THE GREAT MALL OF CHINA

PAUL RUSH finds bargain hunting in malls and markets is a way of life in China.

China is in the midst of a massive retail revolution as megamalls and hypermarkets spring up in all the main centres. These shopping cities of sparkling glass and aluminium are equally appealing to big spenders and bargain hunters they truly knock your socks off.

Beijing's New Yansha Mall is the world's biggest, eclipsing Canada's West Edmonton Mall, with its six floors, 1000 stores, 100 restaurants and 230 escalators.

As I travel around China I gain a real sense that the entire country is one great shopping mall. Wherever you are there is a shopping centre or marketplace somewhere nearby. You don't have to go looking for bargain shopping, the bargains come to you.

The night markets of Beijing are my first foray into mass selling, Chinese-style.

The floodlit rows of vendor stalls are a one-stop shop for fast food of every conceivable kind from sublime taste treats to the absurdly unimaginable. In the midst of the melee I see an intrepid foreign visitor bite the stinger off a scorpion's tail and devour the crunchy morsel with a wicked grin on his face or is it a grimace? A local gourmand buys a brace of starfish to take home as a family treat.

I pay 30 yuan (NZ$8.40) for a pair of crusty centipedes on kebab sticks, which don't exactly melt in my mouth. The tiny skerrick of flesh tastes like chicken but the legs have to be crunched up fast like a thousand miniature pretzels so the taste doesn't linger too long.

The fried silk worms are another matter; they slide down real smooth like melting butter.

I soon learn that China's professional stall holders and street vendors are very persuasive. Just to glance in their direction is to commence negotiations. Casually lay an errant hand on a product and out comes a calculator quick smart displaying an exorbitant price. Offer the standard 50 per cent of the asking price and their nose twitches as they smell a sale. Tension increases, a hand rests on your shoulder and a burble of unintelligible cajoling flows forth.

Turn away at this point and the wrath of a nation descends on your head. Walk off and you will feel hot breath on your neck as the pleading reaches a climax. These vendors are programmed to sell. If they had blocks of ice they would sell them to Eskimos.

The secret is to learn the simple phrase "Bu Xie Xie", pronounced "Boo Sheyah Sheyah", which means "no thank you".

Don't be surprised however, if a vendor interprets its meaning as "no, I don't want it, but if you try again really aggressively I might just weaken."

Beijing street hawkers are especially sharp-eyed and able to psychoanalyse every passing tourist and assess their Achilles heel.

One spots me from afar and rubs his hands with glee while I walk straight into his trap.

Having just paid 60 yuan (NZ$16.70) for a book on Beijing at the official souvenir shop, I'm intrigued when he offers two other books at the same price. I offer half and he accepts. I pull out a crisp red 100-yuan note and ask for change. "No problem," he says, waving 50 and 30 yuan notes under my nose.

I take the notes and books and catch up with my tour group feeling proud of my achievement.

The next day I learn the notes are valueless Russian currency. I make the decision to carry a full range of low-denomination notes for shopping in China's market places.

A day later I'm delighted to be at Mutianyu under the stately watchtowers and crenellated ramparts of the Great Wall, as China continues to surprise me with its wonders. To reach the heights I run the gauntlet of another arm of the great mall, the street of souvenir sellers.

"Hello, Hello Sir, only small dollar!" is the plaintive cry as I pass each stall owner, who has honed his skill in the big city, graduating with first-class honours in the art of lightening tourist wallets.

I make it through unscathed but they nail me on the way back. Do I really need a Great Wall T-shirt, or a Mao hat, fans or chopsticks? Not really, but as I say, they are professionals.

The city of Xian is home to the famed terracotta warriors and the Xian Art Ceramics Factory, where selling is taken to a whole new level.

The life-size and miniature warriors, lacquered inlaid furniture and screens for sale here are absolutely stunning works of art. Prices range up to NZ$25,000 for a jade warrior footman that would look good in your entry hall at home.

Even in the bustling Xian cafe, the soft-sell genie is hard at work.

We are offered the ubiquitous snakeskin wine from an eye-catching, see-through jar containing a coiled black snake, which carries a reassuring label: "This liquor has been soaked for 18 months it is fragrant, mellow and tasty. Drinking will dispel wind, prevent from disease, prolong life and remove blood stains." All this is available for just NZ$6 a glass.

In China's southern heartland at Yangshuo our group cycles into the countryside to admire the mist-shrouded, elongated limestone domes that form a surreal and mystical science-fiction landscape.

Even here the selling urge that is the lifeblood of China is evident, as wayside stall holders jump up as we cycle pass calling "Hello, Hello, buy water, fruit, vegetables, preserves." The offer of water does make sense in the 40 degree celsius heat, but we are hardly in the market for preserves.

Some elderly male hawkers offer us bagged chickens, slack-necked geese and floppy rabbits. After a microsecond of reflection we politely decline. It seems to escape their notice that we are visitors on bicycles who don't really need bunny bones slowly baking in our carrier baskets.

At Longsheng, I once more meet my match as a bargaining traveller. We park our coach at the Double River Gate in order to take the shuttle to a remote Yao minority culture village. I inadvertently catch the eye of one woman with jet-black hair that touches the ground. My look convinces this ravishing beauty that it is my certain destiny to purchase her postcards.

She follows me to the shuttle bus with a delicate white hand on my shoulder, pleading in indecipherable high-pitched phrases. Once I'm on the bus she makes blatantly obvious gestures through the window to signify that she will await my return and that I will have to buy postcards or marry her.

Hours later, I'm ready to depart when she spots me again. With a great beaming smile she jumps on the coach and throws herself at me. Only the timely intervention of our guide, Peter, saves me from an indeterminate fate.

The Shanghai markets at the beautiful Yuyuan Gardens are a shopper's delight and because of the explosion of domestic tourism, the prices remain at a reasonable level.

A dozen street vendors approach me with the irresistible offer of a fake Rolex watch, but I've been warned.

Apocryphal stories of knockoff watches having wind-up springs have circulated for years. Each time I demur they redouble their efforts. When I say "No" in a deep masculine falsetto with a stern countenance, they simply respond by offering two for the price of one.

With its ancient monuments, bustling cities, serene landscapes and lovely, hospitable people, China can give the visitor memories to cherish for a lifetime.

Even though it's one great mall, what's the worst that can happen? You might collect a wallet full of Russian notes! You might marry a Yao girl who'll save you heaps of money at the hairdressing salon! Whatever happens you're sure to love travelling in China.

Paul Rush was hosted by Adventure World, in association with Travel-Indo China and Cathay Pacific.

GETTING THERE Cathay Pacific has regular flights from Auckland to Beijing and Shanghai. TOURING CHINA Travel Indochina has small group tours throughout China. Bookings here can be made with Adventure World. WEBSITES www.cathaypacific.co.nz www.adventureworld.co.nz www.travelindochina.com