Robert and I planned to spend three days in Shanghai before flying off to our respective destinations (me to the US, Robert to Kuala Lumpur and beyond).  My former colleague, biz contact, and friend Peter graciously offered up his apartment during our stay.  Getting the key was a little tricky, since his roommate had also decided to visit the US, but with the help of the aiyi’s (maid) phone number at the last minute (after we’d arrived in Shanghai), we were able to meet up and get the key.  OK, we were now set.

But, before we’d successfully rendezvoused to get the key, before we even had contact with Peter, we thought we’d go to a popular subway stop in the hopes of finding a Starbucks so that we could use their wireless internet connection and hopefully connect with Peter.  Well, we never found the Starbucks, but we did get our first glimpse at the new and very impressive sharp-chisel-touching-the-sky-of-a-building Shanghai World Financial Center, the second tallest in the world, though we didn’t know that was it at the time.  We had chosen “Century Plaza” (on the right side of this map) because it had numerous intersections.  But, it proved to be fruitless.  We boarded the subway and tried again.  Then Peter called.

Flash forward to us with the keys; now we had the freedom to go anywhere.  This was the second time I’d been to Shanghai, the first being with my parents and some friends of ours on an official tour the year before.  This time, I was completely in charge, and no Chinese local to help out.  However, it was quite easy; my Chinese has progressed enough to get by.  And, unlike Shenzhen, there is a good bit more English.  In fact, our first stop was “People’s Square”, a great place to begin the tour since it leads to Nanjing Street, a long pedestrian street filled with restaurants and shops.  As we were orienting ourselves and the map in People’s Square, we were approached by three Chinese tourists, or so they said, who struck up a quick conversation with us.  Eventually, they invited us to a “tea show” which we declined because we were starving.  We had finished packing around 1:30am the night before, were up at 5:00am to go by my office and pick up something I had forgotten and then took the same taxi out to the airport.  Anyway, we would see this same triumverate tomorrow in the same spot talking to different foreigners; I’ll let Robert finish the story to explain why.  It is quite a good story.

I was surprised at how aggressive the wandering salesmen were on Nanjing Road.  They were approaching the style of the “Merchants of LuoHu” (wow, one of my first posts).  I teased around with some of them.  Usually, this is OK, but some didn’t get the message.  One lady, selling strap on flashing roller skates almost wouldn’t take no for an answer; she cut her prices nearly six times before she finally gave up.  We spotted several restaurants and got Robert some overdue coffee, but eventually opted to move off the main drag for something a little more…traditional.

We found a delicious, cheap, filthy, delightful, hole-in-the-wall restaurant where we bought fried rice, a thing broth.  We also brought in sort of a fried dumpling filled with meat and milk tea to supplement the food.  It was a satisfying lunch.  We returned to this same area late another night for dinner.  We were the last in the restaurant, enjoying a fried rice dish with meat in a hot skillet.  I noticed that the owners were beginning to close up show.  Obviously, other residents of the restaurant expected this as well when a LARGE RAT began crawling down a black wire hanging behind Robert.  By the time I remembered the word for “rat” in Chinese and shouted to the owners, who seemed not to mind, he had descended and vanished somewhere along a crack in the wall.  Robert’s response was most memorable:  “Aweeeesome!  This is great!  Real China!”  I couldn’t agree more.

After our day trip to Suzhou, we returned to the Pudong area (that’s where are the really cool modern buildings are…oh yeah, and they’re putting in a super tall skyscraper which will dwarf the current highest tower by nearly 150 meters!) to have dinner in the Jin Mao Tower, in the Hyatt up on the 60th floor or so.  This was a huge departure from our two dollar rat meal from the day before, but we were in a mood to celebrate.  But first, we took a visit to the Shanghai World Financial Center for a commanding view of the city.  The building is so impressive.  Very modern on the inside and sleek on the outside.  Taking the elevator up was a treat too.  You could barely feel the acceleration and there was also a delightful light show on the ceiling to enjoy.  The top of the tower is surprisingly thin, and, in Feng Shui tradition (or at least as much as I understand it), the bridge at the top of the large gap in the the tower is a glass skybride and observatory.  As you can imagine, the views are great.

Later, we enjoyed a wonderful Italian dinner in the Jin Mao Tower Hyatt.  We were again the last party to leave as they were closing up.  Alex, a friend of Peter’s roommate (who later had given us an extra key so we could return the original one to the aiyi…) and a busy man in the world of business consulting, met up with us after work (!!) and helped finish off the wine.  We all then retired up to the club on the top floor to the “Cloud 9 Lounge” for more drinks.  Sitting so high up and looking out onto the city was an experience by itself.  It was just such a great moment to savor and enjoy:  a wonderful view, good drinks, and superb company.

Part of our trip to Shanghai was spent as a day trip to Suzhou, one of the many canal cities to the west of Shanghai.  I’d wanted to see one of these towns ever since seeing the end scenes from Mission Impossible III.  True to the warnings of the guidebook and some locals, the scenic spots did take some effort to find; much of the old town is surrounded by ugly, smell, or industrial parts.

Buying the train ticket was easy and cheap.  And, we were happy to discover that our $4 fare was for the comfortable and spacious first class cabin.  Not bad.  Approximately one hour later, we pulled in to Suzhou, then began a long walk to the scenic parts of town.  First we crossed a stinking stagnant canal on a bridge crowded with street merchants.  After a couple of wrong turns into the ugly parts of town, we steered in the right direction and found the first guidebook landmark – the silk museum, which, from nearly being over run by vines and creepers, appeared to not have had a visitor in years.  I was worried that the rest of the city might look no better.  But it didn’t; eventually we found some good stuff:  The Temple of Mystery, The Twin Pagodas, and even some quality canal views, though they were nothing close to what can be seen in the city of Li Jiang in the Yunnan province.  I especially enjoyed the food.  We never sat down for a meal, but instead dined on street snacks, the favorite being sort of a Chinese pizza – a crust with ground meat and spices on top.  It was delicious and only 3 RMB (under 50 cents).  There was plenty of milk tea stands, much like Shanghai, to choose from as well.

We ended up hitting all major sections of the city, ending the day in the southwest corner.  After so much walking, we opted to use a rickshaw to make our way back to the center of town.  Unfortunately, we suddenly realized that we only had a few minutes to catch the train back to Shanghai.  We ran to the busiest street, caught a cab to the train station, ran through the gate, and boarded with two minutes to spare.  The nap on the ride back to Shanghai was a perfect ending.

The trick of the day was this: our accommodations were being provided by a friend of Theron’s, but we first had to get the key from a friend of Theron’s friend, and Theron had had no luck contacting either recently.  We needed an internet connection, the Sibyl of the computer age.  Alas, even McDonald’s was not helpful this time.  We took a subway to what we thought was the city center, and at my suggestion based on my amazing intuition, we began walking…and walking…and found nothing but a seemingly endless business district.  All the conditions were right for disaster.  So we returned to the subway.

Eventually Theron reached his friend–who was visiting the US at the time–and we thanked the wonders of the cell phone as we made our way to the apartment.  The plan had changed; we were now to get the key from the Ai-yi (cleaning lady) once we reached the apartment.  The deal went down without a hitch, and we soon found ourselves free to explore Shanghai.  It all really began (several hours into the current chapter of our tale) in the city center.

When we ascended from the subway, the bright blue sky was veiled in haze; the tops of nearby buildings were fuzzy. It took us a while to orient ourselves in Renmin Park; we were sitting ducks.  Three pleasant Chinese nationals came up to us to ask whether they could help us.  Their English was excellent.  Once they had helped us to get our bearings, we had a friendly getting-to-know-you exchange.  They said they were on a two-week vacation from Beijing and invited us to join them for tea.  You, dear reader, have no doubt already guessed that we were starving again, having thoroughly worked off our pre-breakfast, so we declined and parted ways with our guides and went in search of proper sustenance.

Happily, Theron and I are both eager for thorough absorption in local culture–as you, dear reader, no doubt have discerned from one or two other entries on this blog–and so we veered from the touristy bustle of East Nanjing Rd and wandered among herds of bicycles along side streets until we found ourselves on a row of open-air food stands, the sunlight thick with the steam and smoke from soups and stoves.  Milk Tea proved irresistable to Theron, as usual, but we were also drawn to try some of the other tasty-looking lunch fare, though we knew not what it was.  We selected some biscuit-like goodies stuffed with seasoned, ground beef.  They were exquisite.  I wondered how long it would be before the less savory effects of the unknown dish made their impact.

Returning to Nanjing Rd., we were assaulted by a steady stream of peddlers; one was so persistent that she engaged Theron in some kind of conversation for a few blocks before finally peeling away.  The unflagging flanks foisted on us sunglasses, watches, weird toys, a tedious mix of useless merchandise.  The realization that this was the merest tip of the international industrial iceberg was overwhelming.  So it was necessary to forget about that.  However, we did do some serious shopping in an underground mall where the assortment of ties proved irresistable to me, like Milk Tea to Sai Long.

The slightest glance at some DKNY knock-offs garnered me a devoted salesman for life who would not let me go–no matter how many other booths I tried to escape to–until I negotiated him down to the lowest possible price, at which point it would have been just silly to let the deal go.  He was practically handing them to me for free, gift-wrapped.  Incidentally, I have yet to wear the shirts–they fit oddly.  Thank God I spent nearly nothing on them.

And so it went.  Theron stopped at a street vendor to try on socks in front of God and everybody, while I selected silk scarves for mom.  (The ties at this place were pretty vulgar.)  Eventually, we drew close to the Bund, and Theron ordered me to keep my gaze toward the ground as we arrived, as he had done in Hong Kong.  By this time, night had fallen.  The boardwalk was alive with pedestrian traffic, and, of course, the obligatory peddlers.  The sight of the extravagant, neon-lit skyscrapers across the river was mighty impressive, as were the equally extravagant bill-board barges.  But these spectacular views–the brash commercialism across the river and the elegant colonial architecture facing it–were accompanied by an odd soundtrack.  One of the toys being pushed in large numbers along the boardwalk was a kind of top which coruscates madly while spinning and loudly chirps this astonishingly odd half-tune in the timbres of toy trumpets and squeaky pet toys.  As an extreme of aesthetic contrast, it is possibly unsurpassable.  Theron and I could not help but double over laughing, and we kept laughing about it intermittently through the remainder of the trip.

Happily, Theron and I are both eager for thorough absorption in local culture–as you, dear reader, no doubt have discerned from one or two other entries on this blog–and so we veered from the touristy bustle of East Nanjing Rd and wandered among herds of bicycles along side streets until we found ourselves on a row of open-air food stands, the sunlight thick with the steam and smoke from soups and stoves.  Milk Tea proved irresistable to Theron, as usual, but we were also drawn to try some of the other tasty-looking lunch fare, though we knew not what it was.  We selected some biscuit-like goodies stuffed with seasoned, ground beef.  They were exquisite.  I wondered how long it would be before the less savory effects of the unknown dish made their impact.

Returning to Nanjing Rd., we were assaulted by a steady stream of peddlers; one was so persistent that she engaged Theron in some kind of conversation for a few blocks before finally peeling away.  The unflagging flanks foisted on us sunglasses, watches, weird toys, a tedious mix of useless merchandise.  The realization that this was the merest tip of the international industrial iceberg was overwhelming.  So it was necessary to forget about that.  However, we did do some serious shopping in an underground mall where the assortment of ties proved irresistable to me, like Milk Tea to Sai Long.

The slightest glance at some DKNY knock-offs garnered me a devoted salesman for life who would not let me go–no matter how many other booths I tried to escape to–until I negotiated him down to the lowest possible price, at which point it would have been just silly to let the deal go.  He was practically handing them to me for free, gift-wrapped.  Incidentally, I have yet to wear the shirts–they fit oddly.  Thank God I spent nearly nothing on them.

And so it went.  Theron stopped at a street vendor to try on socks in front of God and everybody, while I selected silk scarves for mom.  (The ties at this place were pretty vulgar.)  Eventually, we drew close to the Bund, and Theron ordered me to keep my gaze toward the ground as we arrived, as he had done in Hong Kong.  By this time, night had fallen.  The boardwalk was alive with pedestrian traffic, and, of course, the obligatory peddlers.  The sight of the extravagant, neon-lit skyscrapers across the river was mighty impressive, as were the equally extravagant bill-board barges.  But these spectacular views–the brash commercialism across the river and the elegant colonial architecture facing it–were accompanied by an odd soundtrack.  One of the toys being pushed in large numbers along the boardwalk was a kind of top which coruscates madly while spinning and loudly chirps this astonishingly odd half-tune in the timbres of toy trumpets and squeaky pet toys.  As an extreme of aesthetic contrast, it is possibly unsurpassable.  Theron and I could not help but double over laughing, and we kept laughing about it intermittently through the remainder of the trip.

We were taking photos, trying to capture the night lights, when three young, nicely dressed Chinese nationals walked up to us, asking us in excellent English to take a picture of the three of them together in front of the skyline.  (These were not the same three from earlier in the day but were suspiciously similar.)  We did so, and before we knew it, we were engaged in friendly, getting-to-know-you conversation.  They were on a two-week vacation from Beijing.  (Suspicious, I tell you.)  The two girls carried on with Theron, and somehow I got stuck with the guy talking to me about his religious convictions; it was type casting, I suppose.  It was an expert job of “divide and conquer,” because the next thing I knew, we’re heading back toward Nanjing, one of the girls smiled at me as they led the way: “We’re going to have tea but must get there soon; it starts at 6:30.”

The thoughts which ensued darted through my mind in a hot panic.  “What the hell did they promise Theron?!  This is a set-up! It’s a trap! (Music cue from “Return of the Jedi.”) We’re going to wake up tomorrow morning in a bathtub full of ice, wondering where we left one of our kidneys! We’re going to end up hostages of some Chinese drug cartel getting decapitated on on youtube!”  At any rate, I was sure it was some kind of scam, and they had executed the move so well that I could not say anything to Theron without being rude…they’ve also researched and discovered my greatest weakness! Those nefarious, nice-looking Chinese yuppies!  Curses!”  So then I began plotting.  “OK, I can’t speak to Theron in English because they speak English, and I can’t speak to him in Chinese, because they obviously speak Chinese…and, anyway, my Chinese was no where near being able to say anything like ‘let’s get the hell out of here! It’s a trap!  They’re gonna kill us!’  Ah!  But there was Spanish!  Theron is also fluent in Spanish!  And I took Spanish!…for less than half of a summer-session course wherein I didn’t really do any of the homework…and…uh, no, I guess Spanish isn’t an option.”  Meanwhile I’m having a conversation about religious tolerance and character with the nice-looking, evil-plotting Chinese yuppie guy.

So, finally, we arrive at the supposedly esteemed tea establishment.  It was an inelegant lobby painted in–of course!–Chinese red with a bunch of portraits of Chinese guys in white coats smiling cheesily and some plaques that may as well have been made at your local little-league trophy store.  Another nice-looking lady in a white coat (meant to suggest, “I look clinical and therefore must be an expert in something”) said some things to us in Chinese which one of our seductresses translated with amazing proficiency.  “She said that these are the degrees of our [insert proper fake title here, like "tea-making experts"] from [insert important-sounding establishment here, like "National Tea-Making Institute"].” Behind us, some definitely NOT nice-looking Chinese nationals–one might more accurately describe them as “hoodlums” or possibly “Chinese mafia thugs”–were thoroughly absorbed in something on the computer screens in front of them (probably the local, off-track betting results).  We were then led upstairs.  My anxiety increased with each step.

In a Chinese-red room no larger than 10′ x 12′, we were seated around a table, while Miss White-Coat-Certified stood on the other side and began speaking to us about tea…but, for all I know, she was talking about the woes of her friend who sells DKNY knock-offs nearby who got taken for a ride while trying to help some miserly American find the underground-mall exit earlier that day.  But, whatever she was saying, she smiled the whole time.  Our proficient seductress translated in fluid English, completing sentences almost ahead of our tea “expert.”  I was feverishly trying to think of how to get out of this before they forced the first rufi down my throat:  “Estoy…nosotros…peligro immanente…DAMN! Why didn’t I take Spanish seriously that summer?!”  But, boy, these nice-looking, evil people sure did know how to talk us up.  They told jokes in English and had us laughing, though I know my eyes betrayed a certain “What the hell are you going to do to us and where the hell is the nearest American embassy” kind of anxiety.

White-Coat Dragon-Lady explained that we had to choose one of the traditional Chinese lucky numbers, [8, 6, 11 or 300…I can’t remember these. Theron very thoughtfully chose the lowest number, which coincided with success in relationships, and she announced that that would be how many teas we would try.  I watched with feverish intensity as Miss-Just-Put-on-Your-White-Coat-and-Smile-More poured the first cup of tea…and took a sip herself!  She drank it before we did!  That was a huge relief.  And, then, it was our turn. The stuff was surprisingly delicious.  Not your average Lipton’s.  Even exceptional for exceptional tea.