Three days in Shanghai

We make our way back to People’s Park, a huge oasis of green in the heart of bustling Shanghai. As we enter we see row upon row of umbrellas, and think we must have stumbled on a protest in sympathy with the Hong Kong students and democracy protesters. But as we look closer we find it’s

people advertising themselves or their children as potential marriage material. It clicked when we spotted an Australian flag and an English translation - Melbourne female, originally from Shanghai, recently graduated - looking for male. Guess on-line dating services aren’t big in China yet.

Which brings me to on-line anything. The Bamboo firewall effectively blocks Facebook, Twitter and all Google services (including my email and blog site) when accessing over local WiFi. Fortunately I’d bought a data roaming bundle from Vodafone before departure, so I can slip into 3G roaming mode for essential emails and posts. Just a symptom of the paranoia and control the Chinese Government imposes on its citizens, and unfortunate tourists caught up in the mix.

Paranoia extends to tracking foreigners during their stay. The fine print on the arrival card says we need to register at a Police station if we’re not staying at a hotel or guest house. No worries here - we’re in a guest house, or so we think. Until on our second day I get a call from from the Police insisting we have to go to a local Police station. The following morning we rock up to show our passports, but oh no, we need more than that. We need a copy of the lease agreement from our accommodation, and photocopies of our passports… Ok, ok - we bring them later! I divert my phone to voicemail and conveniently forget my promises, and hope like hell they’ll let us out at the airport on departure.

Paranoia doesn’t extend to the general populace though. People are people the world over, and we

have fun interacting with the locals, and especially the kids who look curiously at these strangers with funny faces who can’t talk properly. But you don’t have 15 million people crammed into a city without a few unfortunate consequences.

After a few hours of walking around our eyes are stinging from the pollution and cigarette smoke,

and it’s a constant struggle asserting yourself, whether on the footpath, or taking your life in your hands when you cross the roads. As in any new city you start off by crossing with a local to understand how the system works, and from then on your life is in your own hands.

Traffic lights are not so much compulsory as advisory, and your right of way is determined by a combination of your size, nimbleness, assertiveness and assumed authority. Taxis make up about 10% of the traffic, and they’re by far the worst of the four wheeled vehicles - there were a couple of times I was tempted to bash a door or bonnet as they tried to bulldoze through pedestrians crossing on a green man.

But it’s the scooters which are the most lethal. Mostly electric, they creep up on you unawares like a silent menace, pay no regard whatsoever to traffic signals, and ride wherever there’s space, which might be the wrong side of the road, the footpath or the pedestrian phases at the lights. Eternal vigilance is needed to prevent your foot being run over.

It would be fair to say that Shanghai is a city of contrasts - old vs new, wealthy vs poverty-stricken (surprised to see beggars in the streets next to BMWs and Mercs), tiny one-man shops selling nuts and bolts vs gleaming shopping arcades, European fashion labels trading on clean streets vs dirty little alley ways with washing hanging everywhere, and some very fruity smells. Like many parts of Asia, sewers are ventilated to the street…

It’s a bit like the South-east Asian cities I’ve already visited, like Saigon or Phnom Penh, but rapidly overlaid with huge new construction and wealth, while both the older people and core infrastructure are struggling to cope.

Pauline found out about the infrastructure the hard way. The old style toilets in many parts of Asia have very narrow pipes which block easily with western toilet paper - the public toilets in People’s Park in the heart of Shanghai as a case in point. In the absence of bum guns, used toilet paper is thrown into open collection buckets, and in the tropical warmth it would be fair to say the experience isn’t very pleasant. I figured something was wrong when Pauline emerged, her face drawn, no colour in her cheeks, and looking like she was ready to throw up. Fortunately she recovered in a couple of hours.

I, on the other hand, am an old hand at this. I’d previously spotted a Starbucks, so when my time came we made a beeline for it and ordered a coffee. Now I don’t know what it is, but no matter where you are in the world you can always rely on Starbucks to serve you an absolute crap cup of coffee - and this one was no exception. But at least they have a nice clean western toilet… “Closed for repairs - please use the toilet in the park”. I keep my toiletting to a minimum and escape without lasting effects.

It’s always a relief to return to our apartment late afternoon after a hard day’s foot slogging. Not in

the most salubrious part of town, but a very typical Chinese apartment consisting of just a kitchen, bathroom, living area and bedroom. Booked through AirBnb, everything worked like clockwork. One little problem with a leaking aircon unit was quickly fixed, and it didn’t take long for the bedding to dry out. The view from the window consisted mostly of a large Chinese flag - patriotism rules supreme everywhere. At least the flag gave us a bit of privacy from neighbouring apartments.

Evenings saw us head out into the coolth and neon-lit streets north of Peoples Park. Pauline wasn’t too fussed on the street vendors with soup and dumplings, nor the little corner restaurants with cow intestine stew bubbling way in large cauldrons. So we played safe and headed to the mall on the first night, Turkish on the second, and genuine Shanghai restaurant cuisine on the third.

The food at the latter was excellent, just a problem when it came time to pay. Nothing wrong with the bill, it’s just that they don’t take Visa, Mastercard or Amex. Perhaps we should have checked on arrival. We do however have just enough cash to cover it - but it’s the last of our money we’ve reserved for our taxi fare to the airport in the morning. Our first attempt to extract money from a hole in the wall fails, but at least we get our cards back.

I comfort Pauline with the thought that if we start walking with our suitcases now we should be able to do the 40km to Pudong International before our flight departs. The humour falls a bit flat - the girl’s starting to panic. We try a second bank of ATMs and this time I spot one with a little Plus symbol that matches the symbol on my NZ cash card. After an interminable wait and much whirring and clanking, 300 Yuan are spat out of the machine, and I hold them in the air in triumph. Pauline’s relief is palpable.

Our travels through Shanghai take us through the French Concession, the Old town, the Bund on the riverfront and the Pudong precinct on the eastern side of the river - new Shanghai where the Pearl TV tower and the big new high-rises of the financial centre are located. A real mix, and no one tourist area. This is not a city that says, “Come to this part of town for tourist trinkets”. Everywhere there are street merchants who have something to sell - mostly to the locals.

I must admit the brass chooks in the Old Town caught my eye. I used to have a pair of brass fighting cockerels, but can’t recall where they are now. These ones look good, but at the beginning of our trip I’m not going to load up on heavy souvenirs.

Much more practical is Pauline’s choice of indulging in a tea ceremony. An

inveterate tea drinker, Pauline was in seventh heaven as she was served sample after sample of both green and dark teas. She went away clutching a 50g packet of finest dark tea, which has kept her sweet ever since. All I’ve got to do is offer to make her a cup of the and she’s putty in my hands. Now to get the tea through Dutch border control so the drugs can keep working.

Question: what would be the best way to cross from one side of the river to the other? Why, the walkway tunnel under the river of course, and you’d be right. But there’s a catch. Apparently the cost to build it and link it up with the Pearl Tower has forced the imposition of a pedestrian toll, and it’s exorbitant. To sweeten the experience there are supposedly tourist attractions. But to us it’s a rip-off, and we quickly backtrack to the Bund and find the ferry. Cheap as chips and we get a river cruise too.

Talking of the river, it’s clear that Shanghai is going to be in a lot of trouble with climate change

causing sea level rises. The city is very flat, and already some of the river walkways are under water and roped off. It would only take a half metre sea level rise coupled with a flood/storm surge for a lot of Shanghai to be devastated. Perhaps that’ll be a salient warning for the Chinese to take climate change a bit more seriously.

There are some good initiatives, though. Acknowledging the mass of humanity, public transport is excellent, and many city streets have been narrowed for extended footpaths, or given over to pedestrians altogether. Imagine Auckland’s Queen St converted to a pedestrian mall - Shanghai isn’t afraid to put people first.

But the highlight of Shanghai has to be two wheels, or perhaps three. We’re tripping through the

French Concession when a posse of WW2 vintage BMWs with sidecars pull up on a street corner in front of us. I marvel at how they can manage to keep these old bikes on the road, given parts must be incredibly hard to come by. Perhaps there are some great fabrication shops around.

And if only I’d known Valentino was going to be in town. Perhaps we

could have done a road trip to Shangri-La. Or just chatted about what it takes to get to get on the podium ahead of Marc, Jorge or Dani. I’m sure we could have swapped a few tips.

My enthusiasm for two wheels has only just been whetted. Next stops are Amsterdam and Copenhagen - cycling capitals of the world. I’ll try and reign in my enthusiasm - not everyone’s a cycle advocate - yet.

So would I live in Shanghai? No - not if I could help it. If you’re rich, have access to the full Internet, and are tolerated by the authorities, then you could survive comfortably. But it wouldn’t be my choice.