Shanghai Part 1: A Remembrance of things Fast, Warhol in China, Nubile Tea-Temptresses
On the plane from Dubai to Shanghai I brace myself for the big red dragon which will soon engulf me with its multifarious wings. I land in Shanghai early in the morning and take the Maglev (magnetic levitation transport) which is the fastest train in the world. It travels at 1/3 the speed of sound (around 430 km/h) and runs from the airport every hour. The Maglev is a great symbol for everything Shanghai: addicted to speed, relatively new (Shanghai was a fishing village up until the mid-19th century), invented by the west (the Germans built the maglev, the British, French and Japanese built Shanghai), a little detached from reality (the maglev floats half an inch above the track. Shanghai soars above the rest of China like a bejeweled Phoenix) but ultimately efficient. After gliding through the city in less than 8 minutes I check into an international hostel and am ready to tame the dragon.
When you are in new places, certain aspects of the foreign seem drearily familiar; but the happy surprise of traveling is that the familiar can seem wondrously exotic. As I walk aimlessly through the Peoples Square, I see a sign outside the Shanghai museum that says “Art in America: three hundred years of innovation." I am curious and so I wonder in. While the museum is replete with Chinese ceramics, bronze art and calligraphy I am irrationally drawn to the American exhibit. I spend over an hour learning about American art from colonial portraits commemorating wealthy landowners to gilded age visions of the good life to the social realism of the great depression to the glorified kitsch of pop art! I see a Andy Warhol, for the first time in China!
After a fulfilling afternoon at the museum, I walk towards Nanjing Donglu (the glitziest part of town). I notice two Chinese girls following me. They giggle and wink flirtatiously from afar. I smile back politely. Having captured my attention one of them walks up to me and says “Hi my name is Diana, I am student from Xian and my friend and I want to practice our English because we want to go America.” Learning English to go abroad is an admirable goal, I think and so we begin to chat and walk towards the Bund. They ask many questions about my life in America and tell me all about what it means to be a young student from Xian. One of them strokes my face and says “you look so handsome, you look tom cruise, we want to show you real authentic tea ceremony because we like you so much.” My fragile male ego is inflated. I accept their offer and find myself in a sketchy looking bar where a pot of tea is being served unceremoniously. As time passes, they get more “tactile” and I realize that something is not right with the whole affair. I ask for the bill. The man serving me, accompanied by two thuggish looking men stand around my table and asks me to pay 3000 yuan!!!! I am shocked. I begin to explain to them that this amount is preposterous. The “students from Xian” who are, up to this point, demure, coy and flirtatious transform into cold-blooded killers. They stand up and scream at me in Chinese and broken English telling the thugs that I have touched them (untrue) and I need to pay for their “service.” I decide to make a scene and scream back at them. Everyone is shouting and suddenly the king-pin of the place sees a group of six white guys (his future customers) at the entrance with three girls (also “students from Xian”) and realizes that the scene I am making might dissuade the guys from entering his joint. I seize the moment, place a hundred Yuan note in his hand and barged past the thugs and the unsuspecting white guys dramatically into the night. Fortunately no one follows me. I rush back to my hotel room and spend the rest of the evening watching Michael Jackson videos in the lobby with a curious collection of international travelers.
As I recap the days madness: Supersonic trains, american art 101, the ‘joy’ ride of the unceremonious tea ceremony, I think that the red dragon hath become a Jungian Ouroboros, engulfing me and its own tail in one big thunderclap!
When you are in new places, certain aspects of the foreign seem drearily familiar; but the happy surprise of traveling is that the familiar can seem wondrously exotic. As I walk aimlessly through the Peoples Square, I see a sign outside the Shanghai museum that says “Art in America: three hundred years of innovation." I am curious and so I wonder in. While the museum is replete with Chinese ceramics, bronze art and calligraphy I am irrationally drawn to the American exhibit. I spend over an hour learning about American art from colonial portraits commemorating wealthy landowners to gilded age visions of the good life to the social realism of the great depression to the glorified kitsch of pop art! I see a Andy Warhol, for the first time in China!
After a fulfilling afternoon at the museum, I walk towards Nanjing Donglu (the glitziest part of town). I notice two Chinese girls following me. They giggle and wink flirtatiously from afar. I smile back politely. Having captured my attention one of them walks up to me and says “Hi my name is Diana, I am student from Xian and my friend and I want to practice our English because we want to go America.” Learning English to go abroad is an admirable goal, I think and so we begin to chat and walk towards the Bund. They ask many questions about my life in America and tell me all about what it means to be a young student from Xian. One of them strokes my face and says “you look so handsome, you look tom cruise, we want to show you real authentic tea ceremony because we like you so much.” My fragile male ego is inflated. I accept their offer and find myself in a sketchy looking bar where a pot of tea is being served unceremoniously. As time passes, they get more “tactile” and I realize that something is not right with the whole affair. I ask for the bill. The man serving me, accompanied by two thuggish looking men stand around my table and asks me to pay 3000 yuan!!!! I am shocked. I begin to explain to them that this amount is preposterous. The “students from Xian” who are, up to this point, demure, coy and flirtatious transform into cold-blooded killers. They stand up and scream at me in Chinese and broken English telling the thugs that I have touched them (untrue) and I need to pay for their “service.” I decide to make a scene and scream back at them. Everyone is shouting and suddenly the king-pin of the place sees a group of six white guys (his future customers) at the entrance with three girls (also “students from Xian”) and realizes that the scene I am making might dissuade the guys from entering his joint. I seize the moment, place a hundred Yuan note in his hand and barged past the thugs and the unsuspecting white guys dramatically into the night. Fortunately no one follows me. I rush back to my hotel room and spend the rest of the evening watching Michael Jackson videos in the lobby with a curious collection of international travelers.
As I recap the days madness: Supersonic trains, american art 101, the ‘joy’ ride of the unceremonious tea ceremony, I think that the red dragon hath become a Jungian Ouroboros, engulfing me and its own tail in one big thunderclap!
No comments:
Post a Comment