I paid homage to the town god. I literally paid. There were others who paid and prayed. I felt inclined to laugh at them, but then I recalled that there was a chance they were actually Taoists. The town god’s red face was pretty amusing too. He looked like he had been suffering a thousand years of gastrointestinal problems. As I left, I felt truly cheated, but that feeling passed and was replaced by hunger. I walked around some alleyways outside of the bazaar. I got a 5 Yuan meal that was quite filling. I watched some Chinese order and watched what they paid and just did my best to imitate what they did. By and far the cheapest meal I have had yet. I haven’t been able to find food for less than 25 Yuan other than street food. Street food is surprisingly rare, but I digress. As I reentered the bazaar, there seemed to be people crowding around one particular area of the bazaar, so I ventured that way. Hundreds of people were massed on the docks. I pushed through the awful crowd -- a genuine, traditional Asian activity that I truly do not care for -- to see what everyone was ogling. All I could see were some stupid plastic floats -- like a cheap Mardi Gras. However, everyone seemed to be drawn here, so I continued.
Then… it was just over. I stood on the other end wondering what just happened. Why did I just expend my energy to fight through a mass of people, just to see something so banal and infantile? I almost wanted to go back and take another look, but it wasn’t worth the war against the crowd. I continued and went into the gardens. The Yuyuan Gardens were amazingly serene. I kept imagining myself drinking tea and writing (on paper) in the dozens of crevices.
There were pavilions, gazebos, and huts, as well as many enclaves hidden away by rocks or trees. Every picture I took seemed abysmally non-representative. I would see something so beautiful and take a picture, only to find that the picture properly captured one layer of perhaps three. The atmosphere was so surreal and the contrasts were so strong between the dark buildings' insides, the bright skies, and the well-lit roofs. It was certainly a time that I wish I had more knowledge of cameras and a better comprehension of HDR.
I really wasn’t able to get much else done that day. I asked my roommates where I could go shopping and they immediately replied in unison, “The fake market!” I had to know more, so I listened of the underground market at the Science and Technology Museum metro station.
The next day I started with great conviction. I was determined to see the French Concession. Shanghai’s identity is inseparable from its colonial history. The reason that cities like Shanghai and Hong Kong are so westernized today (and perhaps the reason the entire country is so un-westernized) is because they were partitioned by European powers hundreds of years ago (generating a proletariat and anti-foreign sentiment). Europe took parts of the country and split it among themselves. A popularized tale of Huangpu Park builds anti-foreign sentiment -- yet represents the colonial atmosphere -- telling of a sign that says “No dogs or Chinese allowed.” While the sign didn't exist, regulations existed barring dogs and bicycles and one stated that the park was for the use of the foreign community. The French Concession is the heart of fashion and high-art for Shanghai. Walking down the streets, I certainly got this feeling. However, there are few -- almost no -- foreigners here now. The patrons of these design and art elements are almost exclusively Chinese. That being said, the presence and influence of the Europeans can still be felt in the architecture (among the other cosmopolitan aspects of Shanghai). Most buildings are historically protected because they are in Spanish and French styles. The streets are very nice. Trees separate the sidewalk from the street. Houses are pushed back from the street and almost all are gated. I’m getting ahead of myself.
The first place I visited was the site of the first national congress of the Chinese Communist Party, held at 76 Xingye Road in Shanghai on July 23, 1921. Here 13 members met and discussed the future of China. The museum was filled mostly with Chinese literature, pamphlets, and declarations. It also detailed the lives of the 13 members -- most of whom defected, left the party, and were executed shortly after the formation of the party. One obvious exception was Mao Zedong. The exhibit was eye-opening, as Shanghai seems to stray from any ideologies in general. I then spent some time ruminating in the many historic elements of English, American, Russian, and French culture left behind from the concessions.
I passed by such places as the Ruijin Hotel, where the founder of the North China Daily News lived, the Cathay and Lyceum Theatres, the massive Okura Garden Hotel Shanghai (Cercle Sportif Francais) and the Jinjiang Hotel, where Chinese diplomats were held in 1941, during the Japanese occupation. The North China Daily News was the first -- and remains the foremost -- English newspaper for Northern China. The buildings of the hotel were tucked away and surrounded by massive gardens and walking space. The Cathay and Lyceum Theaters housed English and French plays and operas during the time of the concessions. The Cercle Sportif Francais was built in the twenties, but soon after, it was claimed by the "people" in the coming to power of the Chinese Communist Party. Again, I cannot stress enough the truly European structure and feel of the district. I attempted to find the Propaganda Poster Center, but in failing, I found a place to eat lunch and returned to my hostel.
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