By Kevin
(yes, Oct. 1 was two weeks ago, but I just realized that I wrote this and never posted it, so since we haven't posted anything in awhile, here you go)
I'd made up my mind: “I need a guitar.”
So, a few days ago, I explored the two little music shops in WeiNan. Unfortunately, the prices were a bit on the high end: 550-750 RMB for a halfway decent guitar ($80-$110).
So when we made plans to go into Xi'an for some shopping on Oct. 1 (needed some cereal, BBQ sauce and DVDs), a guitar was at the top of my list.
After fighting the crowds downtown (it is one of China's biggest shopping holidays), I sauntered into the guitar shop and started inspecting the large group of guitars. Epiphones, Fenders, Washburns...all sorts of good brands, but undoubtedly out of my price range.
“Do you play guitar?” a young man asked me in English.
“Yeah,” I replied. “I want to buy one that isn't too expensive.”
Ok, he said. He pointed me to a Epiphone Talent, made in China. Hadn't heard of this semi-Gibson offshoot before, but it was worth a look. “This one is 450 RMB,” he said.
“Not bad,” I thought to myself, picking it up. It sounded good, but no better than the 400 RMB guitar I'd owned in Tonghua.
“Or, this brand,” he said, picking up another, labeled AAA. “In China 'A' means very good. This is the best of the cheaper guitars.”
Sure enough, it played better than the others.
“How much?”
“300” he said. “It includes a soft bag, strings, a strap and picks.”
“Nice," I thought to myself.
After trying a couple more expensive models that sounded no better, and learning that the man tutored several foreigners on guitar, I made another offer.
“How about 250?”
“Oh, you shouldn't ever offer someone a price of 250,” he replied, with a smile.
Wes chimed in, “It means that you're saying the seller is stupid. It's an insult.”
I'd completely forgotten. I backtracked. “I'm sorry. 260.”
He laughed. “How about 280. That's a very good deal.”
I tried 270, but wasn't going to haggle too much over another $1.50. “OK. I'll buy it.”
Showing posts with label guitars. Show all posts
Showing posts with label guitars. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Guitar troubadours and Moonlight serenades (a belated Moon Festival post)
By Kevin
To celebrate Mid-Autumn Festival we opted to spend the evening outdoors, dining on “ethnic foods street.”
Ok, maybe the whole street isn't really a big variety of ethnic foods. It's mostly chuars – meat on a stick. So it's mostly Uyiger or Hui food. Good Muslim food.
As we ate our meat on a stick, no less than four guitar playing troubadours set out upon the crowd, toting amplifiers.
One guy carried his amp on his back, as he strummed his Fender Strat and sang into the evening breeze.
A girl, who was pretty good actually, handed diners a song list. After they picked a song, she went to work, strumming away on her Ibanez guitar for a few kuai.
Another guy, who was particularly tone deaf, repeatedly strummed one chord on his amplified acoustic guitar as he sang. Yet people politely listened.
It reminded me of the various street performers on Venice Beach or on the 3rd Street Promenade, but they were completely mobile.
“I wonder what songs they sing,” I asked, wondering if they knew any U2...perhaps “It's a beautiful day,” I thought.
“Maybe they sing moon songs.”
One of the traditions this day is to gaze at the big, round full moon, and eat round moon cakes with friends and family.
“Are there many moon songs?” Christina asked.
In unison, Wes, Ruth and I broke into three different moon songs...
“There's a bad moon rising,” Wes belted, evoking Credence Clearwater Revival.
“Moon River,” Ruth crooned, evoking Audrey Hepburn in “Breakfast at Tiffany's.” “...my Huckleberry friend.”
I opted for the Waterboy's cover of Victoria Williams from the “Sweet Relief” compilation: “Why look at that moon, a-way up high, seeing everything, that goes by, why look at that moon...”
Eventually, we headed back home, grabbing ice cream bars for the trip. On the way, we were coaxed to inspect a new spa with a sign declaring, “Physical Therapy.”
We found out that they'd do a 90-minute foot massage for 48 RMB, but if three of us got it, they'd give us the fourth free. However, they said prices range from 48 RMB for feet to 180 RMB for a full treatment.
They lured us in to inspect the posh surroundings, which were the nicest of any massage parlor I've seen yet in China.
But my bruised back just wasn't up for it today.
Two days ago, Ruth and I decided to check out the little massage clinic we'd walked by last week. She got a 15 RMB half-hour massage by a halfway blind guy. I was transferred to another guy for an hour of abuse.
Massages in China aren't about relaxation, I've learned. They're about healing.
So while we anticipated full-body massages, when they asked what hurts, we said “hou bei” - our backs....and they went to work on them.
By the time I left, my masseuse had grinded his elbow into almost every part of my back, done some chiropractic jujitsu moves to work out some kinks and left me feeling bruised and beaten. On the way home, I felt good, but by that evening, I could feel the bruises rising. They haven't made it to the surface, though, so maybe it'll be OK. Lots of soreness.
The “Physical Therapy” place however, seemed more focused on pampering and actually making you feel BETTER after you leave, so maybe we'll have to try it once our last massage heals. We'll see...
To celebrate Mid-Autumn Festival we opted to spend the evening outdoors, dining on “ethnic foods street.”
Ok, maybe the whole street isn't really a big variety of ethnic foods. It's mostly chuars – meat on a stick. So it's mostly Uyiger or Hui food. Good Muslim food.
As we ate our meat on a stick, no less than four guitar playing troubadours set out upon the crowd, toting amplifiers.
One guy carried his amp on his back, as he strummed his Fender Strat and sang into the evening breeze.
A girl, who was pretty good actually, handed diners a song list. After they picked a song, she went to work, strumming away on her Ibanez guitar for a few kuai.Another guy, who was particularly tone deaf, repeatedly strummed one chord on his amplified acoustic guitar as he sang. Yet people politely listened.
It reminded me of the various street performers on Venice Beach or on the 3rd Street Promenade, but they were completely mobile.
“I wonder what songs they sing,” I asked, wondering if they knew any U2...perhaps “It's a beautiful day,” I thought.
“Maybe they sing moon songs.”
One of the traditions this day is to gaze at the big, round full moon, and eat round moon cakes with friends and family.
“Are there many moon songs?” Christina asked.
In unison, Wes, Ruth and I broke into three different moon songs...
“There's a bad moon rising,” Wes belted, evoking Credence Clearwater Revival.
“Moon River,” Ruth crooned, evoking Audrey Hepburn in “Breakfast at Tiffany's.” “...my Huckleberry friend.”
I opted for the Waterboy's cover of Victoria Williams from the “Sweet Relief” compilation: “Why look at that moon, a-way up high, seeing everything, that goes by, why look at that moon...”
Eventually, we headed back home, grabbing ice cream bars for the trip. On the way, we were coaxed to inspect a new spa with a sign declaring, “Physical Therapy.”
We found out that they'd do a 90-minute foot massage for 48 RMB, but if three of us got it, they'd give us the fourth free. However, they said prices range from 48 RMB for feet to 180 RMB for a full treatment.
They lured us in to inspect the posh surroundings, which were the nicest of any massage parlor I've seen yet in China.
But my bruised back just wasn't up for it today.
Two days ago, Ruth and I decided to check out the little massage clinic we'd walked by last week. She got a 15 RMB half-hour massage by a halfway blind guy. I was transferred to another guy for an hour of abuse.
Massages in China aren't about relaxation, I've learned. They're about healing.
So while we anticipated full-body massages, when they asked what hurts, we said “hou bei” - our backs....and they went to work on them.
By the time I left, my masseuse had grinded his elbow into almost every part of my back, done some chiropractic jujitsu moves to work out some kinks and left me feeling bruised and beaten. On the way home, I felt good, but by that evening, I could feel the bruises rising. They haven't made it to the surface, though, so maybe it'll be OK. Lots of soreness.
The “Physical Therapy” place however, seemed more focused on pampering and actually making you feel BETTER after you leave, so maybe we'll have to try it once our last massage heals. We'll see...
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