Saleh’s Mini-Market, Spital Hill, Burngreave, Sheffield

Saleh Hussein Abdullah started his business in 1996 and is now the longest-standing shopkeeper around The Green at the top of Spital Hill, Burngreave. Serving the Yemeni/Somali/Asian communities, he’s seen the area transform. Apparently, the neighbourhood used to have higher crime, but as more Moslem families moved in, the area has gained stability. Saleh says “It’s got a bit more problematic in the last three or four years, but it’s much better than it was in the 1990s.”

When he first arrived, the area used to be relatively uninhabited. There were lots of empty properties and the council would give prospective tenants a few sets of keys and let them choose which they wanted. But towards the end of the nineties, the housing stock filled up. Now, people can wait up to a year to be housed.

Saleh owns the building his shop occupies and business was very good up until a year or so ago. Recently however, his takings have halved. Saleh thinks this is partly to do with the recession and people being more careful, but also, there used to be 4 mini-markets around The Green and now there are 13, so there’s a lot less custom to go round.

Most of Saleh's trade is done on credit. Customers can accumulate up to £200 or £300 each and pay it off at the end of the month. He has a credit book in which he writes things down, but some of his customers just help themselves to what they need, (there’s a golf club in the shop, which is used to hook down boxes of cereal or rice from the upper shelves), then keep a note of what they owe themselves.

Occasionally, someone will ask for cigarettes or some Khat to chew and say they’ll come back with the money. He knows they probably won’t, but as it’s only a couple of quid, he’ll still give it to them to save a fuss. Most customers are local, but some come from afar. Occasionally they’ll even get Saudi Arabian students from Manchester driving over to Sheffield to eat in neighbouring restaurants, before stocking up on familiar flavours at Saleh's. The language of the shop is primarily Arabic.

If customers want something that he doesn’t stock, they will go elsewhere, but otherwise they are very loyal. When we asked why customers choose his shop rather than one of other 12, he replied: “I respect them and they respect me”. His friend agreed. “He’s been here the longest and he is trusted”.

NB: As was the case with almost every shop we visited in Istanbul, Saleh hospitably offered us a drink during our conversation, and gave us a bottle of mineral water each.

Beanies, Walkley, Sheffield

L-R: Chris, Jan, Matt and Cath

Beanies is a co-op selling fresh fruit, veg and wholefoods from its current location on Crooks Valley Road.

The Co-op - Since 1986, they’ve built up a business that now supports 19 full- and part-time co-op members. Matt is the longest-running member, who joined in 1992, Jan joined a few months later. There’s a flat management structure where all the current 13 directors have an equal say.

Customers - From local households buying groceries for a week, to students buying two mushrooms, a carrot and an onion every day. Loyal customers travel from as far as Chesterfield, wanting to follow the ethics of natural wholefoods. They trust Beanies to have explored the food’s provenance, so they can buy what they want, without having to read every label.

Deliveries - They operate a box scheme, delivering organic fruit and veg across Sheffield. They’ll meet the most exacting of requests, such as including a pack of ground cumin (if a shopping list requests half a teaspoon of ground cumin!)

Suppliers - The co-op has built up strong roots with local growers, such as the kitchen gardens at Worley Hall. It’s even been known for Matt, who is a good gardener, to visit a grower and advise on how and what to grow and when to pick it. Beanies know what they can sell and advise what they would buy from a grower. They are soon to start selling bread made in their own bakery.

Economics - They are not sure yet about the affects of the economic crisis, because it’s always slower in summer, students aren’t around and families are on holiday. But they probably won’t be voting themselves a wage raise until they know what is going to happen. The post office, two doors up, recently closed and this has impacted how many people pop in.

Any fresh produce that’s past its best is sold off at a cheaper price. If still unsold, it becomes staff food. Then it might be given to people who come in to ask for food for their guinea pigs, iguanas, rabbits etc, then finally it goes onto a compost heap at a local farm.

Local community - Some locals have greater needs than others and those working at the shop do what they can. People might ask to use the phone because their electricity has been cut off, or for 20p for something, or sometimes borrow money from members of staff. It’s even been known for the shop to provide safe haven for someone at risk, or offer their van if transport is needed. These kindnesses can work both ways. For example, if a local saw a break-in at the shop, they might be more likely to call the police.

Beanies will try and help the community’s more vulnerable people where they can. They take shopping to people’s cars or carry it home for them if they can’t manage. One elderly woman would walk to Beanies but didn’t like the walk back to her empty house, for fear she wouldn't make it. So, each time, a member of the co-op would escort her home. Another woman couldn’t get to the shop any more, so Jan would pop in with a delivery each day during her lunch break. Tea and biscuits developed into a long-term friendship.

Politics - Recently, a Green Party Councillor came into the shop and Jan complained ‘our vigil in the peace garden was broken up and we were moved on’. The councillor was supportive and said ‘email me and I’ll do something’. Jan says the shop represents the tip of the environmental iceberg and that she often notices the ‘green’ community connections taking place in the queue.

Howcrofts, Stannington, Sheffield

Howcrofts is an unassuming Off Licence come Grocers with a big claim to fame. The shop has opened daily for the past 63 years! Sundays, Bank Holidays, Christmas or New Year, every day for at least for a few hours.

Maureen Vickers, her son Noel [pictured here], and husband Robert, have served behind this counter for much of their lives, fetching what the customer wants from the shelves that stock that little bit of everything people might need. It’s not self-service. You ask for a tin of tuna and they get it for you. They don’t make a fuss or draw attention to themselves. Just open daily, stay open late and stock what local people need to buy.

“There's always a bottle of champagne in the fridge”, as Maureen says, “we never know when someone’s going to need it nice and cold for a celebration”.

They continue the work started by her father, Wilfred Howcroft, who began running the shop in 1947 and moved his family into the adjoining house, when Maureen was five. Back then, the shop was owned by John Smiths Brewery (and later by Courage) and sold beer, sherry and port on tap. Locals would bring their own jugs to be filled and take home. They also sold powdered eggs, sugar and flour from huge tubs as well as butter, lard and cheese, sold by weight from slabs. With no refrigerator, dried meats hung from hooks, which remain in the ceiling.

Noel showed us this well-thumbed photo from the 1950s, of his grandfather standing outside the shop. You can just make out the cigarette vending machine on the wall and the free-standing sweet machine. "There’s no way you could have those outside now." says Noel. Some other things have changed too.

Now the family own the building and the business. They removed the draught pumps about 20 years ago, but have kept them in the garage, along with the old John Smiths magnet sign. All stock used to be delivered, but now they buy everything from Sheffield’s Cash’n’Carrys. The shop’s now decorated with Maureen’s eclectic collection of witch paraphernalia – some dolls cackle when you clap your hands – and there's even a fairy-light spider’s web on the outside of the building, which they switch on at night. There used to be other shops nearby – a butcher and so on – but they’ve closed down and become residential.

No doubt that private ownership has helped them stay in business, but Maureen and Noel think their longevity is down to staying open till 11pm and knowing what people want. They’ll stock a particular brand of fags or a certain type of martini, especially for customers who ask. Living near the shop means their customers are neighbours and friends. And it doesn’t take too long to get to know more recent arrivals. Customers seem to respect what they do, so they don't get any trouble. They’ve seen generations grow up and some of the kids that used to buy sweets are now grandparents, alongside Maureen herself. Now you’ll find her grandchildren picking items off the shelves and playing shop. The family have every intention of improving on their 63-year run.

Enver Korkmaz, Pinar, Tepebashi, Istanbul

Enver Korkmaz is a butcher in Tepebasi, a few streets of calm amidst Tarlabasi neighbourhood. He’s 28 and for the last eight years he’s run ‘Pinar’. His father set up the shop after migrating to Istanbul over 30 years ago from Erzincan, a town in eastern Turkey. Since the 60s/70s many others from Erzincan have settled here, amongst familiar faces. Men like Ishan, a local plumber, or Ali, an estate agent, both of whom knew Enver’s father (who died four years ago). They watched over Enver and his two brothers as they grew up. Shared roots and big hearts have made for a close-knit community, that feels different from the rest of Tarlabasi.

“Trust”, according to Enver is the mainstay of his business. He knows all of his customers and says they have a good relationship built on trust of his produce and his qualities as a neighbour, as one of them.

Open from 8am to 9pm, 7 days a week, Enver’s a major part of the street life. A customer can shout down an order from their apartment window, which he’ll prepare and deliver. There are customers who care to stay and chat for a while, over tea and a cigarette. He’ll ask some people to run errands for him, and his neighbours who’ll borrow his stools to sit outside. There are parents who ask Enver to keep an eye on their children playing on the street. Households entrust him with their keys. Some even leave him the key to their strongbox.

Enver accepted our invitation to make a project, that would bring together these various groups (and others) for photographs. We reasoned that by recognising these groups, we wanted to show how ‘trust’ in its various guises was important to the community, and reveal the unique social bonds created by Enver.

We sat all day, for a few days, outside the shop, chatting with neighbours, making friends. We made diplomatic visits to other local shops, and to the men who frequent the local tea shop, to talk about the project. We debated points of view like, “if the British Government can manipulate 1 million people on to the streets of Tehran, why should we be trusted to photograph Tepebasi?”

A few days later, we started to take photographs for people that they wanted, of their children and families, and of the local teashop, to help build trust around our intentions.

There were some problems. Primarily when a local (mis) informed the police, who then questioned Enver. They warned him not to work with us, saying we worked for an international organization conspiring to damage the community. Enver needed some reassurance, and letter confirming our identity from Platform Garanti did the trick. He showed it the police the second time they visited and said we are doing the photos.

People where naturally concerned as to how we as foreigners would try to represent them. Some also spoke of other problems that threaten the community and some of the safeguards taken. For example, local landlords have an informal agreement, that rents here are twice as much as a few streets away in Tarlabasi, to help defend against the encroachment of drugs, prostitution and other ‘undesirables’. Gentrification is also an issue. Relatively cheap buildings, it’s prime location near the city centre, and the attractive renovation opportunities, making Tepebasi a prime site for ‘gentrification’.

Whilst some enterprising locals let out rooms, apartments or buildings, which they bought when prices were low, not everyone has the same resources. Enver says he doesn’t want to live or work anywhere else, and with his shop, he can be confident in his chances of staying put. However, some in the community will be priced out, and like the Greeks who once dominated this neighbourhood in the 1950s, will have to find a home elsewhere.

Nothing is too much, Istanbul

The quality of customer service in Istanbul is fundamentally special, wherever you go. No 'exclusive' customer of retailers like Beymer, Burberry or Prada, in Nisantasi would expect anything less. Tea, coffee, wine and newspapers are all part of client hospitality. Laws are breakable = smoking is allowed, and customers can bring pets and food into the shop. Shipping, loyalty cards and financial services are all part of the package. Beymer will collect customers from their hotel, Burberry will take clothing to customers' homes.

But go to your Bakkal [mini-market], butcher or baker, in any Istanbul neighbourhood, and the standards are relatively the same. A chair, chai or water would be offered, time allowing. Cigarettes are offered liberally and pets are welcomed. Credit books are common currency.

Local shops will give out magnets so customers can phone through, or shout down an order ('Bakkal, Bakkal' is a regular call from apartment windows), and the shop staff will pick and pack your groceries and deliver them to your doorstep at no extra charge. If they don't have a something in stock, they'll run elsewhere and get it for you in 15 minutes.

If you trust the shop and the shop trusts you, they'll agree to look after your house or car keys while you're out. The local shops use the same customer service as global businesses, to keep themselves alive. One likely difference is that the local shops are controlled by parents, not by parent companies.

Amir and Jasmin Kulauzovic, JAGODA, Trnovo, Ljubljana

Owned by two brothers, Amir and Jasmin, Jagoda opened for business in the Trnovo suburb in 2004. A few minutes walk from the Old Town centre, their bright yellow shop is posted on a pathway between the north bank of the Ljublianica river and a modern 70s housing estate.

From here they sell high quality fruit and vegetables, bringing colour to the neighbourhood in more ways than one. Their main aim is, of course, to run an economically successful business and support their young families. Before they arrived, others had tried but failed to make the shop's location work. However, through their innate creativity, kindness and lots of hard work they have succeeded in an extraordinary way, with the shop becoming a kind of 'social hub' for the neighbourhood.

Jasmin ensures they have good quality produce, visiting the wholesale market at 4.30am every morning to re-stock, from which he creates stunning displays in the shop.

From what we saw, the brothers greet almost every passer-by - customers and non-customers alike - with a variant of 'Dan-Dan' (hi-hi). Both men, queues allowing, will spend their time chatting with people, young and old, perhaps being elderly people's only daily social contact, keeping them in the loop with the neighbourhood. But the brothers offer much more than a good gossip spot, they exude a positivity and trust.

Amir, who looks after the afternoon stint, plays his favourite music, singing along and bringing a smile to the faces of passers-by. They'll look after a customers shopping, whilst they take their dogs for a walk, returning later to collect it, safe and sound. The elderly, in a habit left over from the currency change (from Tolars to Euros), will hand over their purses for the brothers to pick out what they are owed.

This measure of trust works both ways. If a customer is short of cash one day, their name and sum owed is written in the 'little blue book' . We're told this is an increasingly uncommon practice in Ljubljana.

One way they have used to establish a relationship with people in this dog-mad neighbourhood was to give a customer's dog a treat. Almost every dog would get one, till some owners complained about the inconvenience of their dog dragging them out of their way to snaffle up a treat, or that their dog proved allergic to the gift. There's still around six dogs who, each time they pass by, wait by the open door and hoover up their biscuit.

The treats are not just for the dogs. Children are given sweets too! And in autumn, Amir and Jasmin might barbeque corn-on-the-cob to give to their customers. In winter it would be chestnuts, which is also a time when Jasmin would also shovel up all the snow along the pathway to build big beautiful snowmen [thanks for the photos Amir].

Born in Ljubljana in the 1970s, of Bosnian parents, the brothers followed their father into the fruit and veg trade. He'd started supplying restaurants, the first business of its kind in post-independence Slovenia. They worked for him for a short while and have even named their shop after his business, Jagoda. Which translates as 'strawberry', the first spring fruit and is a metaphor for a new (political) beginning. Amir says there's not as much money in selling fruit & veg these days compared to the 90s, stating he earns in one month what his father would earn in 3 days. He adds most people don't know the shop is called Jagoda, the sign hanging on the door is often out of sight when the store is open.

Jagoda is open 12 hours a day from 7-7, and closed Saturday afternoon and Sunday. The brothers take the whole of August off. When asked what it was like when the brothers took their August vacation, a customer jokingly said it's like having his legs chopped off.

Dušanka Sulejmalli, "Laura", Ljubljana

Known to her familiars as 'Duška', in 1991 she opened her ladies fashion boutique, named after her daughter Laura - an unusual name for Slovenia. Her shop is tucked into one corner of a forecourt of an ex-petrol station - dominated by a concrete umbrella structure - off the arterial road to Kranj. From here, she dresses Ljubljana's women in imported Italian fashions, many of whom have been loyal customers since the shop opened.

Originally from Serbia but resident in Slovenia for some 30 years, Duška learnt her trade as a travelling saleswoman for a clothing company serving all of former-Yugoslavia.

She provides a personalised styling service that aims to dress her customers well whatever the occasion, whilst trying to encourage their adventurous side: a philosophy which seems to be working well. On our first visit, we mistook a customer's purchase of a raw silk suit combining a beige jacket printed with a cascade of pink flowers and bright fuscia trousers, as an outfit for a special occasion, for a child’s graduation, birthday, or wedding. "No, it's for the office," we were told.

She buys all her stock from factory showrooms near Milan, Italy. She goes monthly, or more often if stock is getting low. With her customers’ size and shape in mind, she'll choose clothes she knows will suit them. They in turn, trust her to make them look good. On returning from Italy she will ring up certain customers and invite them to the shop to try on what she’s bought for them. She says in the future she may buy wholesale from Serbia, as the prices are better, yet the clothes are still very stylish.

Duška regularly goes for coffee with her customers, who include judges and dentists who will visit every season to update their wardrobe to retired ladies who buy every now and again. If she’s not seen a certain customer for a while, she’ll call them to see how they are. All are attracted by a range of clothes not available elsewhere in Slovenia and as such a woman dressed by Duška is more often than not dressed 'individually'.

One particular woman brought several friends but she had first choice of what to buy and then her friends weren’t allowed to buy the same items. Others keep their visits to the boutique secret as they don’t want anyone else to be wearing the same clothes as them. Some will even lie and, if asked, say they got their clothes in Italy or Germany, in order to stop people finding out where they buy their clothes.

Complementary silk scarves are gifted to buyers of certain outfits, which Duška will slip into the bag. She also gives away around 400 umbrellas a year, as an accessory or Christmas gift. She’ll also mark a special customer’s major birthday (like 50th or 60th) with a gift.

With Duska's help, we photographed and interviewed some of her most ardent customers about the role the shop has played in their lives.

Duska also has a son who runs a second hand car dealership based in the huge BTC shopping zone on the north-east outskirts of the city.

Alen Kardas, Hapy Days Fish Seller, Kras

"Yes, I choose the music" said Alen when asked about the folk songs playing from the loudspeaker atop his refrigerated van, “though they need to be Slovene".

We travelled to meet Alen in the small market square of Komen, a village in Kras, a rural region about an hours drive east of Ljubljana and close to the Italian border. He works for a family business called Hapy Days that runs a small fleet of vans across the region. We learnt that these songs are important for people to retain a sense of the region's identity, given the proximity to Italy and even more so now with the EU accession in 2007. In a twist of irony, the fresh fish he sells are from the wholesale market across the border in Trieste.

He sells here each Saturday from 8am-12.30pm and on Tuesdays from 9-10am. Otherwise he criss-crosses the region, driving to villages in the Vremska or Vipavska Valley, or visiting several along the route from Divača to Sežana; Tomačevica, Mali Doli, Kobjeglava, Tupelče, Hruševica, Štanjel. He sticks to a regular timetable so customers know when to expect to hear his music, and takes Sunday and Monday off.

He told us he does house calls too, and reckons on some days he slides the van door open and shut 200 times. Sometimes for feuding neighbours, he needs to park outside one house, then drive the 20 metres or so to the neighbour’s house, as neither will buy from outside their enemy’s gate – a situation he said that’s typically Slovene.

Alen knows his fish, and so when asked, advises customers how best to store or cook bass, mackerel, etc., Though he thinks a big part of his job is to make customers smile, particularly those elderly customers who are isolated or now live alone. He adds the elderly particularly like to buy sardines as they are cheap and nutritious, ideal if you are living on a basic pension.

Customers now know him, and some call his mobile to order or reserve a type, or quantity of fish they may need for a party or BBQ. He’ll check if he can supply, then call back to say yes or no.

We asked his customers about the family tree of their purchase, who would eat the fish they had bought? We were surprised with the variety of our small sample. From a famous Slovene actor, a local designer whose father designed the Slovene Euro coin, a friend of our guide, to children running an errand for their parents, and individuals buying for themselves, their spouses and their families. In a further cross-border twist, people even came from Italy to buy from him because Hapy Days prices are lower.

Hapy Days was started in 1990 by Joze who then bought direct from Croatian fishermen to sell in Komen from the back of his Renault 4. Joze’s wife, Wilma, and daughter Janja take care of the accounts. At 4.30am every morning, Joze arrives at the Trieste fish market and stocks up 4 of the 6 vans they operate – 2 don’t run at present as they are short-staffed. Their son, Tomaz drives one van and Janja’s husband Damir drives another. Employees, Ego and Alen drive the other two. Each is responsible for a different route through Kras.

At the end of each day the vans return to base. Each driver/seller weighs the fish left, refrigerates the good stuff and tells Joze what’s needed for the next day. Any fish not fresh enough to go back on the van is filleted by Damir’s mother and father. These fillets are then sold to a local restaurant, ensuring what is being sold in the vans is always fresh and top quality.

Each day the drivers wash the inside of their vans, with the outside washed weekly on a Saturday afternoon. Alen says it’s hard work and long hours so the business struggles to recruit and retain staff. He’s looking to start a family, but figures his work at the moment makes it difficult to find a girl and settle down.

Elena & Costica, Alexandru neighbourhood, Iaşi

During Communist times, Elena and Costica worked in a textile factory. Elena did the bookkeeping and Costica supervised the machinery. Post-1989, the textile market dropped off and the factory restructured. At this point, they started their own business and have been going for about 15 years.

Elena has strong opinions about respecting her customers. She provides good quality, branded products, within their sell-by dates, at reasonable prices to residents of the Minerva Esplanada in the Alexandru neighbourhood of Iaşi. Elena buys her goods from local wholesale centres called Siraj and Metro, which operate a card-based membership scheme similar to the UK’s Makro. She’s got a lock-up nearby to store what doesn’t fit in the kiosk. Many customers are elderly and can’t get to the larger supermarkets so need to shop locally.

The kiosk sells a little bit of everything – daily items such as cigarettes, soft drinks, toiletries as well as items you might perhaps run out of, like cornflour (an ingredient for mămăliga, one of Romania’s staple foods – a delicious mix of corn meal, often served with sheep’s cheese and sour cream), oil, rice, coffee, nappies, hosiery, batteries and make-up. If a customer asks Elena to get something particular, for example men’s vests, she will do her best to buy it for them.

Elena has strong relationships with her customers. A few are ex-colleagues or family friends. Many she has known for years, such as 17-year old Cătalină who she saw as a baby, used to sell sweets to as a child, and now sells hair dye to as a teenager. Many customers buy from her daily, such as Constantin who buys a pack of Monte Carlo cigarettes each day. Others, such as 5-year old Matei just pop in to see the dog and maybe get his Mum to buy a pack of puffed corn.

Elena and Costica share the workload, taking turns to sit in their chilly kiosk at street level or to warm up in their cosy flat, five storeys above. They intend to open over Christmas and the New Year. As their only son is working in the UK, and will visit them at Easter, they’ll capitalise on the festive season and stay open while surrounding shops are closed. 

We met Elena on our first day in Iasi, created a photo album of her and her customers, and had dinner with her and her friends on our last night.

Maria & Ion Ocâ's dairy, Iaşi

Maria’s grandparents lived in this house, before she and her husband Ion took over the smallholding, in a countryside village about 15 minutes drive from Iaşi.

Maria has delivered handmade cheese, cream and occasionally milk to nine customers’ homes in the Tataraşi, every 10 days or so, for the past 40 years. Some of the older people died and now she delivers to their descendants. She delivered these products throughout the communist era, outside the state’s rationing system of the 1980s: a small-scale, subsistence ‘black market’.

Maria learnt to make cheese from her grandmother, who also used to make butter. “She’d put the butter on a plate and make it round like a haystack and then take the spoon and make all sorts of patterns. People bought it by the 100gms. Both my mother and my grandmother used to go market. And I used to go with them to the market. Now I sell at the market. I sell whatever we have, beans, corn, in summer we sell vegetables from the garden. In the market, customers look at the way we look, how clean our hands are, how clean our apron is, what the basket looks like, how white the cheesecloth is. They look and then they choose whom to buy from.”

Some years Maria sells wine, but this year she’s putting it aside as her son is getting married this coming summer. They sell homemade plum brandy. They have various fowl, goats, sheep, cows, horses, honeybees and a dappled, snorting pig, which is being fattened up for Christmas.

We were talking in Maria’s back room of her house, when she flung open the doors of a cupboard to reveal her cheese-to-be. Each day she milks the cows and stores the milk in these earthenware jars. The jars were made by Roma pottery makers, who used to come around and sell at the door, but they don’t come anymore, so when Maria breaks a pot, she can’t replace it.

“If both shelves are full of pots, then I know I have enough for all of my customers. It takes about a week or ten days to fill up both shelves. The cream rises to the top. And then it has to sit and curdle because you can’t put fresh milk into cheese. The milk curdles and you separate that out and make the cheese with it. You warm it up on the stove and you put it in cheesecloth and leave it to strain, leave it dripping until it is dense.”

Titi's Kiosk, Copou, Iaşi

For the last ten years, Titi (short for Constantin) has framed the world, his customers and his commerce through the window of his kiosk on the busy Carol I Blvd, surrounded by the university buildings of the Copou neighbourhood of Iaşi. Watching taxi drivers jostle for parking spaces and streams of students flood by, he sells newspapers, magazines, stationery, tissues and other convenience items.

Some university professors have been customers for many years. They have Titi’s mobile number and might ring, even quite late at night if they’ve just seen a book or magazine ad on the telly, to ask him to keep a particular publication aside for them the next morning, which Titi stows away on the shelf below the counter or the shelf above the window.

The outside of the kiosk is covered in a scaly skin of magazines, with the semi-dark interior lit by artificial light. An electric heater keeps Titi and his wife Elena warm in the bitter cold of winter, when temperatures can drop too -15 C. On chilly days, the window is opened only when customers approach. Elena opens the kiosk at 6am every morning. Titi takes over at about 10.30 and works through to around 9 at night, earlier at weekends or during the college holidays. Last year, they took their first break in nine years, a month-long road trip around the mountains of Romania with their son and his fiancée.

As most kiosks in Iaşi have now been consolidated into companies, sometimes Titi himself wonders how he’s managed to stay independent. Mainly due to his active lobbying of City Hall, he’s been successful in renewing the 6-month lease of his 3m x 1.5m pavement pitch. City Hall has decreed that all kiosks must conform to a standard design so in March 2009, Titi and Elena’s existing kiosk will be transported to his back garden and used to store tools. In its place, they’ll install a new double-glazed design, which they have commissioned to conform to planning regulations.

Titi’s previous career was as an electrical engineer on the railways. After restructuring, he was offered early retirement aged 50.

International Traders, Guangzhou

Guangzhou is known in the import/export trade as an end selling point. Traders from all over the world come to buy wholesale products produced all over China, which eventually find their way to places like Guangzhou’s Yide International Exquisite Toy and Stationery Square, where we met Craig and Clem Eady. This father and son team run a wholesale business in Brisbane, established for 35 years and supplying about 150 clients back in Queensland, Australia. They are here for toys, army surplus, hardware and knives. “If you can find that factory somewhere in China or even in the back streets here, you can buy exceptionally well, but all the way down to Guangzhou, it will get dearer. And here, at the endpoint, it’s the dearest.”

We interviewed Craig, Clem and dozens of other traders from the five continents on video, asking about their relationship with Guangzhou, the sellers, and other traders they may encounter. Traders come because they believe this city has the cheapest products available in the world. On this 2-3 week visit Craig and Clem will spend around A$100,000 (650,000RMB). They visit 3 times a year and have been coming here for 8 years. Before Guangzhou, they used to buy in Hong Kong and Taiwan.

They tend to use the same sellers each year – regular customers should get a better price - until the seller does the wrong thing; like supply the wrong goods/quality, change the price, or leave goods behind so they miss the ship and have to be sent by plane instead (400 times dearer than ship). Clem says they will still pop in when there in town but and say “hello” – one of the few Chinese words that they know, other phrases being “too high”, “too low”, “how much”, “how many” – but won’t buy from them again.

They say a lot of the Chinese they deal with speak some English, plus they have help from interpreters and guides. But even when they’re doing business with the sellers that don’t speak a word, they can find a way to understand, such as negotiating price through the use of calculators.

Even though the community of traders is fragmented in time and place (and at times secretive), there are odd occasions when the network connects to exchange tips. Craig and Clem have only ever met one other Australian, but do bump into Americans - who usually get the better prices because they buy the largest amounts - and often put them on to things. Germans too! Because they are not competitors, it’s no skin off their nose. Craig remembers having a quick chat with a Middle Eastern guy at an airport baggage collection. Next minute the guy was on his laptop and getting him the address of a factory somewhere in China, which he said, has very good products at a very good price.

LITORAL Mercado, Ilha da Itaparica

This is Fabio and his father Guido. Guido owns and runs a grocery store called LITORAL Mercado in Itaparica Town. He set up the shop with and for his family. Because of the low income on the island - the average minimum wage being R$400 per month (£120) - the shop has to sell a little bit of everything at decent prices to keep itself going. They will also order items not usually available, especially for non-locals who might be missing something from their home town. One customer doesn't like the bread so Guido gets different bread delivered by motorbike from the other side of the island. The store has been open since Carnaval 2007 and is one of a growing number of independent shops in a town where few existed five years ago. They offer credit for people they know - which is a typical system on the island - but need to manage it carefully so cash flow doesn't put their business at risk. Guido worked for many years as a manager of a supermarket in nearby Bom Despacho, as well as a waiter at the local marina. Fabio said his father dreamed of opening up his own enterprise, so saved money until he was able to do so. With LITORAL he has generated relatively secure jobs for his family (children and siblings), which would have been hard to find elsewhere.