Ghost Notes from Shanghai

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Our flight path to Shanghai took us over Japan. As we flew over, the flight map indicated we were crossing just north of Fukushima. In that moment, the whole world felt like a village, and everything everywhere felt like a local event. No matter how often I go through this compression of time and space it still feels like the Twilight Zone: leave SFO in the late afternoon, watch a few movie reruns, eat a couple of crappy meals, awake from a vaguely uncomfortable nap, and step off the plane in China. I know people do this all the time, but it still leaves me feeling ghostly.

What a difference between China and India. They both have extremely modern airports, but in China it feels established and well used, in India it felt like it had just been unwrapped and they hadn’t installed the batteries yet. Going through customs is extremely quick and efficient, no lines, but I keeping thinking the airport smells a little like crispy noodles. Walking into the main reception area there is the usual mob of waiting people behind the metal barrier. I scan the endless signs looking for my name. Towards the end of the line I see a guy in a pink oxford shirt and designer jeans holding a placard that says, "Barry Flicker." I smile and point to myself. He smiles back and indicates where I should go to meet him on the other side of the barrier. We meet, and he says something that sounds like "bags." He takes them, indicates for me to follow, and that is the last word we exchange for the rest of the trip. We get into a brand new Audi. There is no radio, no music. That's fine, but so different from India.

Leaving the airport I see that every few feet, they have spotlights illuminating the outer walls of their elevated freeways making them look like ribbons of light floating in the evening fog.

It's a very lovely effect, and very futuristic, but it ends not far outside the airport perimeter. From that point on I could be driving into any metropolitan area back home. The freeways are wide, well lit, and very new. The cars are big, and boast the same mix as on any US interstate. But then, every once and awhile, a building comes looming out of the fog in extravagant Chinese neon, so that the freeway landscape looks like rows of typical Queens apartment blocks punctuated every once in awhile by Grumman's Chinese Theatre.

The hotel is interesting. There's a shot of the lobby below. I pulled it off the net, but the Google Menus are all in Chinese so I had to guess which one got me to the graphics. You can see that it's quite slick and very post modern, but then they have all the bell hops wearing those little round pill box hats from the 40's. It's a very funny juxtaposition. As I'm checking in I notice that the black marble wall behind the counter seems to be illuminated by beautiful little colored lights from behind, which is crazy because it's solid rock. The stone is ribboned in stripes of matte and polished bands. They have high intensity pin spots shining on the wall so that the polished bands reflect the colored light as if they were shining through the matte stripes from behind, making the rock appear translucent. It's a very pretty design effect, a beautiful attention to detail.

But then I look down at the surface supporting the computer on which the clerk is checking me in, and I see that the bamboo veneer in many places is worn through to the particleboard underneath. When she grabs one of the little cardboard folders in which to insert my electronic room key I see that they are stored in a corroded block of dirty white Styrofoam, like something you'd pick up when cleaning garbage off the beach. It made me feel like I was checking into a Hollywood set, an elaborate facade with nothing behind it. I think that’s what I mean by ghostly; I feel a little like a Hollywood set myself.

One thing that seems to be universal whether in China, India or the US is that the first electronic room key they give you rarely works. What's different is that back home you have to schlep back downstairs and correct the problem yourself. In Asia they do it for you with effusive apologies. I may be a ghost, but I will not be ignored.

Monday, June 25^th

I wake up at about 9:15am to a gray day.  Getting undressed to take a shower I notice, while hanging my robe back in the closet, that on the upper shelf, highlighted by soft bottom lighting, are two bright red plastic boxes, about the size of kid’s lunch pails, with a picture of a spaceman wearing a silver Mylar helmet against a cartoon background of the city in flames. I can’t imagine what these are doing in a business hotel, but am fascinated to see what’s inside: toys, candy? I take one down, and attempt to open it, but am stopped by a green and silver foil safety seal. Reluctant to incur some unnecessary hotel charge I inspect the box more carefully before breaking the seal. It is covered with Chinese characters. I feel like Howard Carter unsealing Tut’s tomb. 

Then, on one side of the box, I find the English instructions entitled: XHZLC40 FIRE ESCAPE MASK.

At first this seems like the hotel has made an extra special effort on behalf my safety, as I have never seen anything like this in any hotel I have ever stayed at. Then another less comforting thought occurs to me, and I quickly glance at the ceiling. Instead of going to the unnecessary expense of installing smoke detectors and automatic sprinklers they have apparently come up with this clever cost saver: Halloween masks.

I get in the shower. I pull up the single handled control and turn it all the way to the left. After several minutes getting nothing but cold water I try turning it all the way to the right: cold, cold, cold, cool, and finally warm approaching hot. Even this small success makes me happy. I take a long shower, one of my great pleasures in life, but feel mildly disappointed that the water feels like it’s being heated by candles. I push down on the handle to shut of the water, and it goes crashing to the floor. Oops, somebody forgot to tighten the setscrew. Sometimes this all feels so absurd I wonder if there are hidden cameras, and I’m going to wind up on some Chinese versions of Candid Camera.

The Dragon Inn

Wednesday: June 27, 2012

After three days of eating breakfasts and dinners at the adequate hotel restaurant I decide that tonight I will venture forth and attempt to eat some real Chinese food. It’s rained most of the day, and now the evening air is balmy and moist. Next door to my hotel there is something like a mall. The complex seems to be built around three basic businesses: banks, massage parlors, and restaurants. I stroll past the big glass windows watching the diners at their tables. I am looking for appealing dishes, and more importantly, a menu with pictures, as nothing but the restaurant names seem to come with an English translation. The Dragon Inn looks like it will do as I can see the menu comes with big color photos just like at Denny’s. Probably not a ringing endorsement for the food, but it gets me past my terror. I walk in, am escorted to a table, and am handed the picture book menu.

“Would you like something to drink?” the young waitress asks in perfect English. This looks like it will be easier than I thought.

I begin perusing the menu, and discover that it too has English subtitles, and a good thing too. I would never have guessed by just looking at the pictures what the hell I was ordering. Here’s a sample of my possible choices: Chicken Gizzards in Chili Sauce, Seasoned Fungus (thank God it’s seasoned!), Cold Lotus Roots with Vinegar & Sugar, Steamed Fish Head with Diced Hot Red Pepper, Super-fine Noodles in a Slightly Gelatinous Soup with Pork Intestines (unfortunately I don’t eat red meat,) Steamed Pork Blood in Cubes, and finally, Assorted Chicken Innards Soup. I am not making this up!

I decide to go with a plate of snow peas and mushrooms with a bowl of white rice. The food turns out to be great. The snow peas are wonderfully crisp, the mushrooms firm, and all of it delicately flavored in a very light Chinese sauce. Having ordered successfully, I now feel added pride in my deft handling of the chopsticks.

My growing confidence suffers a severe setback however when I look at the check. I have no idea what it says. I put down 100rmb assuming that it will be more than enough to cover the tab, and figure I will learn what the meal cost when she brings me my change. The waitress comes by, picks up the check and my money, smiles and disappears. She is gone for a long time. Maybe she thinks that was her tip? I’m too embarrassed to ask. Finally, I decide the hell with it, and am getting ready to leave when she returns with the change. The meal cost 22rmb. I leave her 5rmb tip. My big Shanghai night on the town has cost me about $4.50. Proud and happy I head back to the hotel. That was enough excitement for one night.

Sympathy for the Dragon

Sorry if I’m going overboard with these posts, but I’ve been here for five days now, have no one to talk to, and really nothing to do, it’s like being under house arrest, so I do this. I just keep reminding myself that it’s email, and if you’ve had more than enough you can just delete. Oh, God, please don’t delete me.

Anyway, in the shower this morning I got to thinking about last night’s menu. I felt so vulnerable and anxious about the outing that I really didn’t have much capacity for self-reflection, and when I started reading those gross food descriptions my self-protecting judgments just kicked in: “My God, I can’t believe people even eat this stuff much less put it on a restaurant menu!” But suppose instead of “Seasoned Fungus” it said: “Mushrooms in Butter” or “Truffles in a compliment of wild-crafted herbs?” Or if the “Slightly Gelatinous Soup with Pork Intestines” had been called a “lightly thickened consume’ with seasoned Italian sausage?” How lucky I would have felt to have stumbled upon such tasteful and elegant cuisine right here in Shanghai.

Judge not lest ye be judged. I’m working on it.

Chinese Bagels:  Saturday 6/30/12

Perhaps this photo will help you understand how vast the gulf is that we are trying to bridge across the cultural divide. What you are looking at is a stack of dinner rolls covered in sesame seeds. They have been shoved onto a wooden stake, which pokes a whole in their center. To the Chinese this now makes them bagels. Oy vey!