It was a rare opportunity and despite the many trips to Makati to get the visa and the cost, the four day trip I took to Shanghai was worth any inconvenience. We left on a Wednesday afternoon and arrived to a very cold city. My layers didn't come close to keeping me warm when we hailed a taxi from the airport and gave directions with a printed sheet from our hotel.
Speaking of the hotel... Holy 5 stars, this Marriott was far from everything except luxury. The bathroom had a glassed in shower that could look out over the city if I hadn't steamed it up every time with gallons of hot water sluicing from the massive rain-shower head. I skipped a few meals too, after multiple trips through the breakfast buffet that included fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice, a cheese bar, fruit smoothies the consistency of clouds, a cereal bar, dumplings, a noodle bar, and more traditional options of breads/pastries, baked beans, ham, omlettes, french toast, waffles with four types of butter, and on and on and on....
the view
The unused tub....
fishbowl steamer
fishbowl
Our first day was spent obtaining SIM cards for our phones, including a data plan for Aaron's phone for WeChat contacts with our friend Carrie who lives in Shanghai. We started our trip in a taxi to the nearest Metro station 2.5 miles away from the hotel. The Shanghai metro has no less than 10 lines, all underground, all fairly inexpensive, and one of the nicest metro systems I've used. Clean, simple, not too crowded on most lines/stops, and it takes you all over the city. Manila, I hope you're taking notes...
We headed all of the way across town to the small, old city of Qibao ("Chi-bow"). Bundled up in multiple layers, we wandered the large shopping streets, tiny shopping alleys, and offshoots for hours as the cold sun crept it's way down crumbling whitewashed walls. The street food was fabulous, varied, and sometimes still wore a face. The air was thick with the smells of stinky tofu, 5 spice, soup, and the igloos crammed with quail eggs curing. The little streets off of the main street held the most interest for Aaron and I. It was here we discovered flower teas, received a lively talking to from an older woman who spoke no English and had a lot to say, observed the many objects that had been set out into the wan sunlight (underware, sausage, and mops), found the largest cabbage we'd ever seen, and passed shivering ducks and chickens moments from being the pile of feathers and offal in the plastic bin next to them.
Aaron spotted a teahouse filled with old men smoking over tiny teapots and little steaming cups. We checked it out. Through the back was a tiny courtyard and beyond that we could see there was a theater open to the chilled air, filled with an older crowd drowsing over their red fingers threaded around hot cups of tea while two performers sang and spoke a story. We immediately bought two tickets, located teapots and cups, and tucked ourselves into a table with a few other men to watch and listen. I copied the men around me, warming my frigid fingers on the teapot, and watched a master storyteller at his craft. The man told the story without pause, using lovely gestures, his voice a sing-song crooning at times and harsh at others. At his side, a woman sat in a silk dress and daubed at her red nose occasionally with a hankie. Under her dress was a thick layer of stockings and she didn't shiver the whole time we watched, although I didn't see much more insulation on her.
An old man stood in the crowd and pointed and grinned a two-tooth grin at the foreigners who had wandered in. We were also visited a few times by the singular English-speakers in the room telling us what was happening in the story and asking questions about where we came from. Eventually we left and met up with Carrie who was currently entertaining two of her co-workers from Manila that had to fly home in a few hours. We wandered the now-familiar tiny streets together shopping and talking until we took a hair-raising bus ride back to Carrie's work. The driver pretty much laid on the horn the whole time and worked those brakes like he was pumping water from a rusty well, overtaking cars, pedestrians, and other buses with an attitude of entitlement that rivals an ambulance.
I passed out at Carrie's work, having found a chair in a warm room, unconsciousness found me. There was a ride to a metro station, a train, a stop, and more walking, until we arrived at a scotch bar in the French Concession neighborhood of Shanghai. This hood is huge, tree-lined roads and French architecture interspersed with hi-end shopping/dining. Aaron had a scotch and I ordered a coke and lime, belatedly realizing that my peso conversion was really far off from yuan to dollar. My alcohol-free drink was a tidy $10 US! Carrie introduced us to her group of 20-something friends, all of them spoke very good English, and we enjoyed their company until we couldn't stay awake any longer and begged out to catch the metro, a taxi, and pass out in one of the most comfortable beds created by man.