CHINA, SOCIETY, FEATURE SERIES, On the Road to Shanghai...: The Beginning
[This is the second installment in the series: On the Road to Shanghai... The editors]
By Lianne Li
When the Golden May holidays dropped like a hoard of treasure before my eyes, I seized upon an opportunity to visit Shanghai--and get a glimpse of Hangzhou, Suzhou, and Nanjing along the way. I received my mother's grudging permission and was accompanied by an upper-class photography freak, Wang, who was kind once I got used to his unkind remarks.
Wang was a frugal-minded economy major, so when he suggested that we sit our way to Shanghai on the train, I agreed. Two 179-yuan tickets provided us two separate seats and a small space on the rack for my pack of clothes and his packs of camera, tripod, film rolls, food and drinks.
I was too busy minding my purse and mobile phone to spare time to talk with the suspicious strangers with me in the seating compartment, while Wang guffawed with the crowd seated on the floor. As the train started to rock me to sleep, images of rainy alleyways and brick mansions invaded my drowsy head from the novels of Irene Zhang.
Shanghai.
We arrived in the forest of skyscrapers at half past nine, unwashed and decidedly un-refreshed, and were immediately shoved into the subway passage. Wang struck through the surging crowd into the metro car with his huge black backpack and tripod and waved back towards me. But before I was able to squeeze myself into the metro car, the door snapped shut, and the car pulled away.
I shrugged at Shanghai's welcome ceremony, and took the next car to meet Wang. Our destination was the flat of Yang, our former schoolmate but presently an employee of the stock office in the Bank of China; his generosity was remarkable. He showed us around the CD stores near the University of Fudan, and treated us to a lavish dinner at a bourgeois Italian restaurant.
"As sophomores, you still have time before selling yourself," Yang said as he launched an attack on a second serving. "The only thing is, whether you will be bought by a nice place."
"You know that 5-star grand hotel opposite my apartment?" he continued. "My boss from Hong Kong stayed there for a few days, and all he talked about was how poor the hotel services were, and how he was unable to get a golf course that matched Canada's. And while he complained about the 5-star hotel services, I huddled myself in an air-conditioned taxi with my take-out food, feeling awfully happy!" Yang laughed.
It was already dusk when the taxi got us to Waitan. Like ants thrown into a kaleidoscope, we landed in a whirlwind of illuminated skyscrapers, splashy billboards, the Commercial Bank of China, China Unicom, Pepsi and NEC, endless streams of buzzing cars and swarms of fast-moving people, all very anxious to see more or get more in Shanghai.
While Wang busily took pictures down the road alongside the Huangpu river, Yang pointed to the Oriental Pearl TV Tower on the other bank: "See that? What a pity! The first time I came here, I was with a male colleague. How I wish it was a girl!"
The Nanjing East sidewalk was the most bustling pavement I had ever seen. So many people--tall and short, fat and slim, black-haired and blonde-haired, delicately dressed and raggedly dressed, fast-paced and slow-paced, speaking Shanghainese, Putonghua, English, German and Japanese. All around were even more brightly lighted apartment buildings, plazas, offices, restaurants and beauty salons, and the incessant rumbling of motors, the squealing of children, the Babel-like chattering of the crowd, the trembling of the stores' rock-and-roll. All of it was packed into a moist night air, shaking your spirit.
I was wondering how long such prosperity could last when I noticed a mirage-like skyscraper under construction at the end of the horizon.
"That's what normally occurs to Nanjing East's buildings. They are primarily the remains of the Old Shanghai foreign settlement and are in constant need of repair," explained Yang. He then pointed to a row of low-rising old-looking buildings on my right.
"You see those second-story windows with hanging clothes? On summer nights you may see a fat middle-aged man in a vest puffing a cigarette and looking down the street with the look of an emperor."
"Do they live there?"
"Yeah. And they refuse whatever lucrative government compensation is offered for relocation just to keep that view."
"Must’ve been lonely living up there," I giggled.
Soon it was time to return to my lodging provided by a friend at the Shanghai Science and Technology University. After half an hour of waving at the curb, I was finally able to get into a taxi. Bone-tired, I settled myself in the backseat and watched the glare of neon lights fade from the rear window.
I hoped one of those lights was for me.
By Lianne Li
When the Golden May holidays dropped like a hoard of treasure before my eyes, I seized upon an opportunity to visit Shanghai--and get a glimpse of Hangzhou, Suzhou, and Nanjing along the way. I received my mother's grudging permission and was accompanied by an upper-class photography freak, Wang, who was kind once I got used to his unkind remarks.
Wang was a frugal-minded economy major, so when he suggested that we sit our way to Shanghai on the train, I agreed. Two 179-yuan tickets provided us two separate seats and a small space on the rack for my pack of clothes and his packs of camera, tripod, film rolls, food and drinks.
I was too busy minding my purse and mobile phone to spare time to talk with the suspicious strangers with me in the seating compartment, while Wang guffawed with the crowd seated on the floor. As the train started to rock me to sleep, images of rainy alleyways and brick mansions invaded my drowsy head from the novels of Irene Zhang.
Shanghai.
We arrived in the forest of skyscrapers at half past nine, unwashed and decidedly un-refreshed, and were immediately shoved into the subway passage. Wang struck through the surging crowd into the metro car with his huge black backpack and tripod and waved back towards me. But before I was able to squeeze myself into the metro car, the door snapped shut, and the car pulled away.
I shrugged at Shanghai's welcome ceremony, and took the next car to meet Wang. Our destination was the flat of Yang, our former schoolmate but presently an employee of the stock office in the Bank of China; his generosity was remarkable. He showed us around the CD stores near the University of Fudan, and treated us to a lavish dinner at a bourgeois Italian restaurant.
"As sophomores, you still have time before selling yourself," Yang said as he launched an attack on a second serving. "The only thing is, whether you will be bought by a nice place."
"You know that 5-star grand hotel opposite my apartment?" he continued. "My boss from Hong Kong stayed there for a few days, and all he talked about was how poor the hotel services were, and how he was unable to get a golf course that matched Canada's. And while he complained about the 5-star hotel services, I huddled myself in an air-conditioned taxi with my take-out food, feeling awfully happy!" Yang laughed.
It was already dusk when the taxi got us to Waitan. Like ants thrown into a kaleidoscope, we landed in a whirlwind of illuminated skyscrapers, splashy billboards, the Commercial Bank of China, China Unicom, Pepsi and NEC, endless streams of buzzing cars and swarms of fast-moving people, all very anxious to see more or get more in Shanghai.
While Wang busily took pictures down the road alongside the Huangpu river, Yang pointed to the Oriental Pearl TV Tower on the other bank: "See that? What a pity! The first time I came here, I was with a male colleague. How I wish it was a girl!"
The Nanjing East sidewalk was the most bustling pavement I had ever seen. So many people--tall and short, fat and slim, black-haired and blonde-haired, delicately dressed and raggedly dressed, fast-paced and slow-paced, speaking Shanghainese, Putonghua, English, German and Japanese. All around were even more brightly lighted apartment buildings, plazas, offices, restaurants and beauty salons, and the incessant rumbling of motors, the squealing of children, the Babel-like chattering of the crowd, the trembling of the stores' rock-and-roll. All of it was packed into a moist night air, shaking your spirit.
I was wondering how long such prosperity could last when I noticed a mirage-like skyscraper under construction at the end of the horizon.
"That's what normally occurs to Nanjing East's buildings. They are primarily the remains of the Old Shanghai foreign settlement and are in constant need of repair," explained Yang. He then pointed to a row of low-rising old-looking buildings on my right.
"You see those second-story windows with hanging clothes? On summer nights you may see a fat middle-aged man in a vest puffing a cigarette and looking down the street with the look of an emperor."
"Do they live there?"
"Yeah. And they refuse whatever lucrative government compensation is offered for relocation just to keep that view."
"Must’ve been lonely living up there," I giggled.
Soon it was time to return to my lodging provided by a friend at the Shanghai Science and Technology University. After half an hour of waving at the curb, I was finally able to get into a taxi. Bone-tired, I settled myself in the backseat and watched the glare of neon lights fade from the rear window.
I hoped one of those lights was for me.
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