Knitters speak a common language

After we had been in Chengdu a few days, it was time to go back to the Bank of China so Ken could exchange more money. We'd quickly learned to dread changing money because it was such a long, confusing process: Fill out two forms, take them to the teller's window (after waiting a long while for your number to come up). slip the papers and your passport through the countertop opening, have the teller shout something to you and pass the papers and passport back to you, stand there perplexed, fill out another form, pass that with the passport to the teller, watch her shuffle through the papers without making eye contact, watch her scrutinize your American money to make sure it's not counterfeit, listen to her shout to someone (to you?), watch her photocopy your passport...twice, watch her converse with someone else behind the window, watch her take a great wad of Chinese yuan from a metal box and count out the amount you're due; watch her put the yuan bills through a counting machine, watch her hand back your passport (phew) and the yuans. Breathe a huge sigh of relief that you've survived another money-exchange ordeal. Hope you've exchanged enough this time so you won't be subjected to the pain again.

So it was, as I said, time for Ken to exchange more money. We'd been dreading the experience and knew it would eat up two hours of our time.

Ken filled out what he thought to be the correct forms and waited to go to a teller's window. I sat down in a corner with my knitting and tried not to think about the ordeal Ken was going through.

Suddenly I heard someone shout to me, "Nie hao!" I looked up to see a smiling woman and man walking to the waiting area. It's very unusual to be addressed first by the Chinese, but once you acknowledge them, they (except for the bank teller), are usually very warm and friendly.

So I wondered why this woman was addressing me. Then I figured it out. She was admiring my knitting. She came up to me to inspect it, then she gave me a thumbs-up and sat down behind me.

It's unusual to go anywhere in Chengdu without spotting a knitter. They knit on benches while waiting for buses, they stand in front of shops and knit, they knit while working in their shops, and they knit while walking along the street. They knit, knit, knit. What amazes me, though, is that I've never once seen a Chengdu knitter refer to a sheet of directions. They love having their knitting admired, just as all knitters do, and they are flattered to have their knitting photographed.

This knitter I spotted on my first day back in Chengdu. She was waiting for a bus, and she readily held up her red sweater project when I motioned that I'd like to snap a picture of it.

These two knitters here, and the one in the next photo, seemed to drop from the sky. We'd just visited a Buddhist temple and decided to explore some shops outside the temple grounds. First I spotted one knitter, then another appeared out of nowhere. Suddenly there was a third standing beside the first two.

The first two proudly allowed me to take their picture. The third one pretended she was too shy to have her photo taken, but the minute I snapped the camera, she hustled over to me to see how well the photo had come out.

These two ladies were standing on the street in another area of the city.

Chengdu knitters knit with very fine wool on size 00, 0 or 1 needles. They knit elaborate cable designs, which perhaps you can see in some of the photos.

They knit while walking; they knit while talking; and they seem to never refer to a pattern.

Tan says when fall arrives in Chengdu, the knitters multiply exponentially.

Being greeted by a fellow knitter in the Bank of China was a surprise, but I guess knitters all over the world appreciate one another's craft.