Laundry Day

There must be at least 500 residences in my little longtang (or lilong depending on your internet research), the semi-official name for long lanes of houses in Shanghai. The houses vary in size, courtyard and architecture style but my longtang consists of little wooden-staired lane houses and slightly higher apartment blocks.  I live in a six-story block. The communal courtyard is strewn with bicycles, e-bikes and children and I've even made friends with the lady who does the early morning trash bin maintenance. In the backdrop, housing high rises loom, the cautionary tale of what gentrification would like the neighborhood to become.

I love my little neighbourhood--there's a tiny vegetable stall at the front and random people who serve as impromptu guards at the North and South entrances.  There's also at least five different ways to get in and out of the complex; each way takes the bravery and experimentation of walking down dark alleys with unidentifiable smells in the hopes that a gate will take you to the main street. Usually they do but some unseen security guard gets to locking up the lesser used (and, sadly, closer to the shops with the chocolate) gates post 6pm. 

On any given day, usually the weekend when my alarm doesn't go off at 5:45am, the longtang comes alive with a series of noises, smells and visual assaults to the senses. Usually it's the lady downstairs gutting a chicken or the neighbours tinkering away at 7am construction but yesterday's wander took me past the dual gem of drying fish and drying granny panties: 

What's concerned me about China for a while is that I only really ever see one or two pairs of pants drying at a time. Is there an alternate daily washing schedule for people's unmentionables? Do people own only two pairs of knickers? Do they only wash their undies once a week? 

I'm on the hunt to solve this mystery. It's the right way to kick off 2016.