Asia Summer Series: Shanghai, China (Part 2)

Over December and January, I'm running a series of my previously published print articles on Asia. Last week I described my journey to Shanghai's Old Town. The adventure continues (there will be dumplings. And tea.)...

Old Street is in constant motion, with crowds of eager shoppers crowding the narrow pavements, cars and bikes passing through, and young men politely assailing me with sales pitches.

They brandish picture cards with images of items including suits and watches, so I can indicate what they should lead me to. Shopkeepers also call out as I pass by, though I’m surprised to find that they’re not overly pushy and will take no for an answer.

There are also food stalls, and strolling vendors selling a popular treat on a humid day - melon on a stick. It’s really as straightforward as that, a long slice of watermelon threaded onto a piece of wood.

On my way along the street I spot shops selling tea, clothing, and products involving Chinese calligraphy. Then I strike the mother lode - a stall containing a range of items from the attractive to the frankly ridiculous. Many of the latter involve Mao Tse Tung, China’s communist leader from 1949 to 1976.

Never one to avoid an amusingly tacky gift, I pick up a small red wind-up alarm clock featuring an image of Mao, with his arm frantically waving his Little Red Book at the masses. 

 
I also fancy a set of playing cards with interwar Shanghai posters, another set depicting a bizarre 1970s ballet involving women with guns, and a relatively tasteful set of worry balls featuring a dragon and a phoenix. There’s also a dragon bracelet that’ll be too small for Narrelle, but will sit well in her collection of decorative dragons.

The ensuing bout of haggling is carried out by myself and the cheerful saleswoman passing a calculator back and forth, taking turns to punch in our bids. As is traditional everywhere in the markets of the developing world, these figures are accompanied by expressions of mock-anguish and gasps of disbelief. Finally, the bargain is struck, somewhere halfway between our opening amounts.

Having exhausted my desire to shop, I wander further along the street, fending off offers of antiques and dodgy Rolexes. Then I notice a sign above a doorway, inscribed “Old Shanghai Tea House”.

One floor up, in a long narrow room above several shops, is a magnificently atmospheric tea house, with jade-green tables on timber floorboards, lined with small windows overlooking the busy street. On the far wall is an eclectic collection of objects from pre-World War II Shanghai, including vinyl records, posters and a Singer sewing machine.

There are some mysteries I have to work out here. On the menu, the tea looks expensive, but the waitress refills my cup of fresh jasmine with hot water several times during the afternoon. The dumplings arrive on a decorative green plate, matched with a small white bowl of vinegar sauce, and are excellent.

I’m leaning against the windowsill, writing postcards and thinking that life is pretty good, when I receive a surprise of a musical nature. Halfway along the room, a man is setting up two traditional instruments- one a long stringed instrument called an erhu, the other a dulcimer-like arrangement known as a yangqin.

At first I’m not sure whether he’s playing an abstract tune or just tuning the equipment, but his purpose soon becomes clear. He dons a traditional robe, is joined by an accompanist, and they launch into a series of melodious Chinese tunes.

This is a bonus; I thought I was just getting a cup of tea and some dumplings. I sip my jasmine tea while I listen to this beautifully played music within a homage to Shanghai’s past, and feel truly delighted.

Then there’s an odd moment. After a series of Chinese melodies, the duo break into an instrumental version of Click Go the Shears.

I look up sharply in surprise, and the erhu player catches my eye. My expression says “I know where that song really comes from,” and his says “Let’s just keep that to ourselves”. And we exchange knowing smiles.

In this increasing cosmopolitan city with a vibrant international past, perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised to come across unexpected influences from abroad, moulded into a Chinese form.

Even a transplanted Australian folk song about shearers, played in the heart of Shanghai’s Old Town.

[Back to Part 1]

Disclosure time: On this trip I travelled courtesy of Shanghai Municipal Tourism and Helen Wong’s Tours.

Asia Summer Series: Shanghai, China (Part 1)

Over December and January, I'll be running a series of my previously published print articles on Asia. First up, fabulous Shanghai...

I step out of the South Huangpi Road Metro station into 21st century China.

Nearby Huaihai Road, one of Shanghai’s stylish shopping streets, is filled with classy brand label stores, a Porsche dealership, and people clutching expensive-looking shopping bags.

Across the road, to my surprise, there’s even an Australian wool promotion taking place on an outdoor catwalk.

Then there’s a sudden movement in the vicinity of my shoes, so I divert my gaze from glamorous shopfronts to pavement level – where there’s a blob of black stuff on my right boot, and a man in a cheap blue suit smiling up at me.

It’s an arresting smile, as he’s missing several top teeth, which have been replaced by a gold bridge. The black blob is the calling card of the shoeshine man.

I may not have needed a shine before, but I do now, if only to remove the complimentary shoeshine. But this little piece of robust salesmanship is negotiated in good humour; we smile, haggle a little, and determine a fee of 10 yuan ($2.25) for the shining of my boots.

I lean on a handy advertising sign while the man places my feet alternately on a portable wooden platform, shining away to his heart’s content - all in the shadow of the Gucci store behind him.

Is this the Shanghai I expected? To be honest, my preconceptions of China are being challenged.

On the previous day I’d been bussed around modern Shanghai as part of a conference group.

We inspected huge modern buildings with quirky architecture, a dominating observation tower overlooking the historic buildings of the riverside Bund district, a soaring new bridge across the Huangpu River, and an exhibition devoted to an exhibition (Shanghai’s 2010 World Expo).

It was a day devoted to the large-scale and ultra-modern aspects of the city.

But what about human-scale Shanghai, the city where 20 million people live and shop and eat? Today I’m heading for the Old Town, to have a look at the remains of the coastal town that existed long before today’s rapid development.

After Britain’s victory against China in the Opium Wars of the mid-19th century, Shanghai evolved quickly into an international trading city. Silk, tea and opium flowed in and out of its port, making traders rich.

To facilitate this commerce, France, America and Britain ran their own colonial settlements along the Huangpu, known as concessions.

In walking east along Huaihai Road I’m leaving the former French Concession, with its attractive tree-lined avenues, and entering the Old Town. This district, contained within a perimeter of curving roads that echo its long-vanished city walls, is the oldest part of the city and a repository of tradition.

And it doesn’t take long for the old Shanghai to appear. As I turn off Huaihai Road and head south, the designer labels drop away and the streets narrow.

Bicycles and scooters weave between taxis, and crossing the road becomes an exercise in Zen-like concentration - one must sense the space opening up between vehicles and calmly step through it.

Turning east onto Dajing Road, I enter an older world of crumbling pavements, and roadside sales of fruit and vegetables. Passing an old Taoist temple and a nearby pavilion, I’m finally on Old Street, a long, bustling street packed with small shops.

The low buildings are decorated in the style of the Qing dynasty, with the distinctive tiles and upturned eaves synonymous with traditional Chinese architecture.

Though many of the buildings are newly restored, the narrow alleyways leading off the street are the real thing, funnelling strollers, deliverymen and bicycle riders through crooked routes linking major roads.

Old Street is in constant motion, with crowds of eager shoppers crowding the narrow pavements, cars and bikes passing through, and young men politely assailing me with sales pitches.

They brandish picture cards with images of items including suits and watches, so I can indicate what they should lead me to.

Shopkeepers also call out as I pass by, though I’m surprised to find that they’ll take no for an answer...

[Next: Mao novelties, tea, dumplings, stringed instruments and a surprising Aussie folk song...]

Disclosure time: On this trip I travelled courtesy of Shanghai Municipal Tourism and Helen Wong’s Tours.

China: People of the Middle Kingdom

I've spent the past week in China with colleagues from the Australian Society of Travel Writers. After we held our Annual General Meeting in Shanghai, we flew out west to Chongqing to join a cruise down the Yangtze River to Yichang. We're now in Wuhan, waiting to fly home.

It's been an amazing week full of large, spectacular sights, from the massive modern architecture of Shanghai to the majestic gorges of the Yangtze. But travel stories - like all stories - are about people, and I've been struck by the friendliness and relaxed practicality of the Chinese we've met on the way.

A few snapshots:

• The stallholder on Shanghai's Old Street, who cheerfully haggled with me over the price of a number of items I wished to buy. Her running commentary on her fairly absurd stock (waving Mao watches included) was high spirited and not too pushy. We left the best of friends after settling on a price by alternately typing our bids on a calculator.
• The musician playing a string instrument at a teahouse above the markets. He and his partner played a number of traditional tunes in classic robes - then launched into an instrumental version of Click Go the Shears. I looked up sharply from my jasmine tea, and we shared a knowing glance.
• Steven Xu, the bar manager on the Victoria Queen cruise boat, who talked to me about his experiences serving foreigners floating up and down the Yangtze. As his parents and grandparents are small-time farmers with a small income, he says they're proud of his work on the river. He keeps in touch with pen pals from among his former passengers, and hopes to travel to Australia one day, to visit one.
• The boatmen who operate the sampans along a narrow side gorge we visited one day. Ceaselessly cheerful, they helped visitors in and out of the boats and piloted them through rainy weather through an impressive stretch of rocky cliffs. In straw hats and lifejackets, they looked like they were really enjoying their jobs. I asked Steven what they'd be doing if there were no tourism, and he said they'd probably have departed for industrial work in some distant city. Much more rewarding to be out on the water.
• Our guide to the Three Gorges Dam, Kevin, who had a cheerful patter worked out about being "a good dam guide or a damn good guide". I told him our prime minister, Kevin Rudd, also spoke Mandarin, so there was more than one Mandarin-speaking Kevin. To which he said "But mine is better - you can't beat a native speaker".
  
• The guys on the coal scow that nestled next to our boat on the journey through the multiple locks that bypass the Three Gorges Dam. I stepped out on my cabin's balcony and saw them below, standing on the front of the scow, helping direct the pilot's placement. They looked up, I waved, and they returned the wave while simultaneously shouting "Hello!".

It can't always be easy living in such an overpopulated country, but the Chinese do it with good humour and an unexpected grace.

Tim Richards travelled courtesy of Shanghai Municipal Tourism and Helen Wong’s Tours.