The events of today are far too stressful and boring to recount here, so I'll content myself with something more... uh... less so. Hopefully.

Right now I'm standing in as DJ for the bar at the hostel -- not nearly as cool as it sounds; they've simply plugged my MP3 player into the stereo -- and waiting for my friend Ling Ling to wake up, or decide to call me, or whatever. She worked the early shift at the bar today, and we made tentative plans to go out tonight and get massages.

Even though our plans were clearly non-binding, I didn't really have a backup (aside from this), and I have the most curious sensation of being stood up by a stranger. This might have something to do with the uncanny resemblance Ling bears to my ex-girlfriend, but I'll leave that question for another time.

My evening ritual in Shanghai, for lack of something better to do (or the will to find it), is to wander the smaller streets behind the glittering lights and flashing wealth behind Nanjing Lu. Partly this is because the Shanghai of Nanjing Lu strikes me as just trying too hard.

Much like a beautiful woman who's been spoiled by too much makeup, Shanghai -- and in truth, the China that is usually presented to the Western world -- would be so much more attractive if it wasn't so obviously on show. The impression is sterile, cold, and strangely sad and dead. The streets behind Nanjing Lu, on the other hand, are crowded, dirty, noisy, and heaving with life in all its spitting, cursing, sweating glory.

The other reason I haunt those streets, of course, is the food. Whereas one could -- and many do, both local and foreign -- go to a McDonald's or KFC on Nanjing Lu and choke down a stamp-cut burger for 25 yuan, one street away you can gorge yourself on world-class Chinese cuisine for a quarter of that.

The caveat, of course, is that you will experience these culinary delights standing on your feet in the street, often also in some unidentifiable muck. Your dinnerware will also more likely than not be on the level of a styrofoam box or a paper bag, and you'll be rubbing shoulders -- sometimes quite literally -- with the working and middle classes rather than the upper crust.

By my reckoning, these are not terrible burdens to bear.

Additionally, due to the sheer variety of food and produce on sale, combined with the street-level pricing, means that every day I can easily discover and afford a sizable bag of treats and snacks to bring back to share with people at the hostel; sometimes fellow travelers, but much more often with the people who work here, whom I generally find to be vastly more interesting.

These have, by and large, gone over far more successfully than the Tunxi Muffin Expedition of '09, and are fast becoming the favorite part of my evenings here. Popping through the front door with a bag of odd fruit, or some as-yet-untested desserts, makes me feel a little bit like St. Nick, albeit with a better tan and entirely divergent views on the useful applications of reindeer.

I do, however, sometimes fear that my evening rituals may have unintended consequences. I appeared at the front door to the lobby with a bag of lychees and pastries tonight, winked at the girl working reception while offering the bag, and she fairly scampered across the room to me, with a giggle of delight and a slightly manic gleam in her eye.

I'm not sure what is more frightening; the possibility that human behaviour can be so radically altered by something so simple as the nightly application of a cookie, or that I might be the last person in the world to realize this.

Couldn't get a GPS fix at Tiananmen Square, so here's my youth hostel.

I have come to the inescapable conclusion that I don't like Shanghai very much.

This is not Shanghai's fault, necessarily.

And it's not that I dislike Shanghai; it just feels a little dislocated from the rest of China. That, and my experiences here have so far been less than stellar. This will certainly change with the arrival of Jishnu and Purnima (and hopefully Karsten as well), but the first time I came here, I spent the four most boring days I have seen on my China trip, and more money in those four days not having fun than in any given two-week span since.

The second time I came here, I had quite a lot of fun, but also spent quite a lot of money doing so... and left with a nasty head cold.

This is my third time, and it's an entirely unexpected (and reluctant) return.

The second time I left Shanghai, quite aside from the cold, I took with me assurances from both the Shanghai and Huangshan PSBs -- Public Security Bureaus -- that I could renew my visa in Huangshan, thus bypassing the need to go all the way to Hong Kong for my exit and re-entry qualifications. This wasn't because I didn't want to go to Hong Kong for any particular reason (ni hao, You Lun... and also dui bu qi), but because it's just so damn far, and I'd rather go to Beijing for a week. Aside from the friends that will be there, and the food, Hong Kong holds no appeal for me; whereas Beijing is, as I have been told by practically everyone, one of the must-sees of China.

So I go to Huangshan, meaning to take a few days off, recover from my cold while my visa was renewed, and then make a couple train connections for Beijing. Easy.

Right.

I got to Huangshan, was welcomed with open arms by my friends Xue Ping and Jin Yun, and collapsed into a fever dream for a night. Waking up late the next day, I was taken to the Huangshan PSB by Xue Ping and Jin Yun, where I was told in extremely uncertain terms that they were unable to help me. Apparently, the one guy who was able to help me was sulking after having been taken to task by his superior, and so any application to him that day was likely to be given the axe. The policewoman at the desk recommended coming back in a couple days, after he'd cooled down a bit.

No problem; I was a little worried, but two days hanging out with my friends and sleeping off my cold was not exactly a terrible burden to bear. Two days of movies, dinners, and general hanging-out-and-having-fun later, I show up at the PSB again, this time with the hostel owner's wife in tow to translate.

It soon became apparent that the guy was suffering from so much emotional distress after having been yelled at by his boss that he took the week off; I was told to come back on Monday, when he might be able to help me out.

This was a problem; my visa expired on Wednesday, and the approval process takes at least a week. So aside from a serious case of all-eggs-one-basket syndrome, I would end up spending at least two full weeks in Huangshan. Not a terrible prospect, when considering my friends there, but in all honesty a waste of time.

So I was left with only one alternative; get a bus back to Shanghai that night, and renew my visa there. Unpleasant traveling companions on long distance buses in China is something to which I should be used now, but I'm afraid wholesale acceptance of being nuzzled by a balding Chinese man in his late forties eludes me yet. Six hours of being slept and farted on by my neighbour later, and I'm back in Shanghai, sleeping in dirty clothes in a sweltering room with no window, but -- praise be -- no mosquitoes.

And today, after three hours queuing in the Shanghai PSB, I'm now the proud owner of a receipt for my passport -- which also serves as a temporary travel ID -- and a bill for 940RMB -- an outrageous sum by Chinese standards, but one which every American is expected to pay.

Just, you know. Because.

So there's that.

Bureaucracies and travel woes aside, every Chinese person I've talked to about Shanghai has expressed dislike for this city. The people are mean, they say. Everyone here is way too concerned with money, they say. There's nothing to do. The food is shitty. The weather and pollution sucks. They look down on the smaller/poorer cities, which is basically all of China.

I can't agree with all of those things, but I can't exactly disagree, either.

The people aren't exactly horrible, but I've had much better experiences practically everywhere else in China; more often here than elsewhere, asking directions of a local will result in a grunt and a thumb jerked in a random direction. The friendliest people I've met here are transplants from elsewhere; Sichuan, Hubei, or Anhui. The popular attitude here reminds me of any large city in the U.S.; there's a general sense of ennui, and more often than not, responses to inquiries are curt and surly.

There is also a very palpable presence of wealth. Skyscrapers abound, and much of the city is devoted to high-end shopping and office space. Skyscrapers, shopping, and office towers are not exclusive to Shanghai, obviously, but here there is a sense of focus on these things that I have not experienced elsewhere.

The food is kind of... bland. There are a few standouts; they're famous for dumplings, especially xiao long bao and sheng jien bao, and there is a huge variety of eateries here, both Chinese and Western. However, nearly everything is tainted by the Shanghai preference for sweet flavours; even the food in local Sichuan eateries has been damped down to a limp, whiny, Droopy Dog-esque shade of its usual fiery, ebullient self. The two Sichuanese girls who work at my hostel are desperate for a good spicy meal, and whenever I ask where they want to eat, it's the same place -- a local ma la tong joint two streets away, that serves the only semi-authentic Sichuan food they can find in their price range.

There really isn't that much to do in Shanghai, which is astonishing. Even for someone like me, who spent five minutes admiring a building in Hangzhou before realizing it was a KFC, the options for sightseeing are limited. There's the Bund (old European style buildings and a skyline... hooray), a few museums (not really my thing, but still good for a couple hours), famous food joints that mostly focus on dumplings, and various temples and skyscrapers scattered around the city.

After that... well... mostly all people do is hang out and get drunk after work. I've seen more westerners here than anywhere else in China, and their influence is clear; an abundance of Western style fast-food, restaurants, bars, and facilities, and prices for food and drink that would be considered extortionate by most Chinese. I went to a karaoke joint with friends for a few hours; the bill was nearly 500RMB, more than I normally spend on entertainment in a week. A famous dumpling eatery charges 38RMB for a plate of 10 bite-size dumplings, while my normal expenditure for an entire meal elsewhere in China is anywhere from 5 (breakfast at a street stall) to 25RMB (dinner out with friends at a local restaurant, including starters, mains, beer, and wine).

Also here, more than anywhere else, I've seen Westerners gathering in clusters at the hostel, drinking beer and rehashing the same old topics of conversation they have over beers everywhere else in the world; how strange the local culture is, how bizarre the local food is, and various stories of how someone they know has been cheated, scammed, or pickpocketed here. While I can't really blame them for behaving defensively in a strange environment, it's just wearying when seen in such high concentrations. And seriously; you're in Shanghai. It's not really much more alien than New York or London.

A Singaporean friend and I realized that we have both had similar experiences with Westerners in Shanghai. You'll sit down and share a beer with a group of Europeans or Americans, and they'll be friendly enough; but soon you get a definite sense of being gently shunted aside. They're circling the wagons, and if you look Asian -- even if you speak accentless English and hold a familiar passport -- you're an outsider.

I very much suspect this is more a factor of the kind of Western traveler who tends to hide out in hostel bars in Shanghai, but it's still an entirely unpleasant sensation. So much so, that I've observed a tendency toward defensive behaviour on my part as well, only speaking English to Westerners when they obviously need help with something. It's not a side of myself I relish seeing, and its association with Shanghai does not help my impression of the city.

Shanghai is safe. It's known. It's a perfect "China 101" city, but unless you ride the short bus to school, I think after a couple days here you've seen pretty much all that the place has to offer.

That being said, Shanghai is still unmistakably China, and not just because of all the Chinese people hanging about the place. It's hard to put my finger on it, but it's still there under all the Western trappings.

It's just not the side of China I've come to love.

After another reluctant departure from Wuhan, I am back in Shanghai. Site of my first meal in China, and subsequently the most boring duration of time I've spent anywhere in China so far -- and that includes the 30 hours I've spent on trains between Chongqing and Wuhan.

Arriving this morning at about 7am -- my dad arrived at 6:40am, so we were probably in the station at the same time, just without knowing it -- I was crammed into the number 1 metro line for a ride to People's Square, where Yang Guang had booked me into a nearby hostel. After a sweaty search, I was rewarded with a cool lobby and an airless, humid room occupied by a paunchy, florid American named Wesley. We made small talk -- he's spent time near San Diego, has been in China for two days, and is apparently already starved for American company -- and then I was off to shower and prep for what I expected to be a somewhat nerve-wracking lunch with my father.

Skipping the boring details, we ended up finding a Xiao Yang Sheng Jien Bao -- or Yang's Fry Dumplings -- location on Nanjing Lu near the hostel, so no need to trek all the way down to Wujiang Lu for a taste of soupy, porky, steamed and then pan-fried incredible goodness.

Shockingly, I actually had a pretty good time, and it seemed like my dad did, too. I hardly know what to say. I don't think we've ever spent that much time together without having some kind of disagreement, or some discussion that left a pall over the whole thing. But the afternoon was actually entirely pleasant.

Astonishing.

He was pleased at my unexpected proficiency (poor as it is) in Chinese, and amused by my attempt at a beard. He also seemed much more relaxed, as if he too was affected by my strange feeling of being at home in China. He always seems jittery and uncomfortable in the States; even on vacation as a child, I remember him being like a broken flourescent light, constantly buzzing and flickering... never at peace. But today he seemed... quieter. Smoother, somehow. Like distance from the States had sanded away some of his rough edges.

The only part of the afternoon I regret was when upon parting, my father turned to me and said, "You know... there are many nice girls here in China."

Keep in mind, this is a man with whom I have never discussed relationships. For all he knows, I've never even shaken hands with a woman. I was dreading a repetition of a discussion I had with my mother a few years ago.

After a routine phone call she asked me, "So... any girls?"

I said, as I always did -- regardless of the actual state of matters -- "Nope."

There was a slight pause, and I could already see what was coming.

"Uh... any... boys?"

Face in hand, I replied: "NO, Mom."

She laughed, and passed it off as a joke, but to think I might have to repeat the moment with my father was nearly more than I could bear.

Luckily, he took my chuckle and "I know, dad," as a suitable response, and dropped the subject.

Tonight, I'm having dinner with Anna (aka Gu Fang), a friend I met in Hangzhou, and Jeff Ow, a Singaporean friend from Wuhan.

Not really anything else to say; lots of notes in my journal, but no time to write entries yet.

But at least now everyone knows that, for a moment or two, my mother thought I was gay.

Awesome.

Oh, also, after listening politely to my stories about the awesome food here in Shanghai, Wesley had lunch at McDonald's and dinner at Subway. The guy's super nice, but honestly... there's no helping some people.