Shanghai sideways
the journal of Michael Werneburg
twenty-seven years and one million words
We survived our motorcycle tour of Shanghai!
Not only survived it, but really delighted in it. Our guide Kewen is one of the founders of the company, and he told us with pride that yesterday was his company's first anniversary. He says that life as a motorcycle tour operator is a lot better than his old life as a marketing consultant, and I can believe it. We simply had a great time.
I won't go into all of the details but to say that when we set off on our own this afternoon, we found to our surprise that not only did we feel comfortable navigating the city but that we felt comfortable period. It was like we'd been here for days. Having walked the slums* and chic artsy areas in a single morning does that, I suppose, and blasting through everything in between in the open air really helps. As does getting to markets that aren't on the tourists maps, and roof-top vistas only available to people who know the guards at the old post office.
We might have been the only ones in the city wearing helmets. And given the maniac driving we saw at every pass, our guide may have been the only one on the streets today driving unassisted by voices or drug visions or an insistant bowel. It was still a great time. In every way superior to one of a tepid bus tour, and certainly better than trying to do even 1/4 of it on our own.
I could see myself getting used to the two-wheel motor lifestyle once I'm too old—and infirm of knees?—for cycling. Of course by then petroleum will be so expensive that everyone will be back on bikes. Rats.
Afterward, we spent the afternoon farting about on our own. Our luck last night in finding a good restaurant deserted us with our choice this afternoon, but we wound up spending an hour chatting with people in the park. It started with The Boy, of course.
Everywhere we went, The Boy attracts a lot of attention. In the warren of the old city, he was called "adorable" by grinning grannies. In the chic art lofts area people took his photo as sat on my shoulders. In the park, wiry men paused in their tai chi exercises to point and smile. Something tells me that if this keeps up, he's going to wind up with an odd self-image. But for now I'll milk it to take photos of people who've stopped to admire him.
We're back at the hotel early, and are planning our assault of the city and surrounds for the next two days. Tomorrow we're hoping to introduce The Boy to a panda at the zoo.
*There are such things in this world as used refridgerator markets. There are places where you can buy used screws and nails. In the ramshackle old town we found advertisements for tradesmen spraypainted on the walls with stencils. And toilets that were little more than clap-board add-ons to existing houses built out into the street—with outlet tubes feeding into the gutter.