Tag Archives: Shanghai

May 2015: Two Years Later…

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SAM_3664Nearly five years have passed since I first visited Shanghai, a city with an ineffable draw on me.  Following our reluctant departure in 2013 after little more than a year’s residence, we returned as visitors last year with a little trepidation.  With hindsight we needn’t have done so.

No such concerns or worries this year – if it’s too cliched to call it our second home, then let’s just say its a place in which we feel more at home than just about anywhere else. We know the heart of the city well enough to walk for hours without getting lost; we know just about enough Mandarin to placate angry taxi drivers; we know our favourite restaurants and bars; and we know its people: ambitious yet reserved, modern yet traditional,  energetic yet bloody slow when walking.

Jude, me, Rachel, Kim and Bron in front of Shanghai's new skyline

Jude, me, Rachel, Kim and Bron in front of Shanghai’s new skyline

Sandwiching our trip to Vietnam, our time in Shanghai was intentionally more social than cultural.  Whilst many of our ex-pat friends have since moved on, a few stalwarts remain along with most of our Chinese friends.  So we had a deliberately packed agenda of socialising, eating and drinking.

In Shanghai there’s no better “local” than Masse (it’s been a year but Chris, the co-owner can still greet me by name); no better cocktail bar than Closless; no better excuse to smuggle in a little rum purchased in Vietnam than a beach party south of the Bund.

From the night of bizarre Chinese entertainment (face changing magic guy who helped me knock over a beer) to being thoroughly under-dressed in one of Shanghai’s poshest restaurants (my shorts and bright orange t-shirt combo not exactly mixing well with the suits and cocktail dresses adorned by the other clientele) , we loved our brief return.  Last year we celebrated our wedding anniversary sat at the bar on a Virgin Atlantic flight; this year we celebrated eating Sichuanese food with two of our favourite Chinese families.

Thanks to everyone that found the time to meet up with us.
And yes, we’ll be back next year.  How could we not?

May 2014: One Year Later…

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Me, Bron and Rachel at the Bund

Me, Bron and Rachel at the Bund

“They” say you should never go back; that returning only serves to diminish, never enhance a memory. Bron and I decided to ignore this, returning to Shanghai almost a year after we left.  We stayed with Andrea, an American friend we’d met during our year in China, herself shortly departing to start a new job in Singapore. Andrea’s apartment is one block behind our former Shanghai house, practically overlooking both the house and our nearby local bar: a melancholic view from our temporary bedroom window.

Our Friday night in Masse

Our Friday night in Masse

We landed on Friday, and with our time in Shanghai limited, we went straight out after a quick freshen-up. We’d invited a few of those who’d in some way played a part in our short time in Shanghai – friends, former colleagues, former language teachers – to meet with us in our favourite local bar and were overwhelmed with the turnout. Chris (co-owner of the bar) agreed to let us use the terrace for our little gathering (arranged whilst in the UK via the medium of a Chinese social messaging app). Thanks to all who came to see us; we know the “Former French Concession” area involved a fair amount of travel for some of you.  For those of you who have also left Shanghai – we’ll no doubt see you over the next couple of years.

With the married couple

With the married couple

One of our main reasons for visiting Shanghai over this particular set of dates was to attend John and Erica’s wedding. A brave attempt at reading his speech in Mandarin was greatly appreciated, with the pace sufficiently slow enough to allow even Bron and I to understand elements of John’s tales of how he and Erica met.

Buffets at Chinese weddings are not a particularly good idea, unless you’re prepared to cope with everybody seeking food simultaneously. Not so much a mass brawl as a mass panic that food may run out very quickly. All in all a great evening, including spending time with Shawn and Andrew, the first people I met in China back in 2010.  John and Erica – many congratulations.

The ladies by the mysterious building

The ladies by the mysterious building

Sunday saw us take part in another Shanghai tradition for ex-pats – the boozy Sunday brunch (with free flowing alcohol). Initially with Rachel, Andrea and Grace, we were later joined by Isaac and Chong before staggering back to Andrea’s apartment over a very familiar set of streets. Andrea – thanks so much for letting us stay at your place.

On Sunday afternoon we just about made it (post brunch) to one of Shanghai’s huge railway stations to join Anny on a trip to her current residential town of Wuxi. A feast was waiting for us at Anny’s apartment; never any danger of going hungry when we meet up with Anny’s family.

Making fresh noodles

A man, making fresh noodles

Noodles for breakfast in China is normal as cornflakes, toast or sausages to a Westerner. And they’re always fantastic. In the smallest of restaurants, for around 50p, one can experience a true taste of China.  This we did each morning whilst in Wuxi, taking full advantage of being accompanied by somebody Chinese – absolutely no English is spoken (or written) in these tiny establishments.

Bron and Anny meet a rather large Tao statue

Bron and Anny meet a rather large Tao statue

With a little sightseeing and the arrival of Linda and her 8 year old daughter, Cake, we had a couple of days that I can only describe as being authentically Chinese.  We experienced fighting to get on buses (I resorted to swiping a man with my bag of Chinese vegetables as he tried to push Bron out of the way), wandering around a huge indoor market with giant stacks of fruit and veg that you’d struggle to get in an entire city’s worth of British supermarkets and a somewhat hectic meal in “Grandma’s kitchen” restaurant.  I have enough trouble coping with kids in England, so being abandoned with Cake in the restaurant whilst everybody disappeared to the loo en-masse felt like the longest 5 minutes of my life.  My rudimentary Chinese was met with a mischievous unwillingness to understand and shouting “no” to somebody who doesn’t speak English is quite tricky when the person is attempting to rearrange the table decorations in a fairly precarious manner whilst waiting for her Mum to return.

As ever, great to spend time with Anny, Linda and families.  The Virgin Atlantic credit card will hopefully help to ensure these meet-ups continue for many years.

We arrived back in Shanghai on Wednesday evening to spend a last meal near the Bund with Rachel, Andrea and Rachel’s two Eric friends.  Rachel’s favourite restaurant in Shanghai seems to feature the rudest waiters:

  • Waiter takes my side plate away as I’m eating bread.
  • “But I haven’t finished my bread yet!”
  • “Your main course will arrive shortly sir”
  • “I’m sure it will, but I’m still eating bread at the moment.  Can I have my plate back please?”
  • “No.”
  • Impatient Brit instead grabs plate from empty table nearby and plonks bread on it.
  • A different waiter serves for the remainder of the evening.

Our year in China – truly a year like no other – has left us with a like-minded group of friends, now scattered all over the globe. In some cases originally forced together through the necessity of seeking commonality in what still sometimes feels like a different planet, we know we have friends we will meet across the continents.

“They” say you should never go back. They have no idea.

 

October 7th ’13: (Inflatable) Starfish in the Seychelles

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SAM_2165Kazakhstan,  geographically and politically positioned halfway between China and the UK, seemed an unlikely location to meet up with Rachel, our friend from Shanghai with whom we’d experienced many a Chinese adventure.  So we settled on the Seychelles. Not halfway, but an equal pain in the arse for all of us to reach.

The guidebooks (well, TripAdvisor.com) refer to the Seychelles as perfect for those seeking the best beaches in the world.  ‘Best’, is of course subjective, with some visitors preferring near-shore coral, some seeking white sands to reflect the sun’s glare for that complete tan, or some demanding beautiful scenery for the perfect photography backdrop.  Our perfect beach was just outside our hotel in Mahe.  Three grown
adults, floating in the sea anchored to an inflatable starfish, drinking flavoured rum purchased from the nearby Regatta festival.

Probably the closest I’ve ever come to a ‘beach holiday’; we spent most of our time in the water. I doubt there are many places in the world where you can rent a car, go for a random drive and find so many completely deserted beaches.  In one location, we had a local takeaway meal on the beach before once more deploying the starfish.  A picturesque scene entirely for us until the old couple turned up and proceeded to get changed out on the beach.  White bottoms reflecting the sun beautifully.

View from Burj Khalifa - it's real, honest.

View from Burj Khalifa – it’s real, honest.

Before reaching the Seychelles,  Bron and I had the bright idea of spending a day in Dubai, since that’s where our connecting flight originated.  A bright idea until the 8am arrival time (6 hour flight from the UK = no real sleep) and the 2am next day departure started to take its toll.  Dubai is as I think we expected; sandy yet curiously clean; hot outdoors but freezing indoors; ostentatious yet reserved.  A curious mix of cultures and styles,  where the world’s tallest man-made structure allows visitors to clearly observe the Sim City approach to building all that lies beneath it.  We landed on a Friday, the Islamic day of prayer. I assume the locals choose their mosque early in life, as a churchgoer in the UK does likewise.  Otherwise the multitude of simultaneous calls to prayer from the minarets’ loudspeakers would cause a degree of cognitive (religious?) dissonance given the sheer number of mosques to choose from.

We met up with one of Bronwen’s old university friends in the evening, as you do whilst in Dubai, and explored one of Dubai’s few but densely populated drinking districts.

Waiting for us in the Seychelles was Rachel, having arrived a day earlier.  Very fortunate for us as for the first time in 2 days we had a bed to sleep on, sneaking into Rachel’s hotel room before checkout. I say sneak; Rachel’s ploy of giving us the wrong room number didn’t work as we had the foresight to check.

Apparently one of the most photographed beaches in the world (La Digue)

Apparently one of the most photographed beaches in the world (La Digue)

We spent our 8 nights in the Seychelles on three different islands; Mahe, La Digue and Praslin.  Mahe is like paradise,  if paradise were run by the most grumpy staff on the planet. A place where asking for a menu is met with silence and a 180 degree turn away from the customer.  A place where cocktails with missing ingredients are served without apology (“You want me to go all the way to the kitchen to find chocolate syrup for your chocolate cocktail”), and where requests for additional contents are met with “You want this?  You want this?  YOU WANT SOME OF THIS” (I’ve never before been so threatened by a bottle of Angostura Bitters).  A place where the local language is supposed to be Creole but turns out to be a series of sighs.  Our hotel had a casino but an attempt to gamble at 7.30pm was met with shouts of ‘We closed! We closed!”.  Another more helpful member of staff explained: “Sorry, he’s Korean”. Bizarrely, a local law (not hotel policy) decrees that men looking to gamble after 6pm must wear long trousers.  Our helpful member of staff explained: “It’s OK, 3/4 length trousers would be fine”.

As well as vampires, we discovered the Chinese only come out night.  With perhaps only a few exceptions, dusk on the beaches heralded the arrival of Chinese tourists, safe to enter the sea without exposing skin to the sun (since a tan on a Chinese person is considered a very bad thing in China).

After three nights in Mahe, we took a two-part ferry journey to La Digue, the smallest island of the three we were to visit.  An island so small that cars are rare and cycling around the whole island in a single day is possible (as we did).  A beautiful island, made all the better once our upgraded room had been awarded (long, protracted story, better explained by Rachel’s blog.

Our final three nights took us to the island of Praslin, home to some of  the world’s most photographed beaches.  With the current too strong to deploy the starfish, we headed out on a “private” day trip with 6 other people we think were also expecting a little more privacy.  From giant tortoises roaming free to fighting crabs that walk forwards, not sideways, Praslin and its smaller neighbouring islands gave us the opportunity to experience a little more of what the Seychelles really has to offer.  And with wonderfully warm and welcoming staff, Praslin definitely wins as the place to visit in the Seychelles.

On our last night we eschewed the bars and restaurants, instead settling for a few hours sat on the edge of our semi-private pool, finishing what was left of our snack food (Monster Munch gets everywhere) and our remaining rum.

The snorkeling wasn’t a patch on what Bron and I had experienced in the Philippines,  but we think the Seychelles wins for beaches, calm waters and local rum (and in Praslin – the people).  A fantastic 10 days away, and of course great to spend some time with Rachel, despite a few funny looks from the honeymooning couples.  Ben – that’s what happens when you have to work during Golden Week…

August 2nd: Olney

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Poor, neglected blog…
Bron and Tim waiting for the rafts to appear

Bron and Tim waiting for the rafts to appear

We’ve been back in the UK for just over 2 months now.  We no longer have to worry about melting in the Shanghai summer, with temperatures reaching 40 degrees Celsius  (although this particular British summer has somehow managed 30 degrees on a few occasions), crossing the road (pedestrians having right of way here) or cockroaches in the bed.  I do, however, have to worry about over-eating (a British calorific diet contributing to my commensurately expanding waistline in just a few weeks), expensive petrol and access to online shopping.  Despite the plethora of colourful, offer-rich, information-explosive shopping websites in China, being unable to read (and hence, transact) the Chinese sites is a pretty good deterrent to buying things you don’t actually need.

With Isaac and Chong on the beach at Bray

With Isaac and Chong on the beach at Bray

But we miss constantly being challenged with language barriers, we miss the never-ending flow of bizarre but unforgettable random encounters (from hot springs on mountaintops to karaoke swimming pools) and we miss the strange bunch of people that became our short-lived Shanghai family.  With regards to the latter, we’ve realised the world isn’t that small.  Marcel’s 6 week stint in the UK as part of his MBA gave us a great night out in Olney a few weeks ago (always good to introduce UK market town life to a South African), and we’ve been over to Ireland for the second part of Chong and Isaac’s wedding.  A meet-up with Rachel beckons later this year.

It hasn’t take us long to settle back into life here; from weddings and a plethora of beer festivals to the eccentricities of British life demonstrated by the annual Olney raft race (build a raft out of floating stuff, paddle it a few hundred metres down a slow moving river; dodging the over-enthusiastic crowd, some of whom have made it into the river) after the annual Olney rubber duck race.
Our visas expire in March 2014 – maybe there’s one more trip on the cards (got to use the airmiles somehow) before we finally put an end to our Chinese experience.

 

May 22nd: Pudong

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In Captain's Hostel near the Bund: Andrea, Rachel, Bron and me.

In Captain’s Hostel near the Bund: Andrea, Rachel, Bron and me.

Bron and Rachel on the Bund

Bron and Rachel on the Bund

In April last year, two fresh-faced, optimistic Brits boarded a plane to Shanghai in anticipation of a three-year move to China.  A little over a year later, we’re heading back in the opposite direction.

A few days after arriving last year, Bron and I headed for a pub quiz in a now-closed pub called the British Bulldog.  It was there that we met Rachel, a fresh-faced, optimistic American, herself having relatively recently arrived in the country.  Very fitting then, that we should spend our last night in China with Rachel; another of our close friends we’ve met over the last year that we will definitely remain in contact with.

Fitting also (because this is about me and Bron) that our last meal in China should be an Indian, cooked for us by Chong and Isaac’s Indian-cooking ayi.  An excellent, home-cooked curry; a shame we were never able to make more use of her culinary skills.

We followed the Indian meal with a last trip to the Bund, meeting up with Andrea and Rachel’s extra-special man friend, Ben.  A few last cocktails on the Bund (one with both baijiu – Chinese Rice Wine – and rum, tasting as bad as it sounds) to end our time in China.

Airport lounges are never the best place for me to write blogs, so I’ll end this one here.  I’ll add a few more once we’re back in the UK, and then, who knows…

China: goodbye [for now]…

May 20th: “I Love You” Day

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Dancing with the staff

Dancing with the staff

Being serenaded by dancing staff is fine; being serenaded and then asked to join in with the dancing is less so.  For probably our last meal in a Chinese restaurant, Bron and I met up with Anny in one of the branches of the Haidilao Hot Pot* restaurant chain on Monday evening.  Towards the end of our meal, Anny was approached by one of the waitresses asking if they could perform a dance routine for us.  The explanation was a little tenuous: the Chinese for “I love you” is “Wo ai ni” (pronounced “woah I knee”).  The date for our meal was May 20th, which in Chinese is “Wu er ling”.  Apparently they sound sufficiently similar to warrant declaring it “I love you” day, and hence a strange need to serenade foreigners.  We weren’t complaining though…

Until we were asked to join in that is, performing a dance routine in the middle of a restaurant.  A couple of other Chinese diners joined in to help us, somewhat less embarrassed than us.

Yet again, another memorable night – but dancing in a restaurant is something I won’t be looking to repeat any time soon.

Farewell to Anny...

Farewell to Anny…

A sad farewell to Anny then – a close friend who we will sorely miss.

*A Hot Pot restaurant is one in which diners choose a type of soup (or soups) and then cook raw ingredients in it at the table.  It’s one of my favourite styles of Chinese food – we need more of these in the UK.