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?