Over the weekend, Seth and I spent some time exploring one of the older areas of the city. As modernization encroaches, these quaint little neighborhoods are becoming harder and harder to find. On this particular day, the sun was shining brightly after several days of rain; clothes and bedding could be seen dancing from poles above our heads, airing out in the fresh breeze.
In a nearby shop, casks of alcohol slowly aged on their dusty shelves.
Vendors displayed their wares, hoping for a few more customers before the afternoon lull.
A group of men enjoyed a rowdy drinking game over a late lunch.
And a tailor worked nimbly on his latest commission, a solitary light-bulb illuminating his workspace.
We wandered the crowded narrow lanes, absorbing the sights and sounds with our eyes and ears and hearts. We took a few pictures now and then, but mostly just observed: the clicking and clacking of hundreds of mahjong tiles, drifting through an open doorway; a young girl writing on the sidewalk with a piece of chalk; the hiss of steam from a pan full of dumplings; the play between sunlight and shadow down a crooked corridor; the smells from the wet market mingling in the heat of the day. So many experiences to be had, so many adventures still to come. I fell in love with China all over again that day. It was a very good day.