7/7, Shanghai
Well, I'm now into the part where I get to go back through my notes and start writing entries based on them. Since my selection process involves nothing more than what I'm in the mood for, you may expect a series of nonlinear, rambling posts with no real point. So here we go.
Having by now spent as much time in Shanghai as anywhere else in China, and arguably in a more social environment, I have to admit the place has carved out a spot for itself in my heart.
It is true that there isn't that much for me to see or do here... but that is just as true for most other places in China of which I've grown fond. Wuhan, for example, is most often regarded by travellers as a pit stop either on the way to or just at the end of the Yangtze river cruise, but for various reasons, it's very likely my favorite place in all of China, and -- though I find it strangely difficult to say this -- the world.
Putting that aside; I still have the impression that Shanghai is a city trapped between two worlds. The people here, likewise, are undergoing a massive identity crisis. You can see it in the city itself; Pudong, east of the river, is sparkling and new, glittering with corporate wealth, skyscrapers, and immense swathes of suburbia to house its sleek residents. Puxi -- west of the river -- on the other hand, is a whirling amalgam of art, music, bars, food, local culture (what's left of it), and... yes... shopping. This confluence of new and old, the ongoing war between dissolute aesthete and straightlaced philistine, is something you see in most major cities, but in Shanghai I think it also characterizes the war being waged between China's traditional values, and the wealth and pop culture of the West.
I can't say which is winning, and I can't say which I'd root for, really. I have come to the conclusion that this identity crisis doesn't actually have to be a negative. Granted, some of the people in Shanghai are pretty surly, but you get that in any other fast-paced city. Essentially, I've decided that Shanghai's position -- straddling two worlds -- has as many advantages as it does deficiencies.
Most significantly, I have realized that it is the friends I make in a place that define it for me, not the place itself. The Shanghai I know is not the frenetic, glittering activity of Nanjing Road; it is not the thumping, hormonal desperation of the nightclubs. It is not the paunchy, self-satisfied Western brokers and businessmen sprawled across hotel lounges in Pudong; nor is it their tittering, vapid girlfriends.
Shanghai for me, is Xiao Ye's almond eyes, hovering between a cloud of cigarette smoke and a basket of french fries.
It is An Ting's crooked smirk as he passes me a beer across the bar.
It is the click and slide of go chips in my hands as I consider my next move against Shingo-san, and his owlish look of surprise as he realizes he's won, as he nearly always does.
It is the clatter and heat of the kitchen, as I share a bowl of noodles with the chef's daughter while her mother regales me with stories about her husband's snoring problem.
It is Ling Ling's staccato conversation, and the flip of her ponytail as she dismisses me to attend to a customer, or some other sudden, unfathomable whim of hers.
It is Andrew, alternately brilliant and infantile; quoting a mishmash of song lyrics and Isaac Newton one day, and throwing temper tantrums in a jail cell the next.
It is Mikaila, who after months in China finally decided to slow down and take a look around, instead of rushing for the horizon every day.
It is Ebru, who I can never tell is joking or serious, until she either dismisses me with a lazy wave of her hand or bursts out with her full-throated, bubbling laugh.
It is Wang Yon, equal parts shy schoolboy and Chinese sage, with his Nuggets jersey and bags of medicinal herbs and teas.
It is Yu Ting's shy smile, as she tries in vain to teach me how to play the qin, and Lang Lang's rising whine as she realizes how long she has left to work.
In the end, it turns out that Shanghai is much the same as Wuhan, Huang Shan, Hangzhou, Chongqing, and everywhere else I've loved in China: sometimes wondrous, sometimes galling, but ultimately insignificant... simply a stage for a long string of unforgettable characters.