Culture Shock

I realized yesterday why people go traveling; there's something so gloriously alluring about getting to a place and a point where you don't understand a thing that's going on.

After a frenetic few days in Hong Kong---where we accepted invitations to lunch and dinner from family friends and rides in chauffeur-driven Lexuses (Lexi?) by telling ourselves that we were still just easing into this whole traveling lark---we arrived in Shanghai in the middle of a sultry Friday afternoon. And my god, did we arrive.

I expect I'd never really thought about the fact that no-one would speak any English at all here, in this coastal city nicknamed The Whore of the Orient. I may have suspected it, of course, but I pushed the thought aside, confident in the fact that in a city with at least 25 branches of Starbucks, we'd have no problem asking for a Metro ticket. And I was horribly, horribly wrong. Being released from the station into a swarm of people who all know where they're going when all you have is a computer prinout reading "Captain Hostel, Zhang Yang Road, we look forward to your visit!" is really no fun at all. Thanks to an exceedingly kind woman whom we accosted at the turnstiles, and who walked halfway from the Metro station with us to try and find the road we needed, and also to a doorman named Ted at a posh hotel we weren't staying at---who, in addition to calling five of his buddies from the concierge to help us, also pulled his cell phone out of his pocket to call our cheap hostel and find out where they were located---we finally made it to a place with clean sheets where we could drop our bags and explore. In an inspired show of foresight, I also had the woman at the front desk write "no seafood please!" in Chinese characters so I could brandish it in my waiter's face when the time came. Later, I sank to the lowest depths of my particular brand of embarrassing tourism when I opened the Lonely Planet China to the "how to get around" section, and pointed to the Chinese characters for "where can I get online, please?" This was met by peals of laughter and general smirking, but it did get me to a dirty, dark, smoky, smelly room on the top floor of a dingy department store, where a hundred Chinese men sat with the curtains closed, playing an online version of Dungeons and Dragons. I was the only woman in there. And also the only person not operating under the name of Xanadu and pretending to be a wizard.

But Shanghai is amazing! For a start, they have bakeries on every corner with confections named things like Danish Reminisce Stick, Spicy Curly, and Dreamy Windmill. Yesterday, walking down Century Avenue, we came across a dozen middle-aged women, just dancing in their flowered housedresses in the middle of the street to the tinny music coming from a boom box. We're talking full-on synchronized dancing, jazz hands and everything.

We also discovered that it's best to just walk out into traffic and cross your fingers behind your back---at half the intersections there are no little flashing men to tell you when to go, and even when there are, the cars ignore you---and that a Self-Help Lunch is not a one-on-one with Dr. Phil over dim-sum, but rather just a buffet. Last night, we wandered into what can only be described as a Chinese Wal-Mart, and were thrilled to discover that a 40.oz bottle of beer is the equivalent of FORTY AMERICAN CENTS. My joy upon discovering this only proved true the old adage that you can take the girl out of South Carolina, but you can't take the Wal-Mart and cheep beer out of the girl.

I'm getting used to dressing for comfort, rather than to just try and look cute, and my feet are blackened at the end of every day from the city dirt. I'm also perfecting the firm headshake in response to the ever-present calls of "Lady! Hello, lady! Where you from? You want bags and watches?" and I've even worked up the nerve to say "thank you" in Mandarin. Also, I HAVE DISCOVERED A SEPHORA. It's only day two and I'd say we're making progress.

There are more pictures here if you don't believe me.