Shanghai may have been grey, wet, cloudy and foggy upon our arrival, but at least the subway was a lot more modernised than Beijing's lacklustre effort (with cute little cartoons on video screens to amuse passengers). The coming New Year (or Spring Festival as it's known to avoid confusion with our silly calendar) was evident from the endless red lanterns and disturbing Porky Pig look-a-likes displayed in shop windows, with it being the Year of the Pig. We arrived at Caoyang Road to locate our hostel. Having spotted two oblivious backpackers, an elderly man beckoned us towards him, inviting us to follow him. We hesitantly agreed, expecting him to expect something in return, but it wasn't the case - he showed us to the hostel, waved goodbye, and carried on his merry way, making us feel a little bad for being too cautious.
We got to the hostel at 8am only to restart the morning again after a rest, breakfast, showers, and the like. I also got to see the very end of Don't Open The Door!; I can't say a gruesome Z-budget seventies slasher is ideal morning viewing, but I don't know how Chinese TV schedules work. Luckily, we also had CCTV 9, the flagship English language channel in China, in our room, which would prove to turn up some choice nuggets, especially the programmes hosted by the ubiquitous James Chau, who's British lisped tones were a nice break from the Americanised English of other international broadcast networks (and the fan sites dedicated to him suggests we're not the only ones who feel this way). Although it was China's international channel, all news and information was based around what China's role and perspective on the matter was, regardless of relevance. But that's state-run telly for ya!
Once we were ready to go, we had to think about what we wanted to do. Unfortunately, according to a notice in the hostel, if we had turned up just a few days before, we could have been extras in Roger Spottiswoode's new movie The Children of Huang Shi, starring Chow Yun-Fat and Michelle Yeoh, laughing it up in 30's Shanghai (or at least a recreation), but alas, no such luck. Instead, we headed to People's Square, where we bumped into a in-town-for-business Brit abroad who asked if we knew where there'd be a decent restaurant for lunch. Can't say we were very helpful though, having only just bought a map with little time to study it. We offered a vague compass point to head to, while we went the opposite way to marvel at the magnificent skyscrapers.
I loved the Shanghai architecture - massive modern steel skyscrapers sitting side by side with early 20th Century Manhattan-style hotels lining the inner streets at ground level. It was like Bugsy Malone meets Blade Runner (now there's an idea). We walked around the small parks situated in the big building basin, observing frogs, tai chi and men walking backwards, before a walk down Nanjing Road, a pedestrianised shopping street filled with little tourist train cars. There was no quick and easy Chinese food, with Häagen-Dazs, McDonald's, KFC and Pizza Hut on permanent rotation. We opted for a pizza buffet at Origus, which not only sounds like an unpleasant name but the lady in the foyer did a big spit in front of us. Ah, the spitting...I haven't covered that yet, have I? Well, everyone does it, hawking big loogies and gobbing big flobs of excess salivatated slobber whenever and wherever they please. Acceptable for the old fogies maybe, but it's rather more unsightly coming from a young professional lady. As for Origus, well it weren't that tasty, but there was loads of junk food to pile up onto out red plastic plates.
Today was really a walkabout town day. We headed to The Bund (via the old International Opium Commission) to get a foggy view across to Pudong, then down Fuzhou Road (past Captain Hostel - a nautical-themed hostel we wanted to stay at but was full - and an English country house). We stopped off in a Starbucks so Baptiste could charge his still battery-drained camera, but had to leave by 4.30pm as businesses started to close for New Year. We shifted to Raffles City Mall (the shops all had more staff than customers) and then down Central Huihai and Fuxhui Park. By this time, firecrackers and fireworks were being let off willy-nilly in the streets by any mug with a match. Explosions punctured the sky and flashes could be seen in all directions. It was a little like being in a war, but probably less fun. We headed back through People's Park, with the buildings all lit-up magnificently, to see if any celebrations were happening back at the Bund. But we were disappointed. Everything was lit-up, but a grand fireworks showcase from the country that invented the damn things was not forthcoming. No organised spectacle whatsoever, just scatterings of fireflowers hither and thither in the distance. Shame. We took a walk north, found a few more bangs, but little else. Just as in Japan, New Year is more a time for families than parties. It was time to sub it back.However, we were caught a little by surprise when we found our connecting station to have closed by our arrival. It was only 9.45pm! We initially thought maybe it was some daft holiday quirk, but that's every day! So we had to walk along the side of the metroline, as more bangs and flashes flooded the air with the smell of gunpowder. When we finally arrived at the hostel, we lay on our beds as zoned out as can be, munching on biscuits and crisps while the world seemingly erupting around us with the sound of fireworks. New Year telly consisted of far from exceptional variety shows, but I managed to unearth a wonderful Stephen Chow movie, The Sixty Million Dollar Man, which I watched most of before I fell asleep. It was funny, but beyond bizarre, mixing Inspector Gadget, The Terminator, Pulp Fiction, Dangerous Minds and The Mask (among other things). It was sillier than a cocktail sausage, but I'd like to see the whole thing some time.
SHANGHAI AND DRY
Shanghai was filled with many friendly folk, some with exceptionally good English (one man appeared from nowhere to discuss Beijing 2008 Olympic merchandise, antique markets and tourist attractions - but not for a sale, just as a topic of conversation!), some capable only of a simple but enthusiastically delivered "Hello!" and others with no vocab whatsoever. But equally, the number of beggers, homeless and handicapped, some pulling your arms and clothes, others not even destitute but exploiting their children for a few extra pennies, was depressing. Of course, London's no paradise in that department, but it was far more uncomfortably in-yer-face here more than anywhere. On the way to the metro, one old begger took hold of my arm and I had to twist and wriggle free. That wasn't a great start, but the rest of New Year's day was going to take an even greater turn for the worse.
As we board a busy subway train, Baptiste's camera was stolen, with no hint or clue as to when or who did it. Understandably he's upset, not so much at the loss of the camera per se, but the many photos of Beijing he'd already taken. We look for a phone to confirm that it wasn't back at the hostel, but with no payphones working, it takes an old station official to lend us his mobile. Despite neither party being able to communicate effectively, he kindly advises us to visit the police station a few stops away. As we wait for the train, he gives us tips on keeping our valuables secure and lifts up my shirt to check our pockets - but in doing so, starts smiling and feeling up my belly. Then he moves onto my face, with the kind of besotted twinkle in his eyes. It's all very flattering, but then again I am being felt up by some sixty-year-old Shanghai subway employee. We'd already been subject to a theft, but now sexual harassment? Regardless, we hopped on the tube into Pudong, where we spent a good hour or so traipsing around the high-rise skyscraper district (home to the Jin Mao Tower and the Oriental Pearl Towel - as it was called on one map) looking for a police station, only to give up when we were advised by a department store worker it would take a taxi trip to get there.
With a fruitless morning behind us, we decided to make up for it in the afternoon by heading to Shanghai Pudong International Airport to arrange our flight to Xi'an in a couple of days, as our internet attempts at booking flopped big time. To cheer us up, we decided to take the MagLev (the magnetic levitation train), which was the closest thing to flying at ground level I've ever experienced. It peaked at 431 km/h, travelling 30km in just 7:15 minutes! Whoosh, indeed! However, our airport ticket purchase wasn't nearly as efficient (but that's Siemens for you). The Shanghai Airlines desk gave us a phone number to call to purchase tickets, so we tried the Shanghai Ticketing Office instead - but I had left my passport back at the hostel as we hadn't anticipated to go there that day. They suggested I try their reservation phone line, as I'd only need the passport number to book. So we headed to the payphones, which require a phonecard I do not have. I manage to purchase one for 50 yuan from the pocket of a lady working at the nearby coffee shop, but when I dial, there's no signal. Turns out I needed to dial without the Shanghai code and it worked fine (well, actually, it only worked that day - subsequent attempts to use the card failed whatever we tried). I finally begin the booking procedure, opting for the English speaking centre, but that didn't necessarily equate with an English understanding centre. For some reason, we had to check in at the airport by 8pm that very day - why the hell does someone have to come all the way to the airport two days before the flight to confirm it? It was just as well we were here in the first place. Then began an extremely long-winded name-spelling competition in which any word I suggested to correspond to the letter in question (be it standard call-centre/army chatter or not) was not the one she was thinking of. For example:ME: S for Sugar
HER: S for Student
ME: Um...yes, S for Student...
(It Continues...)
ME: E for Egg
HER: English E
ME: Yes, English E...Then, another English E
HER: English E
ME: L for Lion
HER: L for Love
ME: Right...
Lucky I didn't have to go down the Curly 'C' and Kicking 'K' route. Once it had all been confirmed, she drops the bombshell - we have to go to the aiport desk to give them a copy of my passport, defeating the whole object of the phonecall.
ME: But we're at the airport now.
HER: Yes, go to the airport.
ME: But we're already here.
HER: Yes. Airport.
With an 8pm deadline to go and get my passport and come back, we follow the only other option and ring the hostel, ask them to go to my room and get my passport and fax a copy over to the ticketing office. And they do so very kindly, calling back the payphone to confirm this. We rush over to the desk and find that it was faxed to their head office, not the ticket desk! But a quick call and my faxed passport copy finally arrives, our flight is booked and we can finally leave.
Once back in The Bund, we potter down Nanjing Road as shops are closed or closing. It had been an emotionally, physically and financially draining day for both of us, so we ended up in a Taco Bell Grande, greeted by Chinese staff in faux-Mexican attire with an "Ola!". The fajitas were so-so and the Corona served with lemon, but we weren't especially hungry anyway. We returned to the hostel to forget our troubles and watch telly, only to be mocked by continual news reports of Chinese New Year celebrations around the world, with resplendent parades, firework displays and lion dances. All we got was a bit of drumming from afar at the Oriental Pearl Tower. And lots of homemade explosions. Narh.
THE BIG FAT KILL
A glorious change to warm sunny weather welcomed us to the hustle-bustle of Old Town. The wonderful architecture and winding streets of years gone by had been retained in this part of the city, but with New Year holidays still under way, it was abso-heaving-maxi-jammed. There were lanterns and gaudy displays dotted everywhere. We joined the masses squeezed into smoke-filled Chenghuang Temple to see prayer-sticks being burned. We then retreated to the peace of the Yuyuan Garden, filled with little paths around ponds and pavilions and Peking Opera stages. We rejoined the chaos along the Nine Bends Bridge, which was a bit like a voyage through the small intestine after eating a pound of pork. Speaking of which, lunch was calling, so we headed back to Nanjing Road and ducked into Ajisen Ramen for fast no-frills Japanese food, Chinese style, and it was super satisfying.
Later, we visited the New World department store to buy ourselves an alarm clock (which would prove useful for our morning flight the next day) before a trip to the top floor for an afternoon in Sega Park. Once we just about figured out the strange points-based card system, a world of arcade games, rides and interactive experiences was ours for the taking! Well, kind of. We had wanted to check out Dr. G's Cursed Room, a medical horror experience or something, but we were advised by a friendly member of staff that it was all in Chinese, so it wouldn't really be scary (though I wanted to give it a go anyway). He took us around for a bit, talking about football because we were French and English (but also clueless about his passion), before deciding on an immersive F-Zero AX machine. There were a number of sporting attractions too, but most didn't really work, and the boxing game called out numbers in Chinese corresponding on where to hit the punch-dummy, so that was a waste of energy. Aside from the standard arcade games, probably the most fun was the Hexathalon, a WarioWare/Wii-esque tournament of six mini-games testing balance, co-ordination, logic and so on. I thrashed Baptiste, naturallement! We finished our day with an ice-cream, but the highlight of our day ended up being on our hotel TV.
Yes, the first part of the CCTV Cup Final, an English-speaking competition, was being held, and it was one of the most gloriously cringe-worthy yet hilarious pieces of television since David Brent was made redundant in his Comic Relief get-up. Hosted by probably the most famous foreigner in China and CCTV regular Mark Roswell (or 'Dashan' as he is known, literally 'Big Mountain'), the show put seven finalists from various universities across the country through various rounds, one by one. These included a prepared speech on love and duty, a question and answer session, then an impromptu speech and debate on a randomly chosen topic. The panel of judges consisted of various Chinese people and foreigners, including UK TV producer Weng Pulan, a man with a glorious moustache we named Monsieur Moutard, and someone who appeared to be Rowley Birkin, Q.C. from The Fast Show. Unfortunately, the contestants were uniformly crap - these were supposed to be the best the whole of China had to offer? Gordon Bennett! They all had standard foreign English accent (i.e. American), but their sentences frequently made little sense with plenty of dodgy grammar (one talked about students attaining 'konwledges') and self-contradictory statements, especially dealing with controversial subjects, in which their opinions would often go against policies of the CCP as well as what they said minutes earlier. One of them even forgot his speech, yet got an average score in the mid 80s (though the highest and lowest scores, usually given by Mr. Mustard, would be disregarded prior to calculation). The only person in the studio who cut through the waffle was one of the debating panel, Martin O'Sullivan, who I think worked at the British Embassy. He may have looked like Mr. Bean, but his sharp questions and sarcastic demeanour would tear apart the contestants' arguments in seconds. As a result, they'd rarely answer the questions, and just fill the air with nonsensical emptyspeak that typified much pseudo-intellectual foreign (English) language conversation I watched. Of course, I'm in no position to mock their attempts at speaking English as my Japanese ability testifies, but I don't go on best of the best internationally broadcast tournaments and make an arse out of myself. While CCTV's acronym could be suggested as standing for Closed Circuit Television, thanks to it's state-run omnipresence, in this case, it was closer to Car Crash Television. It was just a shame we couldn't watch the following two heats...
Coming Up - Xi'an: Islam meets China in a crazy culture clash!
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