An American expat friend of mine invited me to tag along as she and some of her co-workers were shown the “real Shanghai.” We went on a rooftop garden and down back allies. We definitely saw a side of Shanghai quite different from the high-end shops and comfortable restaurants that abounded in the area of the Xuhui district I lived. The dilapidated and close-quartered housing with clothing hanging from lines strung up between windows was a long way from the Jiaotong University campus and the nearby shopping center my friends and I called the “Ball Mall.”
We explored a street market that was no longer on the street. It had to relocate indoors due to new regulations. One step inside, and I understood immediately. There were tables spread out everywhere in a garage-like building spanning too floors. How did it ever fit out on the streets? There were endless fruits and vegetables and horse-feed sized bags of rice and beans. There were also endless living sea creatures. There were eels, fish, crabs, and I think even turtles, all of them alive.
“Have you seen live eels before?” My expression confused the tour guide, who was a young college student.
“No,” I replied. “Americans usually buy their food already dead.”
That should have been a warning sign because next we reached the poultry. There were cages of living ducks and chicken ready to be killed to order. This stand was a full-service one; they even de-feathered and cut up the bird for you. I made a speedy getaway when I saw a Chinese woman point to a particularly plump hen and walk away. I was not eager to see that particular order filled.
Our little group then headed back into the streets and began walking down the ally behind housing structures. The buildings looked like they had never been painted. Clothing was out over lines, poles, or rafters between buildings, basically anything high enough off the ground. The worn color-less appearance and the narrow street probably made the buildings look shabbier than they really were.
They were the standard run-down rectangular structures we had seen a few other times during our tour. Their familiar nature made any oddities or deviations especially noticeable. Surprisingly, there were quite a few. We passed a couple of old women sitting outside a little open area near one of the buildings. At first I assumed they were simply enjoying each other’s company and perhaps people-watching. When we got closer, however, I noticed a store-quality ice-cream bar freezer. This little area was actually a small store. I couldn’t believe that these two women had set-up shop in the middle of an ally. Was it their home and they were just using the space to make extra money? Did they actually get many customers?
The next strange thing I saw was a bright blue conglomeration of pipes. The blue was especially stunning against the lack-luster surroundings. I could only tell what it was because I had seen one like it earlier that day. It was an outdoor exercise machine. These machines don’t require any electricity or fancy mechanical devices. They were of toy-like quality.
Actually, they were of the same type of piping used for monkey bars, sailor’s wheels, and other accessories vital to childish games of pretend. Instead of making up playgrounds, these contraptions could be found in public exercises parks like the one I had seen. This particular one, however, had somehow wound up fastened to the side of an alleyway street, not appearing to get much use.
I kept walking, wondering what interesting sights I might witness. As we continued, a teenage girl passed us. She was chatting on a cell phone and wearing tight jeans and a fitted t-shirt. I don’t know why the sight of her surprised me so much. I suppose my surroundings had tricked me into believing that technology had yet to reach this corner of Shanghai. Or maybe I wrongly assumed that a street’s outward appearance was an accurate indicator of the type of people who lived there.
We reached our target street. There we met the man whose house we would be visiting. As we made our way down the road we were stopped by the man’s neighbor. This was one person who definitely fit the surroundings. His clothing was ripped and worn. He invited us into his little dingy room. With our host’s approval we filed in, curious to see what this man had to show us. Inside the room was empty except for a few chairs and the man’s prized possession—a mechanized mahjong table.
It was pristine and high-tech. It reminded me of Americans and their cars or electronic toys. Regardless of fortune, certain Americans will just splurge on the fancy cars or high-tech gadgets. It didn’t matter what food you ate or the quality of bed you slept in as long as you appeared well-off. This overly showy and needlessly automatic gaming table was this man’s Ferrari; it was his point of pride and prestige. This was clearly evident in how he insisted that us Western strangers come see it and even invited us to come back later for a game.
The man who would be our host for lunch was much less showy. He was older and very humble. His small dwelling was on the second floor of a building. It was cluttered. A cabinet was full of a hodge-podge of different items. One item in particular stood out. It was a portrait leaning against the wall of our host, considerably younger.
We crowded around the small table and waited as our host showed us the proper method of putting meat into the round circles of dough to created dumplings. We laughed as we pinched the dough to no avail, overstuffed the circles, or created deformed blobs instead of the properly pinched half-moons.
The old man smiled good-naturedly then shuffled off to cook our first set of dumplings. The stove and sink were located in what at first glance appeared to merely be a small hallway. He periodically returned to our table with some item he had cooked for us. There were shrimp and vegetables. Soon our dumplings also arrived at the table.
When our appetite began to slacken, our host was concerned. Through the translations of our tour guide he insisted we eat more and tried to make sure we enjoyed everything. He wanted to make sure we got well more than our fill.
I couldn’t eat any more, but I didn’t want to offend. So, I turned to the man and said, “dou hen hao chi.” This simple complement, the best I could articulate, did wonders. By the way the man’s face lit up, you would think it was the highest of praise. Perhaps the use of his native tongue added weight to my words.
Due to the time, we reluctantly parted this man’s company. We had all thoroughly enjoyed our meal in this modest home. After leaving, we left the back allies, arriving on a bigger road. The beauty of this waterfront street provided a sharp contrast to the roads we had just left. The picturesque quality of the water with tall buildings and an arched bridge in the background was unmistakable. Bright flowers jutting into the scene added whimsy and color that I couldn’t help but stop to admire. It was the kind of spot that the idle tourist would love and that city tour books would provide pictures of. For me, however, this spot was merely the face of the cities. The allies and the people I had just left was the heart.
Our little band of explorers parted ways once we reached the art gallery district. The expats were headed back to Pudong. Pudong was the newer section of Shanghai, full of office buildings, high rises, and Westerners. It was as far away from the “real Shanghai” we saw today as you could get. When they headed off by cab, the tour guide and I began walking to the subway stations; we were both Puxi dwellers, living west of the river.
We walked slowly; weary from a full day on-foot. I preferred to casually chat with the tour guide, who was near my own age, and take in the surroundings still so foreign to me. As was typical in Shanghai, we saw a lot of construction. Shanghai was rushing to get ready for the World Expo that would be held there the coming summer. The inconvenience of an entire city under construction was a small price to pay for perfection when visitors from across the globe would be pouring in.
We passed a group of construction workers. There was nothing particularly noticeable about this bunch. They were scruffy guys in dirty outfits, a common sight. They, however, instantly noticed me. They called after me in Mandarin. I didn’t need to understand the words to recognize them as the stereotypical construction worker cat-calls. The tour guide went to talk to them, answering a question I had not understood. The construction men laughed in response to whatever answer the tour guide had given them.
She rejoined me and explained the exchange. “They wanted to know where you were from that your skin was so pale.”
“Oh! I’m a redhead, that’s why I’m pale.”
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