Perspective

Shanghai, November 18, 2007 (Sunday)

Some people like Sunday brunch; others like lingering over coffee and the Sunday paper. Me? Sunday morning massage. Bliss.

After that, I hopped on the 911 double-decker bus which winded its way through the former French Concession, finally ending at the Old West Gate area, near Xintiandi. The buildings in the French Concession still manage to maintain their French charm, despite the surrounding commercialization. One corner looks like it could have been plucked from France…except the signage is in Chinese. The height from the bus allowed a better view of the French architecture accents, and the buildings and cottages and villas still look lovely, age, bamboo poles laden with laundry, window boxes of blooming flowers, and all.

At the Old West Gate stop, I disembarked and wound my way up a seedy street market, on my way to Xintiandi. This market is decidedly not for tourists. Aside from woolen clothing, day to day necessities and vegetables and fruits, I spied a couple of vendors peddling porn DVDs and sex toys. Hey, maybe this street is meant for tourists!

Xintiandi came into view, after passing the lovely park with huge man-made lake that is adjacent to it. My first stop was the site of the First Communist Congress, which was a little ooky, since they created wax figures of all the members, and sat them around a table in an odd tableau, with amazing detail – filled teacups, writing brushes and ink, cigarettes and ashtrays. A young, handsome Mao Ze Dong was at the center of the tableau, standing and gesturing in a passionate, inspiring manner. Next I moved on to the Shukumen Museum, called the Shikumen Open House, which lovingly recreates a typical Shikumen home, down to the most minute detail. A narrative was woven, introducing us to a typical family during the 1920s, and as you walked through the painstakingly recreated living room (with a curio case with awesome antique cameras and a cocktail shaker shaped like a bird – reminded my of my own penguin shaker), study (with stocked bookcases, a full writing desk), kitchen (with bags of rice, hanging fish, chopping block, wok and cooking utensils), you really felt as if you have walked back in time to another era. As I made my way up the narrow stairs, I passed a small nook room between the two floors which was outfitted for a boarder, usually an academic, with a sparse bed and fully stocked writing table. On the second floor proper, all the bedrooms were interconnected, each complete with elaborate beds, wardrobes, vanity tables, wash bins, and desks. One even had this great antique sewing machine. I was so enamored with the writing tables and dressing/vanity tables. The details and accessories were flawless, from the abacus, antique typewriters, calligrapher brushes, inkstone sets, seals, mirrors, jars of cosmetics, shiny comb and brush sets. Even the child’s desk had a junior abacus and brush set…I kept taking pictures in that house, which was practically empty except for me, and the security guard who tailed me, since I could have very easily pocketed any of the accessories in the rooms.

After that delightful interlude, I decided to have lunch at T8, one of the hippest fine dining establishments in Shanghai. It’s on most of the top ten lists in Shanghai, and is supposedly frequented by celebs, though my celebra-hound radar didn’t twitch when I was there. T8 has an eclectic Asian fusion theme, with lots of natural materials, stone, hardwoods, coppers, bronzes, and running water. Upon entry, you step onto a granite block which is surrounded by a small pool of clear water with smooth stones on its floor. You pass an open kitchen, encased in glass, then can either go into the main dining room, a dimly lit, gleaming hardwood area, or into light, airy sitting rooms, near latticed windows, and separated by intricate lattice screens. These rooms sport comfy sofas and tables under skylights, and you can peek out the thin bands of glass windows and see the Shikumen alleys of Xintiandi outside. It’s playful and elegant, beautifully detailed, with cheeky elements like cuddly teddy bears in T8 sweaters sitting on the sofas, and Christmas jazz and Broadway showtunes playing softly in the background. I was offered a sitting room, and I ordered off the brunch menu. Guys, this place is pricey, regardless of country. This is world-class service, ambiance, and cuisine, at world-class prices. And I went with the brunch special, which is a three course set menu…and that was still relatively pricey. I dropped $38 on it…I know, that’s not that bad, really, but for someone who has been able to survive on $4 a day on food here, $38 seemed obscenely expensive! But boy, was it worth it. First off, I had the best cup of coffee ever. In my life ever. Fragrant Illy coffee freshly brewed, with a thick crema, served on an elegant, granite stone service, with a tiny matching pitcher containing steamed frothy milk, and a tiny matching covered dish filled with sparkling grains of natural raw sugar. First course: Seafood ceviche, with clams, shrimp, crawfish, scallops, olives, cucumber, tomato, peppers. Lovely. Spicy and tangy, this course refreshingly cleansed the palate for my second course, the Twice Cooked Pork and Pumpkin Pizza. The crust was thin and crispy, like the thinnest of flatbreads. The pork was tender and lovingly strewn on a bed of creamy goat cheese. Firm diced pieces of basil and pumpkin also melded into the cheese, and the overall effect was beautiful, sweet, tart, savory, creamy, smoky, and crispy. I finished off the whole pie, easy. The grand finale was the molten lava cake. The cake at Face the day before had only whet my appetite. I was craving more, and T8 delivered. A beautiful plate appeared, and on it, a decadent chocolate cake, framed artfully by a delicate scoop of raspberry sorbet, complete with thin fortune cookie wafer, a carefully placed pile of peach chutney, and a streak of graham cracker crumbs. I thought I was going to cry, this plate was so beautiful. I methodically made my way through the sorbet and peach chutney, before hitting the mother lode, the warm, ooey, gooey, chocolately cake. The flavors melded and complemented, and I savored every bite. I cleaned that plate, even after two hearty courses and two cups of joe. The wait staff, true to form, didn’t blink an eye, even though I expect they were aghast that I had finished everything, was still upright and not collapsed on the comfy sofa, belt undone to accommodate my expanded tummy, belching intermittently. Damn straight, yo. I am a seasoned eater and can eat all of you under the table. Speaking of the staff, the service was amazing. Attentive, discreet, accommodating, invisible unless needed. This contrasts greatly with the service from most other places. At most other establishments, “local” and “non-Western” establishments, for lack of a better term, the staff give you the distinct feeling that they are going through the motions, and there’s a subtle feeling of defiance, as if they don’t want to “serve”, and are too good for the job. And it’s not just to non-Chinese patrons, staff treat other patrons, Chinese or otherwise, with the same ‘tude. Locals take it in stride, just like the heinous traffic etiquette, I guess, but I’m a little non-plussed by it. It’s not that the servers are rude, they’re just not as accommodating as I’m used to in the US. Customer service culture is still a new concept here, I guess. Maybe the ‘tude is because of the no-tipping custom in China? If consumers tipped, perhaps there would be greater incentive for servers to provide more accommodating service to customers?

I waddled, happy and bloated, from T8 and Xintiandi up towards Nanjing Road. I spent a good two hours meandering along the main artery and some of the adjacent side streets, poking my head in various shops, and admiring the buildings, occasionally snapping a picture here and there. In sum, I was feeling pretty damn good. Top of the world, I’m gonna jinx it, good.

Dusk was starting to roll in. On one of my sidestreet sojourns, I spied a “Kung Fu” fast food joint, which is a Chinese chain that sells noodle and rice plates, and vows to have your order ready in 80 seconds. The chain’s logo is a Chinese guy in a yellow athletic top who looks eerily like Bruce Lee. I couldn’t resist pulling out my camera and snapping a photo, before slipping my camera back into my windbreaker jacket pocket. I can’t say for sure what exactly happened next, but I think I was so content after my lovely lunch, and my happy wandering, that I became careless and less alert than usual. I think I must have walked half a block with my camera in my jacket pocket, unzipped, with the grey camera strap dangling, and paused at a stoplight, where on the corner, some street hawkers were selling DVDs. It was rather crowded, and you know me and DVDs. Like moths to a light. I only looked at the first vendor’s wares for 30 seconds or so before turning back to the streetlight, which had just turned green. Long story short, after I crossed the street, I thrust my hand in my pocket, and found only my cell phone. My camera was gone. Someone must have pulled it by its strap while I was either at the crowded DVD stall or at the crowded crosswalk. Either way, I’d been pickpocketed. Me, the super careful, vigilant, ever-alert obsessive compulsive! At this point, people were swarming in all directions, and I couldn’t even say for sure where and when it happened. I wasn’t sure what to do. Call a cop? Start screaming bloody hell? The camera wasn’t worth very much, truth be told. Brand new, perhaps. In the current condition, dropped a couple of times, scratched up, not so much. I couldn’t ID the perp, or the camera, really. I had no proof of ownership. The pictures on the camera were worth more to me than the camera, and they were probably all erased by now. I took a mental inventory, and the pictures on the camera included my Botanical Garden bonsai shots, my Morris Estate and afternoon tea with Kevin at Face shots, my Xintiandi shots, my Lunch with Kevin at T8 shots (I had him posed with the T8 teddy bears, and with all of my courses…sigh), as well as some architecture shots I had taken. Luckily, I had just switched out cards, so all my pictures from before the past four days were safe on my laptop.

I guess I had pissed off, or drawn the attention of, some pickpocket when I took the picture of the Kung Fu restaurant, and he had tailed me for half a block to the stoplight. Who knows. I should count my lucky stars he hadn’t gotten more…my wallet, my passport, my phone, my ipod…or harmed me physically.

I know this intellectually, but at the time, at that very moment, I felt violated, betrayed. This city that I absolutely adore, whose spirit that I admire, where I was starting to feel a part of, had turned on me! I glared at every person I passed, at every car, person, bike, scooter that cut in front of me, or honked at me. Traitors, I screamed in my head. Actually, it was much more obscene, and nasty, what I was cursing, but you get the gist of it.

The chilly evening air and the walk back to the Bund cleared my thoughts. By the time I reached Nanjing Road, my snit had faded away, and I chased the last remnants with some retail therapy at Story of Shanghai, a chain of silk stores that sells lovely scarves and wraps. I made it to the ferry station about 45 minutes before the dance and costume extravaganza called “China: 5000 Years” at the Oriental Pearl Theater started, and hopped on. The ferry ride was short, and only cost 2 yuan (about 30 cents). Even better, though, was the view from the river at night. You got to see both sides, the neon gaudiness of Pudong, with the Pearl Tower and all the neon trimmed seaside restaurants, as well as the beautiful old buildings of the Bund, the stunning architecture lit up strategically to highlight the silhouettes of the buildings. Utterly magical. Cue “The Bund” theme song.

The Pearl Tower is a short walk from the ferry dock, and I made it to the theater about 30 minutes before the show started. I was really drawn to this show because the publicity touted it as a tour of fashion and history, which sounded cool. Tickets weren’t too bad, and it was a nice to have an excuse to cross the river.

The theater was quite ornate, and I would say houses about 2000 seats. By the time the lights dimmed, I noticed that not a quarter of the theater was full. Needless to say, we all made a move for better seats the second it got dark. I found myself in the second row, having jumped one section and three rows up. Not too bad.

The show, to be honest, wasn’t great. The sets and stage were stunning, ornate and blinged out to the max. The performers were passable, as the choreography wasn’t too complex. It couldn’t be, you see, because of the costumes. Oh the costumes. It was like all the sequins and bugle beads in the world had converged onto these delicate silks and embroidered brocades. The costumes were beautiful, but so ornately constructed, that the wearers often couldn’t do more than gracefully glide across the stage and wave their arms in unison. The show was broken into five “chapters” corresponding to five iconic eras in Chinese history, from the Tang, Ming, Qing Dynasties, plus a ordinary folk tableau, along with a chapter on the nomadic peoples of Mongolia. Costumes ranged from ornate imperial wedding and concubine wear, to bright, fur-trimmed nomadic wear, to operatic ensembles, and slinky dancing girl getups. Each chapter had its own narrative intro, which was also repeated in Chinese, English, and Japanese, and also captioned above the stage. Whoever wrote these intros is either a genius for the cheeky script, or is on propagandistic crack! I can’t imagine the voiceover guys keeping straight faces while reading the script. Each chapter has its own delicate music, and impressive backdrop and sliding 15 foot walls. The work needed to build those, as well as construct the costumes, must have been staggering.

The show ended in less than an hour, with the final epilogue being a propagandistic piece of fluff exhorting friendship, peace and joy, and the future, with all different costumes out dancing merrily about and holding hands and whatnot.

Needless to say, everything was bright, shiny, big, usually pretty, and always eye-catching. One note on the more revealing outfits. A couple of the outfits appeared to be sequined brassiere type tops, but upon closer inspection, the girls would have the brassier worn over a flesh-colored camisole. I wondered if the extra coverage was for warmth or modesty…for I have noticed that the mainstream thought here is still pretty conservative. One of my teachers said lightly, in the course of a casual conversation, that many people feel, herself, too, that the actress in “Lust, Caution” will probably be unable to be married off, since she appears fully nude in the movie. The teacher is of my generation, and is college-educated…I found the comment quite striking.

I also found the general ignorance about the dangers of secondhand smoke to be a little jarring as well. Many academic and college-educated people don’t smoke, because they understand that smoking is harmful to their health. Yet they don’t feel that secondhand smoke is harmful…just annoying. Office workers who share the building that my school is situated in take smoke breaks in the corridors of the building. Subsequently, the halls are often smoky, and I think I have inhaled more smoke during my stay here than I have in my entire life. And one of my classmates is pregnant…where can I find a gas mask for her? Carrefoure maybe?

Consumerism, Colonialism, and Chocolate

Shanghai, November 17, 2007 (Saturday)

Another gray, rainy day. While I yearned to stay in, and tunnel under sheets with coffee and a book, I forced myself to take the book and coffee on the go. I hopped on the 911 double-decker bus, and enjoyed a circuitous ride through several districts in Shanghai, including the former French Concession. I hopped off at Central Huaihai Road, which is another shopping artery of Shanghai, with just blocks and blocks of retail stores, restaurants, and huge shopping complexes. This road’s neon rivals Nanjing Road, and probably surpasses it. There are huge LCD screens flashing ads everywhere, the sidewalks are packed with people, both shoppers and street hawkers, and the streets are packed with cars, buses, bikes, scooters, and motorcycles. I must confess that my mild fear of crowds kicked in: I gave most of the stores a perfunctory glance, and I didn’t even bother going into any of the shopping centers. I did go into a couple of book and stores, but that was it….interesting security and baggage policy in one of the stores: you make your purchase, the cashier wraps a paper band around your items, and your items don’t get bagged until you leave, when security checks your purchases against the receipt ala Costco, then bags up your purchases.

I located the Huangpi Road metro station and hopped on, getting off a couple stops later at Shanxi Road station, which incidentally, is also near a famous “bar street”. Lots of the bars were housed in a lovely Tuscan-style villa, that took up an entire block, and had a bunch of ethnic restaurants – Middle Eastern, Tibetan, Italian, TGI Friday’s, the usual multicultural fare. On my way to Yang’s Kitchen, a little Shanghaiese restaurant tucked inside an old French villa, I passed a sandwich board on the sidewalk with the words “DVDs! Movies! TV! Cheap!” with an arrow directing me into an alleyway. Like a mouse who detects cheese, I followed the sign, hopping over various muddy rainwater puddles, into a hole-in-the-wall shop selling, you guessed it, DVDs. Like other shops I’d visited, their selection of older Hong Kong TV series and movies was pretty sparse, but their Western stuff was pretty impressive. I bought a couple of obscure boxed sets for my Dad (Hogan’s Heroes – Seasons 1 to 4!), along with a few other movies. I hopped my way back onto the main street and a couple of blocks later, after winding my way into a French villa that also houses a pre-school and a French bistro, found myself at Yang’s Kitchen. A couple of guidebooks and websites recommended this restaurant for its Shanghai food, particularly the old school stuff. It also had a much calmer ambiance. It was a nice place, with rosewood furniture, an impressive wine case and selection, and a comprehensive bar. The menu had lots of high-end things, huge platters of banquet food meant to be shared family-style. The more affordable single-servings were in the back of the menu, and included lots of great noodle and rice dishes, along with Shanghai “snacks”. I decided on a seasonal crab noodle soup, and crab and shrimp “little dragon buns”. The crab noodle soup came first, and it was huge bowl of piping hot broth, soft ramen-noodles, and a beautiful mixture of crabmeat, egg, and spices. The crab mixture was creamy and flavorful, and melted in your mouth. The broth was enhanced by the crab, and with every slurp of the noodles, you got a double whammy of crab flavor: from the broth, and from the crab mixture that clung lovingly to the noodles. That huge bowl o noodles would have been more than enough for lunch, and I shouldn’t have been able to finish it…but of course I did…as well as the steamer of “little dragon buns”, which were lovingly crafted, and consumed, and burst beautifully with flavor with every bite. Hmmmm. That huge meal, served in elegant surroundings, set me back less than ten bucks US.

Feeling more than a wee bit bloated, I roly-polyed my way to the metro station and hopped on for a quick ride back to Huangpi Road. I walked off my lunch by heading a half mile or so south, to a hip artists area on Taikang Road. It was a series of connected alleys that housed tiny artists shops and cafes, and was really cool. I found a neat boutique called InSH (i.e. In Shanghai) that sold cutting edge women’s fashion and great graphic t-shirts. They were having a T-shirt promotion, so I picked up three black I Shanghai T-shirts, and was delighted to see that I could charge them on my Visa. Oh, how I’ve missed using plastic!

The artists’ alley had lots of expats and cool hipsters in the cafes and shops, and there was even a photo shoot in progress, that I kept crashing, I’m sure, since I got confused and kept going in circles inside that labyrinth! The models were a man and a woman in traditional Chinese wedding attire; she in a gorgeously embroidered cheongsam (qipao), and he in long embroidered dress robe and jacket, known as a magua, complete with he red sashed bow. The light wafting in from above, and the shiny, dark stone walls of the alley, made a striking backdrop, I’m sure.

In the very depths of the alley maze, I found a really cool shop called Shirtflag that sold awesome graphic T-shirts. There were some tongue-in-cheek Mao shirts, as well as shirts that made fun of Western pop culture icons like Mickey Mouse (with crossbones), the Michelin Man, etc. The pouty panda, an original design for the store, called Hello! Panda, was cute, too. I was sad they didn’t have the Converse-style shoes with Mao’s face painted on them…that was my main goal from that store. I consoled myself with a T-shirt and a set of Pandie buttons. I also passed by a nameless toy shop on my way out. It was the size of a walk-in closet, filled with colorful and whimsical things, and staffed by a charming, friendly lady who knew how to sell. I ended up buying way more than I expected, including a brightly-colored mobile of the Chinese zodiac, with each animal a chubby, pudgy, adorable design hand-stitched and embroidered, and two adorable suede and paisley stuffed horses. Like I said, she was a great salesperson…she gave me discounts without me even bargaining, she complimented me on my language skills…yesh, I am a sucker for compliments on my language skillz. She also shrewdly played on the tribal instinct of “belonging” by saying confidentially “I normally don’t discounts, but since you are of Chinese descent, and speak Chinese, you can have it for half the marked price…” Yesh, I am a sucker for feeling “accepted.” Issues, schmissues.

I left the Taikang compound laden with bags. I haven’t done a lot of shopping since I got here…lots of DVDs, some books, and a few touristy knick-knacks. I really liked the things I found today. I liked getting things that were original, local designs…not something that was a cheap imitation of a Western designer brand.

The drizzling had stopped, but the day remained overcast. I retraced my steps northward, walking through the residential neighborhood, and pausing at a goth-y stone compound that looked pretty swank. Turns out it was the Ruijin Guest House (Hotel), formerly the Morris Estate. The grounds were beautiful, and the buildings looked like they were plucked from the English countryside, these grand, goth-y houses, with gargoyles and turrets. I remember reading in a trusty guidebook that Face, a cool bar that served afternoon tea, housed in one of the buildings. Afternoon tea was a nice way to chill out after an afternoon of walking and shopping, so I entered the grounds. Really lovely, even prettier than the well-maintained parks that I have visited here. In fact, a wedding was taking place on one part of the grounds, near a small pond and bridge. I hope he rain stays away long enough for them to say “I do!” There were five buildings on the estate, three large ones, and a couple of smaller ones. The signs pointing us to the different establishments weren’t entirely clear, so I had to ask a valet which way to go. A five minute walk up a curving path and there was Face, inside a lovely colonial house. I walked up the steps and pushed open the front door, and was immediately engulfed in an exotic, dim environment. It took me a few seconds to adjust to the lighting, at which point, a gracious hostess had already lead me into the main tearoom, which opened onto a spacious veranda. It was chilly, so the veranda was empty, and I sure as hell wasn’t going out there…instead, I opted for a small table near the window. Face is decorated in a tropical, colonial style, and once you set foot inside, you feel like you are in a Merchant Ivory movie, or a W. Somerset Maugam novel. I should be in a dress with petticoats wearing a hat and flapping a fan and saying “I declare” or something. The main tearoom was quite crowded, and after you passed the gleaming hardwood bar, and caught a glimpse of a game parlor with two pool tables, you are hit with the utterly decadent sight of a room with high ceilings accented by lazy ceiling fans, and trimmed with two day beds, with frilly canopies, at either end of the room, French doors opening onto the veranda overlooking the grounds. Those were comfortably occupied, of course, and the vestiges of a good tea were seen all around: sleek teapots, gleaming silver stands that held three plates of tea goodies, languid, bloated bastids hogging up the bed. I pored over the menu, and bemoaned the fact that I couldn’t have everything. I finally decided on a pot of Chrysanthemum, and a decadent Hot Chocolate Cake dessert trio. Tea was lovely, ambiance was lovely, blah, blah, blah. Now to the good part – dessert! The plate was a clean, white oblong that contained a dish of the bestest ice-cream ever, earl grey tea ice cream, pierced with a yummy toffee crisp. Next to that was an artful pile of sweet berry compote, and next to that, the silkiest, gooiest molten cake that has ever burst upon a plate. I teared up while eating this dessert. It was a near religious experience. The ice cream was a revelation, subtly sweet, with this wonderful, honeyed, subtle spice to it. The compote enhanced the sweetness of both the ice cream and the cake, but I must say, I liked the cake all by itself, in all its warm, rich, ooey glory. I can’t remember too clearly what happened after that, as I suspect I was in sugar-chocolate shock..I think it involved stumbling, drunk on chocolate, huge grin on my face, outside into the crisp autumn, drizzly dusk, with some off-key humming of “Singing in the Rain” and a cab that took me back to my hotel. Or mebbe dancing and singing on the bar, in an attempt to charm the pastry chef into marry me, then being tossed into a cab that took me back to my hotel. Details.

Week Wu (Five) November 12 to November 16, 2007

Shanghai, Week Wu (Five) November 12 to November 16, 2007

I am writing this very very late at night, and a couple of weeks after this occurred, so my apologies. Keeping a blog updated is hard work, and my hat is off to bloggers out there who post so frequently. Oh I know, I’ll blame the spotty Internet access and whatnot for the delays. Yeah, that’s the ticket. I hope you have all had a wonderful Thanksgiving and Christmas, survived the holidays in tact. Now, to my post…Week Wu was not very exciting. I finally made it to the Qi Pu Wholesale Market, which, to put it simply, is bloody bedlam. Imagine two blocks of warehouse buildings packed to the brims with tiny stores that sell clothing and accessories, many to street vendors. In fact, there are street vendors right outside the buildings that sell huge woven bags and handcarts for people who buy in bulk and need to transport their goodies. As to the actual merchandise…clothes and accessories. Surrounded by lots and lots of people. First the clothes. Woolen checks for the granddad set, teeny bopper booty shorts trimmed in sparkly fripperies, meant for both teeny boppers and middle-aged ladies…punk/Gothic looks, over-the-top Harujuko wannabe looks…I’m sure I could have found something to buy…if I were comfortable enough to buy! Dudes, the place was packed. Buyers, be they tourists or street vendors stocking up on inventory, were all milling around, shoving around, and generally making my claustrophobic tendency to screech and claw to the nearest exit for fresh air to surface as rapidly as the wheeling and dealing swirling around the market. I went through the entire building of one of the smaller warehouses relatively unscathed, and after exiting the building, without making a purchase, I ventured to the larger building, and finally succumbed to the shopping gods at a shop selling T-shirts. I picked up a few, and bargained down from the opening price, but still came out feeling like Daffy Duck yelping “Duck Season, Fire!” I passed quite a few shops selling fake designer bags, but they were bad fakes. I think they took designs from 10 years ago (quilted camera bags with brass link chains?) and just stamped a bunch of fake designer logos on them. I can’t believe I made it through Shanghai without buying one fake designer item…anyway, I finally did claw my way out of the building in search of fresh air, and as luck would have it, I exited onto the “food court” alley, where street food vendors had set up shop, and thus was rewarded not with fresh air, but with the aroma of grilling meat, corn, potatoes, and stinky tofu. Hmmmm.

This week, in order to make up for the meat consumption overload, I went for a vegetarian meal. In a vegetarian restaurant. With no meat. Yep. Gaspety gasp, let me give you time to revive from your faint.

Anyway, on my way back from purchasing tickets for a Friday night jazz salon show featuring “Old Shanghai” songs, along with a dance performance featuring historical Chinese costumes, I stopped by Gong De Lin, a 100 year old vegetarian restaurant with Buddhist roots. And if this is standard vegetarian fare, then sign me up! This restaurant, and the particular line of monastic cuisine, has a history of creating “mock” dishes. So they had mock duck, mock beef, mock pork, mock crab, all lovingly crafted from tofu and various flour pastes. And then lovingly doused in oil and usually fried to beautiful perfection. Aside from mimicking the look and taste, the recipes also mimic the texture of the meat dishes, so it felt a little like the first time I had a Snackwell’s – there was a giddy feeling of “I can eat all I want! It’s vegetarian!” I had the set meal, which was like 8 courses, with a tiny vegetarian amuse bouche, appetizer, several entrees, a couple of soups, and then a fruit platter. The soups tasted like stuff my mom makes on Chinese New Year’s Day, so it felt like comfort food, with dried tofu, dates, and mushrooms. The amuse bouche was a tiny pile of flavored seaweed and tofu, and the cold appetizer was a cold smoked “duck”, which amazingly, had the texture of duck, along with a nice, gamey, duck flavor. A plate of traditional steamed vegetables, doused in oil, and sprinkled with vegetarian ham slices was lovely, along with a claypot of fried “fish”, mushrooms, and tofu. The fish tasted like fried fish, and I would have sworn it was the real thing. The piece de la resistance was the crab dish, served in a claypot shaped like a crab. The “crabmeat” was shredded and mixed with ginger, egg, and spices, and served with rice. I must say, charming presentation aside, this dish was my least favorite, because the ginger overpowered everything else. The texture of the “meat” was very good, though, so kudos on that. A couple of vegetable-stuffed dumplings followed, then dessert, a fruit platter. All in all, it was a lovely meal, served in an elegant setting, with stately bamboo, hardwoods, fountains, and Buddhist motifs throughout. I wish I could have snagged a menu, because the dish names were a hoot, flowery and grand names and descriptions, with at least one Buddha reference in each. Oh, one more thing: they provided a warm towel wrapped in cellophane at the beginning of the meal, to cleanse one’s hands before dining. I unwrapped mine and didn’t notice the price marked on it. They wanted 10 yuan for the towel…and sure enough, it showed up on the bill. The restaurant’s English name is “Godly”…cleanliness is next to godliness, and it is worth 10 yuan!

This week, I also visited the Shanghai Botanical Garden, which is located in the “suburbs”. I took the metro to the end of the line, and took a cab to the garden. It was a gloomy overcast day, damp from the previous night’s rainfall, and lightly drizzling…so of course I picked the perfect day to visit an open-air garden! There was a band of school kids on a field trip there, and their bright blue track suit school uniforms really popped out in the gray weather, and the greenery.

As I had limited time (basically a couple of hours before class started), I made a beeline for the bonsai garden. I passed quite a few lovely garden exhibits, with miniature bridges, waterwheels and whatnot. I crossed a bridge overlooking a dreary sewer-esque body of water..I say sewer-esque cause the water looked sludgy, and the aroma as I crossed the bridge, not so fresh. I was amused to see that the bridge was lined with planter’s tables that held heads of cabbage and lettuce. Sidenote: Heads of cabbage/lettuce are used in lieu of grass in many landscaping schemes here. I guess the color is preferable. I’ve seen heads of lettuce or cabbage (at least I think they are, I am not the most vegetable knowledgeable, I must admit) as the green foundation for landscaping in front of malls and shopping centers…funnily enough, the vegetation is in tact…I half expect people to lift the greens in lieu of a visit to the farmer’s market.

But back to the garden. Due to time constraints, I did not visit the greenhouses, where the carnivorous specimens lived, nor the Chinese medicine garden, though I think I would have liked to. The Bonsai Garden, with nearly a thousand specimens, was my primary target. Let me explain why: in Chinese, bonsai is translated as “Potted Scenery”, and is described in flowery (no pun intended) terms as capturing a scene of beauty in nature, in a miniature setting. Well you know me and miniatures. The descriptions conjured up visions of an au natural Legoland…and with that kind of build up, of course I’m going to be a little disappointed when the garden was all bonsai-- lots and lots of bonsai. Now I enjoy bonsai, don’t get me wrong. But the delicate, mini ones were pretty sparse; there were lots of larger, heartier specimens. All quite beautiful, and quite old, too. Some were unusually shaped, like high-heeled shoes, for instance. I could have spent hours in that garden, wandering and interpreting shapes like I would with cloud-watching. I had the garden to myself, and it was quite large, and pleasingly designed. There was a small pond, a greenhouse with smaller bonsai and an exhibit on bonsai care, and various pavilions and bridges and paths that allowed you to enjoy all the lovely bonsai in the garden. I was also pleasantly surprised to see a “rock potted scenery” area, which creates scenes from natural rock. This was quite delightful, as each pot held a mini scene of a lovely mountain, some greenery, sometimes water…I was smitten with these. One of the miniature mountains even had a Buddha carving and calligraphy, mimicking, I suspect, a mountain that exists in real-life, or in legend. Time was running out, so I had to jet. On my way out of the garden, I passed a couple of lovely cats, who blended in with the rock sculptures and greenery so eerily, that if they hadn’t moved, would have missed them.

As I walked back to the metro station, I noticed that I was really in the suburbs, or rather, a “less developed” area. The stores didn’t have neon signs; rather they had billboard canvases over their storefronts, with colorful painted lettering and graphics. There was also less traffic, and brick on some of the sidewalks were just being laid. There was a quieter, more laid back feel, and this was a pleasant change from the hectic, insane frenzy of the busier districts of the city. And of course, as far as I could tell, there were no tourists. Guess the Botanical Garden isn’t a real hot tourist spot.

I stopped by Dragonfly for another massage this week. I could really get used to this. Oh wait, I have gotten used to this. It will be painful to get back to the massage as a special occasion treat after building a massage into my weekly schedule. Yeah, yeah, woe is me.

I decided to pursue non-Arrrgh DVDs this week, and took a stroll up Shui Cheng Road, which is one of the main thoroughfares in the neighborhood where my school and hotel are located. It’s got lots of businesses frequented by locals, including a couple of DVD stores. I was looking for Canto-pop concert DVDs, as well as TVB soap opera DVDs. In sum, I was looking for Hong Kong DVDs. The stores had a comprehensive collection, though they tended to house more foreign (Western, Japanese, Korean) and homegrown (Chinese) items than Hong Kong and Taiwan items. I guess this shows the weakening pop culture influence of Hong Kong and Taiwan. The only Hong Kong and Taiwan singers they had items for were the superstars, such as Jacky Cheung and Andy Lau, Jay Chou, and some of the newer teeny bopper bubblegum pop singers. As for TV dramas, they only had new items as well…I was on the hunt for older TV soaps and movies. I did find the TVB version of “The Bund” with its infamous theme song that I keep referencing. I also found a DVD set that contains nearly every concert that Jacky Cheung has given in the last 15 years. That was quite a coup. I spied boxed sets of Buffy, Married with Children, and Hogan’s Heroes, and the fact that the stores didn’t take credit cards saved me from going crazay in there.

On Friday, I went to a Jazz Salon performance in Pudong, the newer, developed area of Shanghai. The show started at 7pm, so I didn’t have a lot of time after school let out to get there. So no leisurely, sit down dinner…I broke my “no Western fast food rule” by going to KFC. Time constraints aside, I was feeling so homesick, so craving fried, crunchy goodness, that I just had to go to a familiar place that would remind me of home. And am I glad I did…People, they had fried salmon!! Five pieces for 90 cents! And fried sea bass sammies! For a buck fifty! It’s like KFC and Long John Silver’s got together to dominate the fried fast food market. Brilliant. So I got my fried foods fix, and got to observe cultural eating habits up close. First off, the place was packed. I think that for all the anti-American scorn that might be omitted subtly by some mainlanders, the truth of the matter is, they do heart things American. Pricing wise, it was cheaper than what you’d pay in the US, by say 20%. As for the menu, they actually focused more on value meals of fried chicken and fish sandwiches, a drink, and a side, rather than meals with fried chicken pieces. Though you could pick up a bucket of chicken, too. The sides were different from what you’d get in the US – there was seafood soup, corn on the cob, French fries, and I think that was it. As for the self-serve aspect of the restaurant, you would wait for your meal, and bring your tray to a table to eat, but then after that, someone would bus the table for you, even though there was the standard fast food trash bin with place for trays that allow for self-service, too. The abundance of service workers is a nice touch in this instance – the place is so bustling, that you don’t have the ratio of two servers to one customer that occurs in smaller joints, and that can make the customer a little uneasy when the servers are hovering.

I hopped on the metro that would take me across the Huangpu River and into Pudong. It was bloody packed, of course; we were like sardines in the train cars. One thing about the metro: there’s no etiquette; you push yourself in, and if there’s no railing to hang onto, you just brace yourself. The threat of hurting onself when you don’t have a railing lessens when you’re packed in so tight with other passengers that they can support you if you lose your balance.

I tumbled off the train at the Shanghai Science and Technology Museum stop. Outside the station was what I assume was a beautiful plaza that led to the museum. I say assume because it was pretty dark, and what the lights did show was a wide expanse, trees and greenery, a bridge over glistening water, and a looming building. Before I began to panic (it was dark, after all, and there was no signage visible anywhere) I saw the illuminated butterfly wings of the Oriental Art Center, where the jazz salon was being held, and walked in that direction. Whew, close call. I could so see myself walking in the opposite direction, and then in circles, if I hadn’t spied the building.

The Oriental Art Center is beautiful, with different performance halls spanning out from the main lobby “body” like the wings of a butterfly. There’s a symphony hall, an opera hall, and a couple of smaller performance halls with a capacity of 200 people or so. I found my seat, which was actually pretty decent and settled in. As the hall is round, and intimate, there really isn’t a bad seat in the house. The stage was very close; in fact, people in the front row could use it as a footrest. (And some did.) A nine-piece band was tuning up, and it was quite refreshing to see a bunch of middle-aged Chinese musicians…I dunno why. Maybe because it’s gratifying to see men who look like my parent’s friends, or my friends’ parents, and who you expect to be accountants or some such, to actually be artists, career musicians. Kinda cool.

The show started on time, and was emceed by a local television host. The Friday night jazz band series focused “old school” jazz, and the theme for the night was “By the Suzhou Creek” which is a classic 1930s Shanghai song. Guys, I loooove old school music, and this was the famous era in Shanghai that I especially liked. The band was awesomely talented, and the bandleader, was an 83 year-old bass player who was utterly adorable. The first chair trumpet player was 80 years old, and he pounded out the songs like a man half his age. There were three saxes, two trumpets, one trombone, one elderly man on percussion (bells, xylophone, etc), one drummer, and one pianist. They played wonderful old school stuff for a good half hour, including some mellow, Broadway showtunes, some latin vibe stuff, in which the elderly percussion player stood up proudly wielding his castanets (adorable). Really great stuff. Then a gorgeous young opera singer dressed in strapless cocktail dress came out to belt “Memory” from Cats, and Nat King Cole’s “L-O-V-E”, quite respectably, I might add. A couple more instrumentals, followed by another singer, this time a local Shanghai celebrity who was a bit of an over the top diva. She sang a bunch of mandarin 1930s jazzy songs (like “Rose, Rose, I Love You”) and was quite the performer. The first chair sax player had a solo with her, and he was great. He also played the clarinet, and to hear his clarinet solo, in its sweet clarity, brought tears to my eyes. Miss Diva, who had initially looked a little miffed to have her spotlight shared, even looked affected when he did his solo. Miss Diva then took her leave, amid kisses and bows, and another lady, with a high, Peking-opera voice, came out to sing a few numbers. I was glad when she left the stage…her voice was a little too high for jazz, I think. A brief interlude where the 83 year-old band leader passionately extorting the importance of the old school jazz, and dissing on acid and electronica infused jazz ensued. The show closed with Miss Diva returning, in all her lion-maned, sequined cheongsammed glory, to sing the classic “Shanghai Evenings”.

In all, I really enjoyed the show, and highly recommend the Friday Night Jazz Salon. I really lucked out with this show, as I bought tickets to it as an afterthought…it was a condolence prize, since I couldn’t get tickets to the Lyceum Theater show “Shanghai, Shanghai” which was another limited run show featuring music from “Old Shanghai”. The theme of the jazz salon was perfect, as I prefer old school stuff, and the intimacy of the venue really allowed me to connect with the band and the performers. It was also nice to have vocal performances, too. My beefs (of course I’d have beefs!): one dude who kept taking flash pictures after the ushers continuously told him pictures wee forbidden. Actually, the announcement was made at the beginning of the show, then the ushers walked the theater holding electronic signs saying “No Photography Allowed”. But the same dude kept taking flash pictures…ushers warned him three times, and I guess they gave up after that. They should have just confiscated the camera. Another beef: the lack of programs for the show. Can you believe they ran out of programs to hand out? I bugged an usher at intermission, and she said they were out. I had to resort to taking a discarded program after the show was over. Another beef, actually, not really a beef, more an observation. The show’s organizers are so nice to their performers; they had bouquets of flowers for each performer. I saw out of the corner of my eye, the bouquet coordinator with her clipboard and flowers, who had recruited several younguns to help her present the bouquets. One bouquet was given by a true fan, though: Miss Diva received a gorgeous bouquet from a tall, middle-aged, balding, Caucasian man, who asked for a hug and a kiss, which was cute.