Reaching for the sky

The Shanghai immigration officer briskly stamps my passport, smiles and presses a button. A panel on the counter lights up, inviting me to rate his service. I press “Very Satisfied” like others did before me. Perhaps he smiles and moves fast only for the sake of the rating; perhaps he is intrinsically grumpy and slow; but perhaps that is the point.

Outside, another smiling Chinese drives me to the city. He is keen to share knowledge about Shanghai and I’m keen to imbibe it, but we make little headway.

“Pledges,” he says, nodding and pointing vaguely to the left, “Hangpu pledge, Nanpu pledge… many pledges.”

I’m thinking pledges are ancient Buddhist teachings by venerable monks. I conjure up an image of a Buddhist temple, with sacred shrines amidst quiet green lawns and shady trees. Closing my eyes, I can almost smell the incense…

“Pledge!” the driver cries.

I look to where he points. A modern structure looms over the river.

“Bridge!” I say.

“Yes, pledge!” He nods.

Construction frenzy
The image of idyllic monasteries evaporating from my mind, I look outside. There is some vacant landscape near the airport but soon I see massive construction. Cranes, looking like monstrous insects, burrow the earth. Half-finished structures emerge from the land. In a few years, uninterrupted buildings will probably line this entire 30km drive.

Near the city, we exit the elevated highway and I’m brought down to earth, not just literally. Where we flew through the air, we now crawl at walking speed in heavy traffic. Chinese in bicycles — and there are many of them — overtake us with ease, zigzagging through traffic and shooting through traffic lights, showing no preference for green over red.

Finally we reach the hotel. From the 46th floor I can see the city is a magnificent blend of the modern and traditional. Below is a well-manicured park with oval lakes and cobble-stone paths. The museum of modern art, an old building of red bricks and sloping roofs sits in its midst. But across the park, vibrant skyscrapers dominate the skyline.

Having a free day, I take a cruise on the Huanpu River, a clever way to actually move through the city instead of inching along in a car admiring each building for a long time. From the river, the contrast of ancient and modern is accentuated. Colonial edifices stand next to glittering high-rise buildings on the river banks. Historic sites like the old Peace Hotel with its stunning green pyramid roof and the Customs House with its big clock tower compete for attention with towering 21st century skyscrapers. Modern sailboats glide swiftly past rickety barges.

It’s obvious this massive city is becoming bigger. Construction is everywhere. I’m told the current Shanghai shipyard will be developed into industrial and recreational areas. As we pass old go-downs earmarked for development, I take a long, hard look because I know skyscrapers will soon sprout in their place.

Shopping lesson
Shanghai offers many shopping options, like Nanjing Road, a six-kilometre stretch with malls and specialty shops around the ancient Jing’An Temple. But I choose to walk along the Fuyou antique shopping centre, a broad street earmarked for pedestrians. The absence of traffic does not promote speed: tourists and locals meander along sedately, jostling each other. You can walk into the shops on either side… or they can walk into you.

“Watch, sir?” A woman approaches me, wearing dozens of watches on her arms.

I shake my head. Undeterred, she offers me cameras; then mobile phones; then sunglasses. I shake my head each time and she heads off, seeking more promising prey.

Inside a shop, an American woman is negotiating the price of a fake Prada handbag. The thin Chinese shopkeeper types the price, RMB 1,200, on a calculator and hands it over with a flourish.
“1,100,” the American types, with a gleam in her eye, and returns the calculator. Her companion, a large Chinese woman, cries out.

“What are you doing?! Leave this to me.”

She briskly plucks the calculator from the shopkeeper’s hand, types 200 and hands it back.

The American gasps and grows crimson. But the shopkeeper is stoic. Abandoning hopes of a windfall killing, she types 600.

The Chinese customer responds: 200.

Shopkeeper: 500

Customer: 200

Shopkeeper: 400

Customer: 200

Shopkeeper: 300 (shaking her head and mumbling what is clearly “last price” in Mandarin)

The American, whose head started nodding at 600, eagerly reaches for the handbag. But her Chinese friend takes her hand and drags her out of the shop. When the shopkeeper sees they’ve genuinely left, she hurries after them with the handbag. I hurry behind her, unabashedly curious.

The American gets the handbag for RMB 200 and I get a wallop of fun without spending any money.

In the evening, I could go to XinTianDi, a hip, old-meets-new, east-meets-west district with restaurants, cafes and bars in restored stone buildings. Or I could go to the Temple of the Town God, Taikang Road, Madame Mao’s Dowry or 1933 Creative Hub, places that offer a heady mixture of shopping, architecture and dining. But I don’t have the time; so I walk to the nearby M on the Bund, a picturesque restaurant in a colonial building. I will not go into raptures over the food, not because I lack space but because I lack material. China is not the place for vegetarian extravaganzas. But the view of the Bund and River Huangpu at night from the balcony is breathtaking. The city glitters across the river and, in reflection, inside it, making the dark waters sparkle with life. To my delight I see a new advertising medium: floating billboards in the form of moving boats fitted with large neon signs.
From my room I look at the city one last time before retiring. Clouds hang low, engulfing the skyscrapers. With dancing lights, the buildings seem to rise out of the moving clouds. I get the impression of a city reaching impatiently — even frenetically — for the sky. I turn to bed, awed and subdued.