another couple, both of whom are portly yet humorous, have been haggling veg since my daughter came to the world.

The familiar sights made me feel peace inside. The world is changing so fast that we need to hold onto people and things tangible, for the sake of sanity.

Having exited the market, I backtracked. Somewhere along Riverside Path, I felt a bit thirsty. I stopped over by a small shop, where I got an iced canned herbal tea. It cost me four yuan, the same price I normally pay at a supermarket. Standing there, I finished the drink, before I inserted the metal tab back into the can and left it on the counter. The shopkeeper said thanks. I went on my way.

After I turned into Tiger Dale Lane, I ran into a granny vending some veg and peaches. A glance, and I knew the produce was from her own garden. In no way was she a middleman or a retailer. Most of her basketful of peaches had been sold. About a third remained. The peach season is running out. According to the granny, it was the last batch to ripen at her orchard. The fruits did not look appetising, with fuzzy hair on them. My rural childhood knowledge, however, told me that such fruits taste great despite the looks. Another man was picking from the fruits. I bent over and started to select some. The woman said that I could get all the fruits just for five yuan. They were too much to consume a day, so I refused her offer. Weighed on her scales, my picks were 1.5 ji (a kilo equals 2 jin). The price was 1.5 yuan per jin. She did not use a smartphone so mobile payment was out of the question. I took out my wallet and got some change. I should have paid about 2.3 yuan. Without small change or a phone, the kind woman charged me only 2 yuan. I handed over two one-yuan banknotes. I owed her 0.3 yuan. Saying it was her own produce, she let me go. Back at home, the peaches tasted gorgeous. Nothing like the adulterated stuff. Oh, I should have taken all her fruits.

Once on Jiangsu Road, I saw a couple of two-wheeled motorcycle taxis parked there. They are illegal, but the drivers still operate day in day out. There seems to be a tacit agreement between the traffic police and the drivers. When there is an official inspection on, the drivers go off. They are back on the street as long as there is no inspection from the leaders. It was years since I had taken such a taxi. Besides, it looked like rain. I hopped onto the back seat of a motorcycle and told my destination, without mentioning the fare. The motorcyclist-driver started off right away. All the motorcycle drivers earn meagre incomes, so that was the reason I did not ask the price. In a couple of minutes, I was at the gate of our blocks of flats. I asked how much I owed the driver. He charged me 5 yuan. I did not haggle with him, even though I know normal fare is 2 or 3 yuan. I did not mind the overcharge. I do not ride this way every day anyway.