Just flew back from a 3-week trip to the US. I was on my way to Bangkok, but my flight to Shanghai was 4 hours late so I missed my connection. Disembarking at Shanghai an airline official rallied the stranded passengers, told us we’d be staying in a local hotel, and labeled us with stickers. I presume that this was to prevent us from getting lost. I wondered if I needed a visa, but I didn’t bother to ask and just went up to immigration. Phone calls were made, a number of other officials appeared, and my passport closely was inspected. After some argument among the officials it was stamped and I was waved on. I later found out that I was supposed to have a visa, and a pricey one at that – $135.

The hotel was basic, but clean, and I shared a room with a Professor called Rob from New York. He specialized in computer hacking…or preventing it. He said it was all much the same. He was getting a connection to some other part of China where he was visiting his girlfriend. It wasn’t Beijing, so I had no clue as to where it was, but I nodded in a knowing kind of way. We went to eat at a food stand nearby. In figuring out what kind of meat was on the sate sticks I followed Rob’s lead and made animal noises and exaggerated gestures. We both got blank looks so we just picked randomly. Whatever it was, it was good.

Next morning, the other passengers had left for early flights, but I had the whole day in Shanghai to wait for my plane. I had breakfast in the hotel’s rotating restaurant high above the Shanghai skyline. Unfortunately no one hit the rotate switch. I had the feeling that a rotating restaurant looked good on paper, but probably very annoying in practice. In addition to various Chinese breads, noodle and rice dishes, numerous eggs were on offer. It made me wonder why the hen gained such a monopoly on the edible egg market in the west. Maybe there’s a book in that, “Eggs: A History of the World”.

A friend of mine told me a few places to visit in Shanghai so I got them scribbled down in Chinese by a guy at the front desk, in case I needed to get a taxi. He seemed to have trouble with the word ‘temple’, though I presume there is a word for temple in Chinese.

I wandered around the local area a bit. It was a built up area, but very clean with lots of people on push-bikes and pavements you can actually walk along. (In Indonesia a combination of tropical weather, exhaust fumes, non-existent pavements, or pavements with wide gaping holes leading straight down into a sewer make it a challenge to walk.)

By chance I came across a subway/metro line. Large groups congregated around the ticket machines in a bit of a frenzy to get tickets and there appeared to be a bit of confusion over the myriad of subway lines. With it all in Chinese, I decided that I’d just get a cab. Exiting the subway, a stocky guy on a huge fuck-off motorbike beckoned me. A trip across town on the back of a bike seemed like a good thing to do so I showed him my translated destination. Hunched over his beast of a machine he looked up at me puzzled, grinned, and told me to fuck-off back down into the subway…or at least from his intonation, that’s what it appeared he was saying.

I took his advice, fought my way though the crowds, and with a bit of help from a few school kids, got a ticket for somewhere that sounded vaguely close to my destination. Past the metal detectors, through the styles, and with the help of a couple of old people, who gently waved me in the right direction with brightly colored flags, I found, and boarded a train. The train seemed brand new and was barely full. I was disappointed. I had been hoping and expecting it to be packed and needing the services of some guy with a big stick who would push me headlong into a sweating heaving train. After a few stops a uniformed guy came through the train shouting on an abnormally large megaphone. Everyone got off the train. I quickly followed suit. Never ever mess with a guy with a whistle, or a megaphone. We all boarded another train across the platform. At the next stop a big crowd raced into the carriage. The quick and nimble dashed forward, and with a few jumps and shimmies, they dived for the remaining seats.

I arrived in one of the busy shopping districts and walked up and down a wide pedestrian walkway. Modern skyscrapers loomed overhead and department stores opened out onto the expansive walkway. Tuesday morning and they were busy. As I wandered various astute touts who noticed that I was the type who lived to shop approached me with “Shopping, Shopping, DVD, T-shirt, Bags, iPhone, Socks, Watch, Watch, You Want Watch”.

I did a bit more walking down the promenade by the river and took photos of people taking photos until it was lunchtime. In a restaurant down one of the side streets, I stopped for lunch, ordering some meat dish, a few pork dumplings, and a pot of tea. You must have tea in China I thought. The restaurant was packed with large groups sitting around more than a dozen tables, all sharing numerous dishes that rotated in the center of the tables. This must be where the rotating restaurant idea came from. I soon noticed that I was not only the only one sitting at a single table, but I was the only one drinking tea. Everyone else was drinking beer, except for a few old dudes next to me who were tucking into a bottle of vodka with their noodles. Later I found out that tea was twice the price of beer. (Even later, at the airport, I notice that bottled water was twice the price of bottled tea – it really is another world.)

A large bowl of meat in a spicy soup soon arrived and I tucked in. After a few mouthfuls the waitress returned and looked a bid distressed. She took back my meat soup “No, no, no…no order this’. Everyone in the restaurant looked on with quizzical looks. I wasn’t quite sure if I wasn’t allowed to order that dish, or if there was some mix up in the order, but soon another meat dish was delivered. It was just as good, so I went along with it.

Another train ride and a visit to a temple made me feel like I had attained a deeper understanding of Buddhism in China…or was it Confucianism…anyway, it was cultural and I felt like a proper tourist, doing the things that proper tourists do. Across the road I had a coffee next to a park. In that awkward, self-conscious, ‘I just arrived in a new country’ -way I said thank you in Chinese. I think it sounded more like a stutter, but I felt like I was beginning to blend in. A return journey, a quick nap, a trip to the airport, more phone calls and officials arguing about me at immigration, and I was on my way to Bangkok.

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