I wandered around, blissfully scratching items off my shopping list and ogling the huge assortment of pastries and other sweetmeats. At the end of a long day at the market, I was as surprised by what I hadn't been able to find as what I had. Tiny, rechargeable batteries, unique to my camera, were available on almost every corner but tampons were not to be found, not even in the most sophisticated hotel in the city. The apothecaries could offer me gecko aphrodisiac and antler tonic, codeine and Valium at a penny a piece, but had never heard of sunscreen and, to my dismay, laughed at the mere idea that there might be that much sun. In a city that saw the temperature drop each year to close to freezing there were no down jackets to be had, and not a hint of wool.

At least there were the foreign food stands. The government had grudgingly licensed a few dozen vendors to cater to Western tastes. The result was a long line of identical shops that sold Spaghetti-O's and Campbell's soup, bottles of cheap wine, Swiss chocolate and a wide assortment of dusty canned vegetables that could be had fresh at the corner market at a fraction of the price. They also offered a few condiments; ketchup, mustard, hot and soy sauce. I bought several items and scurried home with my loot tucked under one arm.

Later in the evening Jay stumbled in, footsore and disillusioned, grumbling about the value system of a society that imported Emmentaler cheese but not a shred of pot. I sat unheeding on my bed, the refuse of a small feast scattered around me. The chocolate was long since eaten, the smoked pork a greasy stain, and I was happily stuffing French baguettes with mustard. When the bread ran out I sucked the cheap yellow paste straight out of its plastic bottle. At last, after every shred and smudge was licked clean I lay back with a bulging stomach and forgave myself my gluttony.

It was Christmas day.