Local residents have been frequenting the Sihuan Market for the last 15 years for their groceries and everyday goods. Photo: Cui Meng /GT

 

By the end of this month, all of this will be gone.

Salary men and old women try to squeeze their way through throngs of throbbing masses, their baskets and plastic bags filled with produce and grain. Stall owners shout themselves hoarse as they  peddle their wares in gruff regional accents or dialects, or greet their decades-old customers with a nudge and smile. There is the cacophony of haggling and bartering, the blare of an impatient three-wheeled cart, the smoky odor of roasted meat and the sweet scent of ripened fruit.

At midday on September 30, the street market on Sihuan Hutong in Xicheng district will be shut down forever, by order of an official notice. The 600 stalls, which for the past 15 years have served as a thriving hub for locals to buy groceries and everyday household items, will cease to exist. For the 30,000 to 40,000 people who frequent the market daily, what will be lost is not just a convenient and affordable way of procuring everyday necessities, but a way of life.

According to a Beijing News report published at the end of July, 63 such street markets in Beijing have already been demolished. The reasons given for their erasure is that they pose a safety hazard and are incompatible with their surrounding environment.

The same report speculated that in the place of the street market on Sihuan Hutong will be erected office buildings.

Sun Fuchun, a vendor of dried fruits and nuts who has run a stall at the Sihuan Market for more than 10 years, writes down his phone number for a loyal customer. Photo: Cui Meng /GT

 

The warmth of human kindness

"Sorry, we won't be getting in any new shipments of chestnuts…the street market is being forced to shut down," says 45-year-old Sun Fuchun, a vendor of dried fruits and nuts, to one of his regulars.

Sun grins apologetically, but there is a trace of helplessness in his voice. Originally from Ji'nan, Shandong Province, Sun has earned his living at this stall for more than a decade, raising his two children on the profits he makes. With rent of 5,000 yuan ($814) per month, Sun's stall is expansive, and boasts more than 140 different kinds of dehydrated fruits and nuts.  

"We are trying to find somewhere to lease nearby," says Sun to the regular, a 69-year-old retired high school teacher by the name of Zhang Lin. "Why don't I write down my cellphone number for you so I can let you know later?"

Zhang frequents the market nearly every day to buy groceries after her customary stroll around Houhai.

"The vendors here always give me a discount because they know us well by now," she said. "This place is full of humanity and kindness."

"They have a great variety of things, and the vegetables are fresher and cheaper than those sold in the vegetable stores on the street," she said. "It's a pity that this market is closing."

Local residents and vendors savor the last days that they will be able to shop at the market. Photos: Cui Meng /GT

 

Letting go of the things that matter most

Jia Yin, a 38-year-old woman from Guang'an, Sichuan Province, occupies a far more modest stall costing 500 yuan in rent per month. For the past eight years, she has made her living here by selling tomatoes.

Jia is a well-liked among the locals, and greets all her customers with a friendly smile.

"For stall owners, this place is great because it's in a good location, the rent is cheap, and there are a lot of customers," she said.

Jia said that on average, she sells around 1,000 kilograms of tomatoes each day, at 3.6 yuan per kilogram.

As the market enters its final week of operation, she is expecting that her life will have to undergo drastic changes.

Until recently, Jia's 9-year-old son lived with her in Beijing, having grown up spending his afternoon and evening hours away from school in the market with his mother. But with the market's impending demise, Jia is uncertain about her prospects of continuing to provide for her son, and has sent him back to live with relatives in Guang'an. 

"He used to go to school nearby [the market], but I don't know where I'll live after the market is gone, and I don't know how I will support him," said Jia. "So it's better for him to go back to our hometown."

Putting bread on the table

A 49-year-old woman surnamed Chen, the owner of a stall called Pingping Bakery, tries to lull her 7-month-old grandson to sleep amidst the clamor of the street market.

Originally from Luzhou, Sichuan Province, she has had her bakery since the first day the market opened, 15 years ago. She has witnessed its many changes: customers new and old, slowly familiarizing themselves with its labyrinthine clutter; laowai awkwardly navigating their way through the stalls to try to get a glimpse of a way of life soon to be erased.

Her humble bakery, which regulars swear makes the best cream buns in the district, has been her source of livelihood, helping her raise her four children to adult age, to the point where they now have children of their own.

Chen has no idea what she is going to do after the market is gone.

"We haven't found a lease elsewhere yet. All the street markets seem to be facing the same fate of being torn down," she said.

Chen does not think she will be able to find another place where the rent is so affordable, or that is as well frequented.

"None of the vendors here want to see it disappear," she said.

The end of an era

The end for the Sihuan Market has already begun.

Since September 18, trade at the market has been restricted to the morning hours of 7 am to 11 am, meaning that vendors can no longer operate during the evening hours.

Although authorities have set up 15 smaller grocery markets in the neighborhood to try to fill the void, there are many who think it cannot adequately be replaced.

"The market is more than a place to shop," said folk culture expert Gao Wei. "It is a space for people to talk about domestic trifles and to socialize. Destroying it removes an essential part of the local culture." 

"If we don't protect this local culture, how can Beijing still be called Beijing?" Gao continued. "The charm of the city is embodied in this culture."

Guo Haoxian, who has worked in the administration of the Sihuan Market for more than a decade, said he couldn't understand why the market had to go.

"I think they should revamp the market rather than tearing it down," he said. "Do we really expect the grandmas and grandpas in this area to go to a foreign supermarket on the ground floor of a mall for their groceries?"