Shanghai in 4 days

I didn’t do too much writing while in Shanghai, mostly because at the end of each day I had a huge case of art head. I just couldn’t keep myself from overindulging. Friday was my first taste: in the French concession the small Taikang Road Art Center, well, really an alley, has a bunch of galleries and studios. There are also some design firms and a couple cafes and restaurants.

It seems to be spilling over too. There are a few galleries in the surrounding neighborhood, and ‘The Bridge’ is around the corner. This place which combines new and old construction really well, and provides a home to several design firms, a Prairie Avenue Books-type design store (without all the history—it was more of a boutique than a functioning bookstore), and a few restaurants.

The highlight of the area was a small design studio that had a retail space. I would have bought a USB-dongle for L’s laptop that is a humping puppy, but they only had the floor model and (quite nicely) told me that it was on its last legs.

Earlier in the day I had headed to the Pudong side of the river out of a perverse sense of curiousity. When the guidbook says someplace is not pedestrian friendly, maybe I should start believing them. Pudong might be a great place to drive, and it certainly looks pretty from across the river, but it is definitely not for walkers. Even the bicycles and scooters have a hard time and mostly ride on the sidewalks.

And of course, I already told you about the German dinner.

Saturday, it turns out, there was a giant art fair at the Shanghai exhibition center, which was a gift to China from Stalin. Two great tastes that go together: Soviet-baroque architecture and an international art expo. What a great day! I have to admit, when I first arrived and experienced the open flesh-peddling of Nanjing Road and the 新天地 entertainment district (“You like Chinese girls? I make you happy-happy.” --I’m not kidding.) My guard was way up because all of a sudden the people approaching me on the street were no longer just wanting to practice their English. I admit that maybe it was further down than it should have been (mostly I’ve just been on the lookout for pickpockets), but you’ve got to remember: I had just spent weeks having long conversations with people I basically didn’t know. So the happy-happy was a bit of a shock.

But back to the art fair: despite my guard being up, I bumped into someone while taking this photo:



But didn’t know how to say ‘scary’ in Chinese. (I was aiming for “可爱和scary”). The girl and her friend were pretty surprised that I spoke Chinese, so we chatted for a couple minutes. A couple booths later I caught them taking a photo of me. We all laughed and we wound up spending the whole day together in various combinations (sometimes just 2 of us, but we grew to 4 at one point). They were all art students of one flavor or another, and the one I spent the most time with had almost the exact same English skill as I have Chinese skill. This made things really interesting, and we made pretty frequent use of the dictionary. I thought one of them emailed me with a group photo, but I can’t find it. So there’s just one of Liu Yang in the album—she was with me all day.

Sunday was another day of contemporary art, this time at the 50 Moganshen Road gallery and studio district. And just like 798 in Beijing, this was a huge development. I am definitely starting to see trends in contemporary Chinese art (and even found 2 photographers doing much the same thing with heavily Photoshopped images of crumbling Shanghai buildings). How sustainable these colonies are, I don’t know. Both of them have studios, living spaces, and formal galleries, along with a few restaurants, cafes, and stores. The big question in my mind is: will the artists be driven out by the restaurants and boutiques? Or are they somehow in control here in the socialist workers’ paradise?

Speaking of which, Shanghai certainly doesn’t seem to be going to any great effort to preserve its courtyard houses. Of course, this opinion is from seeing a very limited slice of the city, but still: huge swaths of housing are being cleared for malls and hotels and apartment towers. Even the three story 1920s blocks of the French Concession look to be in danger. Be careful Shanghai: the Bund isn’t enough to keep all those tourists coming.

At the same time, I realize the standard of living in those courtyards is low. Plumbing is rare, electricity is dangerous looking, and cooking happens mostly outdoors. (I continue to wonder how folks get by in the winter. Do they just bundle up and spend just as much time outdoors, or does everyone crowd inside and just run out to stir the soup?) Everyone I’ve spoken to says they are better off now than ten years ago, but many people still have it rough. So who am I to begrudge someone a new apartment in favor of a 80 year old brick tenement?

Wandering those tenements (and the neo-classical mansions) of the city is certainly more interesting to me as a tourist than wandering the malls.

After Moganshen, it was too late to Yuyuan garden, but I wandered the huge crappy market streets around it. I don’t know why I am so anti-souvenir, but none of the fake jade, or faux-lex watches (say it out loud—you’ll get it), or ‘antiques’ appeal to me at all. There were some good snacks here though, so dinner in Shanghai on Sunday consisted solely of 串 (chuan—our favorite food in China, and the only character I have ever learned strictly through associating it pictographically: it’s a kabob) and fried tofu.

On the walk back to the hotel, I saw something that had thus far eluded me in Shanghai. I’m sure you’re wondering. Yes: they dance in Shanghai. In this most post-colonial of cities, they dance that most colonial of dances: the waltz.

Monday, despite an art hangover, I went to the Shanghai museum. I didn’t last long—only a couple hours. And when people talked to me in the park, I am afraid I may have been a little surly to them. There’s just so many times one can be propositioned in a day. Still, I did return to the Bund in the evening for my fancy French dinner, and then to WJC (which stands for wine, jazz, cigar) for drinks, music, and a Cuban. It seemed a fitting end-point to my tourist days.

Shanghai2

So that's the Shanghai story. One more update about the days in Beijing and one last photo album to come. Looking at these photos this evening, and glancing at the photos of Xiahe earlier today, makes me feel like I have traveled a great distance these past few days. Funny, because I have.