As I started researching all things Yiwu, I did what any inquisitive person would do: I read the Wikipedia article. Some especially intriguing Wiki-bits: after 2001 and restricted travel to the US, Yiwu became a new Mecca for Middle Eastern businessmen. Yiwu also produces almost half of the world’s socks, and has the “largest small commodity wholesale market in the world.” Yup, I could practically smell the lamb kebabs, Christmas potpourri, and scent of raw capitalism.
We knew we were not in Hangzhou anymore when A) we immediately grabbed a taxi at the train station, and B) this cabbie proceeded to slam on his horn and drive like a bat out of hell for the entire twenty minutes to our first market. The taxi driver whisked us by Arabic supermarkets, storefront shops selling mannequins, plywood and industrial supplies, and one large building proudly boasting “SEX TOYS.” I didn’t think it was possible, but Yiwu made Hangzhou look tame.
We arrived at the market to learn an important lesson about this intriguing city—not all markets are open all the time. While this city oozes the excesses of new money, apparently old habits die hard: the first market we visited is open only in the early morning (despite being an indoor market). We were disappointed, but nonetheless found a delicious Turkish restaurant that satisfied the Baklava cravings.
In an odd mix of Turko-Chinglish, we asked the manager if ANY markets in Yiwu were open on a Sunday afternoon. He assured us that one was open (head nod), and scribbled some Chinese characters on a sheet of paper for the taxi. While only recognizing the character for “market,” we took a deep breath and hailed another cab.
Turns out market #2 was a garment market. Each floor of this eight story building was about five football fields long, and contained thousands of merchants selling all types of clothing. We found notable Columbia/North Face jacket knock offs, a HUGE section of pink padded pajamas, business suits, spandex pants, a “t-sh*t” store (you can fill in the asterisk :) displaying an impressive knack for English typos, children’s socks, adult socks, and entrepreneurial one-man shows roaming the aisles hawking toy planes.
Market #3 was the Holy Grail of markets. Imagine the love child of Costco and Disneyworld—its name would be the “Yiwu International Trade Mart.” There is a shuttle to carry buyers from the first district (flowers, toys, ornaments, arts and crafts, manufacturer direct sales center, and Hall of Taiwan merchants) all the way to the fifth district (imported commodities mall, bedding, textiles, knitting raw materials, auto supplies and spare parts). To circumscribe this Trade Mart by bus would take almost an hour.
The taxi took us to the first district (arts and crafts) so we could see all things Christmas, and a glorious site it was! Christmas trees, tree ornaments, Christmas lights, tinsel, snowmen, reindeer, elves, and Santas of every variety—we saw the traditional jolly old fat man, sexy young Santas, and even Chinese Santas. And conveniently right next to the Christmas section was the toy section, with seemingly mile upon mile of toys. Yes boys and girls, we found Santa’s workshop. In the globalized world, Santa has outsourced to Yiwu, China!
After having our fill of commercial glee, we started the trek back to the train station. Unfortunately, we discovered that taxis in Yiwu at shift change are just as scarce as they are in Hangzhou. After no luck for 15 or 20 minutes, we finally succumbed to the pressures of one of the gypsy cabs (i.e. a motorbike with an attached section for seating). I don’t know an English word to describe this type of transport, and apparently the driver didn’t quite know what kind of transport he was, either. When it suited him to be a pedestrian, he drove on the sidewalk. When it suited him to be a car, he drove in the middle lanes while huge buses passed us with inches to spare. Our lives flashed before our lives multiple times, but at least they now included images of Santa’s workshop! By God’s grace alone, we finally managed to get ourselves back to the train station to head back to Hangzhou.
Yiwu had the energized frenzy that I imagine pulsed through many US frontier towns in another era. The scope and enormity of Yiwu, however, has no comparison in America. Unbeknownst to many in the West, this wild city is charging the path of China’s march to prominence.
Well, dear reader, now we know. Now we both know that items in our households with the ubiquitous “made in China” label likely passed through Yiwu at some point (like the socks on my feet today! :). Can you smell the kebab meat?