Dear Friends…
…I have met my nemesis.
A towering giant among his peers, his dark, piercing eyes cut right through you with utter disdain.
You struggle for words, attempting to avoid confrontation…
…but with that sinking feeling you’re inevitably heading for one.
His shaven head, exposing a single, solitary ponytail emerging from the back casts a belligerent shadow across his demeanour – as if the threat of violence is never too far away.
You know he senses the power struggle from the off, and without question, without hesitation, you know...
…its going to be you or him.
I have met my nemesis.
His name is Jason
And he is 5 years old.
Communist China. Towering, charmless tenement blocks, row after row. Grey clouds hang over grey people huddling together, on grey streets, hunched over grey bowls of noodles, trying to survive against the bitter cold grey climate. Long live the Communist dream-
…woah, sorry. Got carried away with my own ridiculous pre-conceptions. Where was I?
Oh yeah, China.
Welcome to Shanghai.
Welcome to a city oozing wealth from every single pore. Where Louis Vuitton and Gucci outlets consume as much real estate as McDonalds and KFC. Where every available air space is swallowed up by skyscraper – one after the other, each outdoing its neighbour. Where night after night, buildings across the city perform their own neon light show.
Where the subway is sardine packed with the flash and the fancy, the loaded and the filthy lucred from across the world. Where nightclubs have fish tanks with sharks.
Where the streets really are paved with gold.
Communist you say?
Well, who needs facebook anyway…
I had no idea. Literally no idea. I knew it would be exciting – a solid substitute to jeopardy Japan – but not like this. Not like this.
I emerged from the subway on March 28th after a 33 hour train journey from Nan Ninh – near the Vietnamese border – and was just blown away. I laughed out loud. I’ve never been to Hong Kong, Tokyo or New York, but Shanghai – goddammit Shanghai – is utterly over the top. This is a city that caters comfortably for 24 million people.
By using the sky.
The most remarkable thing is quite simply how new it all is. 15 years ago, it wasn’t far from being a has been – a once affluent trade town that had seen better days, left to live off a sordid history of gangsters, prostitutes, opium and the black market. Then China had a better idea.
Peaking with the Expo last year – a huge project showcasing world innovation that brought 70 million visitors into the city – the turnaround has been miraculous. The landscape changes every single year. Huge behemoths of construction are built, taken down, built again at seemingly never ending cost. But with seemingly never ending bank accounts available.
When the Expo kicked off it was as if Shanghai could finally whip off the tea cloth and go ‘Ta-da!’.
A standing ovation at the very least.
And so it was, that in the midst of this madness, this swimming pool of money that I – a scruffy brummie in his last clean pair of pants – found myself.
From my emergence from the tube station East Nanjing, backpack weighing heavy on shoulders, a couple of things dawned on me after my eyes adjusted to the neon lights.
A: I had to find a place to stay that night.
B: Where on earth do I go find a place to stay that night
Such is the turnaround of Shanghai, my Lonely Planet guide 2007 was already out of date.
So I picked a direction, pressed play on my ipod again and walked… hoping the gods of cheap accommodation were putting in overtime.
They were. And I arrived at The Blue Mountain Hostel on the 6th floor of 350 South Shanxi Road – the place that be my sanctuary for the next few days.
It was apparent straight away how the clientele of the hostel differed so much from the South East Asian hostels I had left behind. It boasted many more natives, Chinese gathering together from across the huge spread of the country. It boasted many more students – American mainly – grouped together, reserved, well behaved, hiding behind the emblem of their colleges and fraternities.
Where were the crazy French guys? The drunken Aussies? The Lippy Kids from England? The only controversy came in the shape of 2 Indian Judo competitors playing pool till 11.30, when the sign clearly stated – clearly stated – that the pool table would close at 11pm.
Woah, careful. We’re sailing pretty close to anarchy.
But it was comfortable. And practical. And efficient. Pretty much like the rest of my Chinese experience.
I had arrived promptly on the Sunday thanks to the efficiency of their public transport…
…had my interview on the Tuesday thanks to the efficiency of the internet...
…and was told to start on the Friday, thanks to the efficiency of- well thanks to the desperate shortage of English teachers.
Within 5 days, I was a paid up member of the Shanghai social network.
The job was at ELFA International School in the Pudong district of the city. Pudong boasts the riverside skyscraper landscape plastered on every postcard across the city. Where the World Financial Centre – the world’s 3rd tallest building – sticks its head up above the parapet of skyscrapers, like a giant bottle opener.
It’s the richest part of the city, the financial hub. Its wide tree lined avenues and spacious compounds offer the expat family the perfect place to live comfortably and safely. International schools are abundant, and the money thrown at them even more. The High Ideals of expats to have their child grow up with an international savviness are emphatically tailored for in Pudong.
So ELFA provided this expat with the perfect solution to my situation. A well paid teaching job, with a 50/50 split of International and Chinese kids, an easy Singapore curriculum to follow, small classes, and without the regimental feel of the Chinese education system.
Hell, I could even wear a hoodie to teach.
But there was one little thing they’d neglected to tell me, or more likely I just hadn’t picked up on.
The kids were young. The oldest I would teach would be 5 years old. The youngest 3. And how do you teach a toddler the erratic machinations of the English language, while a litre of snot dribbles from their nose into the warm embrace of a mucus loving tongue on overdrive.
Well, I supposed that’s what I should be qualified to know. Here goes nothing…
The thing is, and it almost never really crossed my mind that it would happen – quite quickly I began to like it. I had assumed the teaching would be a necessary evil, nothing strenuous but nothing inspiring. But wouldn’t you know it, I really like the job.
My kindergarten class are cool, adorable, funny. They being my 5 year old class means there’s relative lucidity and a greater shortage of snot. As they don’t know any better, they think you’re the dogs bollocks – and I’ve always thrived on attention. You walk into class and they run up to you, with Open Arms, calling your name before they leap into with a big hug. You lift their tiny, light frames swing them round, their faces erupting in laughter…
…and you can’t help but join in. And when they learn something, when something sticks in their head, they repeat it incessantly – and that was you. You did that.
Note to self: must learn not to swear around them again.
Even Jason. Belligerent, judging, aggressive, brick house Jason. He’s not so bad, once you get to know him.
And the mix of expats on the staff made me feel welcome. I could just get very comfortable.
As long as I find a good place to stay and some friends. And how difficult can that be?
As it transpired, not too difficult. The bevy of expat websites offer anything the stranded Westerner wants: a flat share, a job, a date. After browsing through the main ones, and coming up with a selection of prospective apartments, I hit the streets to check em out.
I arrived at the first place to be met by a small, late 30’s Chinese woman who called herself Anna, but who it later transpired was also called Susan. Neither were actually her names. Her flat she showed me round was small, full of her crap and dark. It should have been a quick hello and goodbye, I should have politely turned her down…
…I should have run a mile.
Maybe it was her cat (the psychotic Mimi), maybe it was the infectious babbling Susan/Anna/Susanna had a tendency to spout, maybe it was the big room with the balcony she offered, maybe it was the strangely homely/cosy feel of the place…
…but this would be the flat that I would ultimately move into.
(come to think of it, it was definitely the room)
You’re forced not to dwell on things in Shanghai – once you found a home that ticks enough boxes, grab it. Cos there’s someone else turning up even before the echoes of your footsteps disappear. A good hearth is hard to find.
The day before my job was to start, having confirmed everything, and looking forward to my big new bed in my big new room, I moved in. Apartment 5a, 38 Dapu Lu, Luwan District. Home sweet home…
…only to be confronted by Susan’s family who had come to visit. And the Grandma, the Sister, Susan and the niece were all sharing one bed.
The big new bed in my big new room.
Oh joy.
My dream on feeling settled was to be postponed a little longer.
The screaming niece was also not the most welcoming of sights when you’re searching for the peace and quiet that the road doesn’t give you. However I coped far more admirably than Matthew…
Half Hong Kong-ese, half English, Matthew is one of the many models working in Shanghai. He vehemently hates the industry he works in, constantly looking for ways to earn outside of it.
He also hates kids and cats.
Not the ideal housemate to be introduced to in a house with a screaming kid and one psychotic cat.
However, it was only a temporary arrangement. Matthew was waiting for his new flat to be made available from the landlord, and needed a place to crash for a few days. And though my first experience of him is one of getting royally pissed off with infant and feline, he’s turned out to be a pretty good friend.
And in a big city like this, that’s handy. Acting as my first guide to the city, and more tellingly the social scene, he immediately introduced me to the places I would never have ventured into under my own volition: swish clubs boasting panoramic views, £8 beers (and the live shark aquariums), where you would sit at tables surrounded by models and the hoi poloi of the city, the tailored and the tanned. The beautiful and the decidedly empty.
It’s certainly been an eye opening experience. A nice introduction to the place I will call home for the time being. The little brummie boy finding his way in the new world capital, flirting with the moneyed and pretending to belong.
And its been with relative ease that I’ve adjusted to a metropolis after the open road. Being stationary, allows you the time and place to get to know somewhere. The bonus being that that somewhere offers something new everyday.
Like checking the local football team – specifically the Asian Champions League tie of Shanghai Shenhua vs Sydney FC at the Hangkou Stadium. The Blueboys lost 3-2 after conceding a last minute goal to the Aussies. Oh well, after 3… ‘SHEN-HUA… DOI’!
Like the food. I’ve eaten well on my travels, but nowhere quite as deliciously varied as Shanghai. It boasts cuisines from every corner of this vast country, and the world beyond that. I’ve tucked into delicious spicy hot pots, dumplings, noodle soups, fish casseroles, kebabs, grilled shellfish… where never 2 eating experiences are the same, and there’s something new for the palette around the next street corner.
And China certainly doesn’t hold back on what it consumes. The Birds may be scarce in the sky, but that’s probably because they’re ending up on your plate. Stomach, intestines, neck and feet seem to command more value than the denser part of the flesh – its costs less to buy a chicken breast than 4 chicken wings at the supermarket. Frogs are skewered and displayed in Neat Little Rows, ready for the grill. The River spewing into the sea, offers up fish after fish after urchin after sea snail. Fish heads a particular delicacy, bobbing out of the casserole or soup you’re about to dive into. Turtles are sold next to snakes next to pork chops. And you know of a recommended dog restaurant, should the urge ever arise. Even insects, strangely anonymous everywhere else are a genuine culinary treat, rather than the tourist tease of Thailand.
They say the only thing with legs the Chinese don’t eat is a table. I’m sure they’d cook that up if you asked em nicely.
Like the glimpses of the old way of life surviving in the mix of Modern Shanghai. Colonial French buildings with blackened walls, hiding narrow alleys, where laundry hangs row after row above your head. Where old Chinese women hack the heads off chickens in outdoor kitchens while their men folk sit on stools playing their game of Xian together.
It’s wonderfully incongruous when this snapshot of perfunctory traditional life plays out under the shadow of the many towering skyscrapers that a mere tilt of the head brings into view.
But these places are few and far between, on the verge of being swallowed up by marauding construction, or gawped at as part of the tourist trail. Shanghai should be more proud of this, and take greater effort to look after them With Love.
So essentially Shanghai seems to have it all.
The new and gleaming, the old and decayed. It has green parks, spectacular buildings.
It has plenty of stuff to do during the day, but an after dark scene that ensures The Night Will Always Win.
But it misses that edge. It lacks that degree of character.
Its all too nice and shiny. Any sordid boho underbelly has been dressed up in pigtails and pink ribbons to take part in a beauty pageant. The narrow streets of the French Concession area, and its TiaiKang Lu area – once home to brothels and opium dens – are all souvenir tourist traps. The influence of the international cash register has brought the underground, overground, and given it a 300% mark up.
Like the Indian Judo boys playing pool, the nearest thing to anarchy here is dropping your fag butt on the floor.
I’ve walked endlessly around this city, and literally EVERYWHERE has been developed. Miles and miles of road and street boasting shopping malls and glass fronted scrapers. Where’s the rough and ready? Jesus may once have been a Rochdale Girl, but he’s now a Shanghainese dressed in a Gucci suit.
Maybe I’m not looking hard enough, but it does feel sometimes that you have to wipe your feet when you step out of the front door. This city’s Sodom and Gomorrah history is long forgotten.
But maybe that’s the challenge. In my time here, to scratch the surface of the chrome and glass veneer, to see what lies underneath the money and the neon fascias. Saying that though, I know I’ve been very lucky.
Money in the pocket, friends who like to watch footie and play FIFA, an easy job just 4 tube stops from my apartment, the biggest menu of food outside my door.
And if you do have the dollars, Shanghai is a veritable playground.
It could with a bit more of you though mind. Just a tube stop away. To meet for drinks at the Panic Rooms or MINT. To walk together along The Bund of at sunset in preparation for the city’s light show. To take in the sights, sounds and smells of the Yuan Garden market.
Build a Rocket, Boys
If only…
