I'm nearly finished my Cheerios.

It's quite a depressing thought . There's no point in trying to bring any with me (even if I had room to pack them in), since there's no reliable milk source. As Ying and I were having coffee this morning, my previous fears about Chinese milk were allayed, as the milk we were drinking is the only milk the Chinese will drink since the baby milk scandal - because it's the same milk that's supplied to central government! Hurray, quality control!

After beautifying ourselves sufficiently, and practising our "hard" faces, we took off for a quick ramble around the subway station. Ying forgot where she was going, falling into the pitfall of familiarity where she thought she knew where she was going, but we actually wound up in completely the wrong place. Huixinxijie Nankou is a transfer station, so there's line 5 and line 10, and line 10 (the one we were taking of course) only makes the train in the direction you don't want, easily accessible. The other one is hidden under a vast series of snaking underground tunnels, stairs and corridors.

Happily, we made it to Silk Street Market (the title of this entry, in case you were having difficulty), and all troubles were forgotten.

My first purchase was a pair of fake Spyder ski gloves, at a rather exorbitant price, but Ying then purchased a fake North Face jacket and the lady - amazingly - gave me back Y20 . The quality is amazing. They're warm and waterproof and tightenable and have a spyder on them and everything. The North Face jacket is even awesomer. And it came with the fleece inside. Those suckers are upwards of £250 sterling in the North Face shop in Glasgow. Ying's was E15. Silk Street had a problem a few years ago (you can google it, I'm sure), where a load of big name brands came down on them for selling knock-offs (North Face and Louis Vuitton were two of them), as the Big Guy is always inclined to do to the Little Guy. So the clever Little Guys just don't display the products from that brand anymore, but they have them in a catalogue, and you pick what you want and they send a gofer running off somewhere to bring it to you. Amazing.

I then got myself a large Dolge & Gabanna bag, made of real leather. I also learned something new today. As I was secretly admiring the bag, and outwardly pretending to be horrified by its subpar quality, the lady took out a lighter, lit it and set it to my bag . I recoiled, ready run should the whole place go up in smoke, but it turns out that you can prove real leather to a resistant buyer (and their shrewd Chinese guide) by holding a flame to it. Later, as I was dithering over whether to buy a rather more expensive silk scarf, the saleslady did the same thing, but the scarf actually burned.

"See? Smells like hair. Real silk. You want. Y2774754924587747. Special price for you."

I got that scarf, then some Bvlgari jewellery, a stamp with my name in Chinese (I also know 'McNamara' in Chinese now too!), some jade, a Gucci watch, and - joy of joys! - my waving Meowsy watch! I even googled it for you. He waves as a tick! And it's one you wind, so no batteries!

The chatter in Silk Street was similar to the Pearl Market of some days ago, but they also liked to pull you or tap you or rub their products off you so you'd feel how perfect and soft and cosy they were . At one stage I was being pulled in two different directions by a vendor and Ying, who disagreed vociferously over the price of the object. Also - and I didn't see it, but - this sign is some sort of code they have to stick to for foreigners since Silk Street moved into a building. They don't use the recommended phrases much, but I didn't hear the forbidden words at all (at least in English). And for those who are interested, my in-house translator says 8, 9 and 10 are, respectively:
"No money, no ask."
"Are you a man?"
"Look at yourself!"
and however silly they may seem, they are to be taken as extremely derogatory and only laughed at later in the comfort of your own home, amid a pile of all your new fake goods.

Ying got a black beaded necklace, we admired some Chanel fakes that I wanted, but missed out on (insert sad face here), and a Tiffany dog pendant from a lady who asked Ying, in Chinese, to hide the money as she handed it over, as she was also dealing with an American laowei who was minted and stupid. By the time I learned this, it was too late to warn the poor creature, but I was also starving and we went in search of food.

We had my favourite (again), Peking Duck, in a nice restaurant above the market, but it wasn't as nice as the last one I had in Ying's neighbourhood. She also told me that she usually only has Peking Duck once or twice a year, but she's had it three times in two weeks, due to me . Yay, influence! It's gorgeous anyway, and I advise you try it out. The sauce will be the difficult part, but I'm sure they're not hyping the capabilities of this internet thing for nothing...

After that we had some coffee... IN O'BRIENS!!! I was so happy, I took some photographs. They really go out of their way to make it feel like Ireland, even charging E4 for a cappuccino. Ah, home, sweet home. We sat outside for a while and admired the haze and the way the skyscrapers disappeared into the smog as they retreated from one's line of sight. I could feel my lungs burning just looking at it. My arms were burning too. That dratted mosquito that I couldn't find in my room the other night managed to bite me. Despite my covering myself with the duvet and sweltering underneath it all night. And where did he bite me (actually, I think it's only female mosquitoes who suck blood, but that's beside the point)? ON MY ELBOW. My left elbow is lumpy and red and itchy, and prevents me from eating in my usual slovenly manner - elbows on the table for support - as well as any other number of things you didn't realise you used your elbow for . And that's not all. It bit me on my RIGHT PALM. The palm of my hand, yes. Some of the toughest and (in the elbow's case) bloodless skin one possesses is where this mosquito chose to dine. Which is partly why I think it was a male.

Tonight/tomorrow morning I fly to Kunming, which is scaring me no end. It turns out I like change even less than I discovered during the first week here. I love habit and tradition. Even if I don't figure out the meaning of life on this trip, I've discovered that one, small thing about myself.

If you hear from me less frequently from this moment on, I apologise (unless of course, that's what you want. In that case NYUUUHHH!!! *sticking out tongue*), and know that it's not for lack of desire or words (at the very least, I could attempt to transcribe the Chinese phonebook in English... I'm only kidding. They don't have a phonebook. Seriously.) but due to the lack of computers and/or intelligent life forms.

Still missing you all, and loving to hear from ye!