My father waved a dismissive hand at the vendor shoving an antique box under his nose, and while patting his belly with his other hand, told her: "You le."

Normally, that would mean, "I already have it", and is a relatively polite way to shake off

persistent peddlers. But because he said it while rubbing his tummy, it apparently took on a different meaning: "I'm pregnant."

The woman and her flock of fellow hawkers clucked and cackled at this proclamation, and in good-hearted jest, asked him in English: "You're pregnant? When will your baby come?" It was a testimony to the command of English of many stallholders in Beijing's bizzare bazaars.

When my family comes to China, it's a shop-till-you drop - all your cash, at least - affair. Part of the reason is, they love to collect the curios from the country's heaving marketplaces. But the foremost incentive is their love of interaction with the colorful characters who man the stalls. And this has cultivated in them, especially in my father, a desire to develop some proficiency in putonghua.

However, unlike most newcomers to the country - who say their body language becomes the most rapidly emergent area of linguistic development upon arrival - my family quickly developed a greater fluency in Pig Latin.

The language, popular in some native English-speaking countries, is a modification of English in which the consonant sound at the beginning of a word is relocated to its end, and "ay" is suffixed. Igpay Atinlay is particularly useful for expats in China assisting newcomers, who are often clueless of the actual value of things, navigate the bargaining process without betraying their intentions to vendors.

When a peddler insisted to my mother a lantern was worth 200 yuan ($29), and she had no idea what she should pay, I could simply tell her: "Itsay aybemay orthway entay uaikay (It's maybe worth 10 kuai)." From there, she could begin bargaining in her broken Chinese, while the stallholder would retort in broken English. If I'd said it in our native tongue, the vendor would have almost certainly understood and refused to go below 15 yuan.

One of the more amusing moments came when a vendor, who had p

reviously asked us where we were from, said: "I thought you were from America. Then why do you speak another language?" My father replied: "Oh, in the US, we also speak a form of Latin." He gave us a wink. She gave him a smile and a thumb up.

When my wife and I were bargaining in marketplaces in Thailand, we spoke Chinese with each other to reach consensus on what we were willing to pay for various items. And many times, right when we reached our conclusion, the Thai vendor would start giggling. One time, when we were chatting in Chinese about some knicknacks and the vendor started guffawing, we asked him just what was so funny. He replied: "Hao (good) is the sound a dog makes in Thai!"

To him, we were barking hilarious, but we didn't care; we got the goods for the price we wanted. Ustjay ikelay ymay aretspay idday inay hinacay.

(China Daily 06/12/2008 page20)