Posts Tagged ‘Shanghai’

Cultural Explorations in China

Wednesday, November 24th, 2010

Guest post by @Kantankkerous

Some rights reserved by Steve Webel

Humanity

One late afternoon, two canonical ladies had knocked on my door. I shut the dog in one of the bedrooms to muffle the constant barking and peeled open the day to a cheerful hello. We discussed the usual riff-raff of (my lack of) personal religious beliefs and enthused about scientific rationale as a basis for reasoning and discounting religion as simply an inexplicable series of phenomena that seemed to have been anecdotally miscommunicated across time. As our conversation digressed, I was asked by these two women what my plans were this impending summer break – to which I responded in a particularly over-zealous manner about my China trip, so much so that they began to glance back and forth between each other, almost as if to suggest whether they should’ve even asked this question in the beginning.

Why do I travel?

Their attention was snapped back again at the mention of beliefs in my travels, though to an irrelevant degree as I shared with them the origins of Taoist and Confucian foundations in Chinese culture and beliefs. I remarked how astoundingly consistent and simple the principles were in prescribing people on how to speak, eat, sleep, drink and ultimately live. And I was to embark on my journey in December to have a taste for myself in a framework of presupposition that has thrived for so long. The big cities of China are a fantastic stomping ground for my touristic appetite, but I personally believe that materialism is only a minor aspect of why I hit the road whenever I can. More importantly, the villages; the locals; the historic monuments; the street food; and most significantly, the stories that are evoked from each and every site I stumble upon.

Taoism

It’s often debatable as to whether or not Taoism and/or Confucianism should fall under religion, in which I can fiercely say that neither do. Taoism is in fact, iconoclastic right from its origin. Madelyn Hamilton best sums up Taoism in her piece “The Search for Tao”: ‘Taoism is the consolidation of a number of concepts and practices that make up the ‘Path’, or ‘Way’, of living. The consolidation of ideas and concepts include basic principles or ‘theories’ regarding the body, diet, breathing and physical exercises, use of herbs, philosophical inquiry and, of course, meditation. All of which the Taoist feels brings a human being into closer alignment with the ‘natural order’ of life and living – pathway that humankind appears to have gotten derailed from.’ Confused? Here are a few words – ying and yang; fengshui. Both derive from the beliefs of Taoism and its meanings. Its laws of living and its ideals of living with nature rather than against it are practiced innumerably all over China.

Confucianism

Skipping the explanations about the origins of Confucianism, it is essentially an ethical belief system based upon the concept of relationships, featuring dual aspects of responsibility and obligation. Mother and child; husband and wife; brother and sister all have their own responsibilities and obligations. These extend further than the family environment and aim to formulate an empirical back-to-basics framework in which people are expected to abide by in order to live within a harmonious and just world.

China 2010

It is forthright to acknowledge that my trip to China will have so many of these ‘case in points’, each city or town with its own derivatives and variance in Taoist or Confucian beliefs. It’s an attempt for me to understand my roots again, comprehending why practices of such etiquette are so important in a population of people with so many ethnic groups. Yet for the majority of Chinese people these two archetypes have existed for generations without many of them knowing. Understanding the culture and asking the key “why” question will ultimately be a beneficiary in a travel adventure (at least so I think so). And so what initially was meant to be a discussion of scripture related to its many variable forms of deities, had transfigured itself into an enthusiastic reminiscence of why I love travel so much. Strange! The two ladies bid me a succinct goodbye and I turned back inside, ignored the orders of my mother to take out the garbage and planted myself back onto the computer to decide which hotel I wanted in Shanghai when I arrive on December 1st.

Kan Huang

Kan is a current university student completing his major in Events Management, a photography enthusiast and a travel addict. He resides in Sydney, Australia and currently works in the hotel industry and hopes to one day be able to combine travel and work together. In the meantime, he hopes to share his experiences on his flashpacking trip to China and explore this enormous land of deep culture and economic prominence, combining his photography with anecdotal tales of his travel (mis)adventures. He keeps a personal blog Tales of a Globetrotter & you can also find him on Twitter @Kantankkerous.

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What Was The Destination That Challenged You The Most?

Wednesday, March 10th, 2010

This question was submitted by Joel from The Freedonia Post. If you’d like to know more about me, my travels or anything else you’d like to know, feel free to ask me!

Photo by Jabari Bell

Physically: Beijing

I was able to escape the typhoon in Shanghai but the furious intensity of the Artic winds that blew through the Summer Palace was another story. I visited Beijing during the coldest winter day and the wind literally cut through me like butter. Climbing The Great Wall proved to be a challenge too. The higher I climbed, the stronger the winds blew. It stunted my progress and blew the air right out of my lungs.

Emotionally: Shanghai

I went to college in New York City so I commuted to and from school. Studying abroad in Shanghai was the first and only time I lived away from my parents. I didn’t get to ease into living on my own. I was flown half way across the world and dropped there. Splat!

There was language barrier since I knew minimal Mandarin, which left me awfully lonely and terribly confused. I applied to the Chinese Language Program at Fudan University through SUNY Albany. Both schools did a poor job of communicating and advising me while I was abroad. Both schools also chose to blame me for not being responsible enough to figure out the appropriate documents that were required.

Now, I totally understand and can completely accept responsibility for my actions if I was the only one having this issue. But when all of the students I know who are in this program are having the same exact problem, then it’s not me. It’s the universities. Needless to say, it made the beginning of my study abroad experience hell.

Homesick hit quick but it was cured by my wanderlust.

Intellectually: No where

I’ve never gone to a place that was intellectually challenging. They’ve always been intellectually stimulating.

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Photo Friday: Two Years Ago – Christmas in Shanghai

Friday, December 25th, 2009

Oriential Pearl Tower - Shanghai, ChinaRelated Posts:

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Climbing Out Of Poverty

Sunday, September 27th, 2009

QiDi Migrant School Graduation

Once a week for five months ten of us, sometimes twelve, were herded into a dark van with tinted windows and ragged carpets. The smallest one of us contorted ourselves into the most uncomfortable positions and driven to the outskirts of Shanghai. The driver dropped us off on the side of the dusty highway and like clockwork, there was always someone waiting there to take us through the dark, narrow alley.

We passed by a middle aged couple who’s brown leather skin was the result of years of toiling in the sun. They baked bread on the side of the highway – salty ones and unsalted ones. Behind them was a dirt road carved between two dug out vegetables fields, which were being tended to by residents in straw hats and hunched backs.

We passed by tattered wood houses battered by the heavy rain and the harsh sun. The women chatted on small wooden stools and gawked as we passed by. Some of them were nursing. They looked tired and lifeless. Dirty toddlers with cracked red cheeks laughed innocently around them, as if they harbored all their mother’s life and energy. The men were no were to be found.

We entered a white two-story building. The children present looked eager, curious and afraid – all at the same time. I was assigned a room on the ground floor. It was a tiny room big enough for only 15 people but overcrowded with 50. My hands were tugged along the way as I squeezed to the front of the room. I introduced myself.

“小朋友，你好。我是黄老师。你的英语老师。”(How are you kids? My name is Miss Wong. I’m your English teacher.)

“黄老师好！”(Good morning Miss Wong!)

They shouted in unison.

This was the QiDi Migrant School. These were migrant children. Their families live like nomads, moving from place to place in search of work. Men leave before the sun rises and return long after the sun sets. The children here know nothing of consistency. The people they know and the friends they make come and go. It’s as fleeting as their education, but their desire to learn is stronger than all the children I’ve ever taught back home.

These migrant children were not only hungry for food. They were hungry to learn. They shouted answers with bright eyes and they fought to come to the board. For them, enough was never enough. They always wanted more. At the end of each class they tugged at my hands and asked,

“黄老师，你会回来吗？”(Miss Wong, will you be back?)

I always said yes and they would gleam with joy but I knew that the more I said yes, the closer I was to saying no. Eventually I had to leave. Just like everyone else in their lives.

Migrant families who live in poverty know that education is the key to economic mobility but their children’s education is hindered when kids are pulled from school to harvest the land and scrounge for scrap metal. My students don’t know it but what they taught me was much more valuable than the English I taught them. Kids in the States say, “I hate school. School sucks. It’s boring.” But many children around the world walk barefoot for miles to attend school. We get driven.

This opportunity I had to teach and travel abroad was all due to the Fudan Foreign Students Volunteering Association. It was the most rewarding experience at Fudan University. The dedicated principal of QiDi Migrant School provided door to door service from Fudan’s Foreign Dormitory to the dilapidated school building in the outskirts of Shanghai. He himself was a former migrant student who saw that education was his way out of a migrant lifestyle. He built the school at QiDi for the children, and for the future, of the migrant community. He’s proof that education is the way out of poverty.

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Shanghai’s Riches & Rags

Sunday, September 20th, 2009
Photo from Dragonroy

Photo from Dragonroy

In Shanghai, I wasn’t Chinese. I was dollar bills. And sure enough, I acted like it. Dining at ritzy restaurants, dancing in decadent clubs, partying away pompously. I wasn’t the only one. But that’s no excuse. Those with Euros and dollars fling it like toilet paper. Like paying 100 kuai to get in the door of the hottest clubs tossing bills for drinks as if money really does grow on trees. Because in our minds that’s about $14 USD or 9 Euros. Unlike the man who lives on 10 kuai a day – that’s less than $2 – or the 10-year-old boy hustling to feed his family and the L-shaped granny begging for money. And what about that toddler who rattles his paper cup at you?

There’s the Western influence of fine dining, glamorous nightlife and a flamboyant wallet for the deep pockets. But down the street, it’s a hard hustle at birth for those with no pockets. That’s Shanghai in a nutshell. The haves and the have-nots live in juxtaposition. It’s a dog eat dog world. Pun intended. Shanghai is known as the New York City of the West. But wait – why do we need a cheap imitation when we have the original? Where is the authenticity? First fake goods and now fake cities. Tomorrow fake Chinese?

There’s something about Shanghai that is very nostalgic for me. Perhaps it’s because it was the door for all my China travels. But there is a part of Shanghai that doesn’t sit right with me. It’s the vast divide between the have and the have nots and how easily the Chinese turn a blind eye to their own people. I would assume the vast contrast would shed light to many, but it doesn’t.

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Poverty In Pudong

Wednesday, July 22nd, 2009

Sunday, October 14, 2007

I paid ¥20 for a cab ride down to People’s Park (人民公园), ¥10 to see the Gaudi exhibit at the MOCA, ¥40 for lunch at Pizza Hut, ¥50 for a shuttle ride to the Oriental Pearl Tower, another ¥50 for dinner and ¥1o for extraneous expenses. I dropped ¥170 like it was nothing because in my mind that was only $10.

My friend (at the time) JC and I walked along the Huangpu River that night. We saw a boy in ripped rags and torn slippers. He looked about 10 years old. He approached us raising a flower in his hand and said,

“一块，一块。要不要花？”(One dollar, one dollar. Do you want flowers?)

He haggled a little. We politely declined. I turned around and watched him zig-zag his way down the path. He made sure not to miss a single couple. JC and I sat down on the stone-rimmed flowerbed and watched the boy pace back and forth under the moon light.

“一块，一块，” he would say, “一块，一块， 要不要花？”

一块 (yi kuai) was less than 15¢.

He approached us again. This time, we took the time to talk to him. Actually, JC did all the talking. I sat there while the boy told us his story. I don’t remember the details but it’s not the details that matter. It’s the bigger picture. He lived across the river. His family was poor. He sold flowers to make a living. He worked from sun up until his uncle came to get him. But it was already past 10pm. How much longer did he have to work? Then I had an epiphany. That could have been my little brother. That could have been me. It was only by chance I wasn’t born into poverty. That was the bigger picture. It could have been any of us.

Before we left JC slipped ¥50 into the boy’s hand. The boy left and I cried. For whatever reason, I’m still not sure. JC and I made plans to meet up with some friends at Attica. So I put on my happy face, paid the ¥100 cover charge and headed straight to the bar. At that particular moment, I was ashamed of myself for living the way I did. Something in me began to change. I felt it that night.

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Shanghai, China’s New York City

Tuesday, July 21st, 2009

Sunday, October 7, 2007

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The more I drank, the more often I asked myself, ”Wait, didn’t I leave New York already?” Partying in Shanghai was like deja vu even though everything was completely new. It hadn’t hit me yet that I was half way across the world. To me, the distance between point A and point B was just a matter of time.

At night, the lights lit up the infamous Pudong skyline on The Bund. Shanghai’s nightlife reminded me of New York City. Or perhaps every major city’s nightlife is more or less the same. All the girls were dressed in barely-there outfits and overdone makeup. All the guys hovered nearby. Everyone always started out pleasant. But then the liquor kicked in and that’s when the show began. Watching drunk people make a fool of themselves was free entertainment. The best episodes were always on at 4am right outside the bar or club.

Windows Too is a meat market with a budget dance floor bar and cheap beer. And if the pitchers weren’t cheap enough, free drinks were included in the cover charge. The Haagan Daaz right next to the venue was perfect for drunken late night cravings.

Attica is one of the top clubbing destinations in Shanghai. The terrace is rimmed with cozy, sleek sofas with an incredible view overlooking the Huangpu River. Bon Bon is an all-you-can-drink fiasco. For a ¥100 cover charge, liquor was on the house all night, every night.

These were just a few of the hot spots populated throughout Shanghai. But whether it was Windows Too, Attica, Bon Bon, Big Bamboo or Blue Frog, it didn’t matter – different names, same faces. Every bar I went to was a bar listed in one city guide or another. They were all catered to expats and foreigners. Only they could afford the over priced cover charges and alcoholic drinks.

What the city guides don’t mention often enough are the child beggars who target foreigners dining in 5-star restaurants sipping on ¥15 martinis. The average Chinese person doesn’t live this way.  When I looked at the clean white faces and the yellow leather skin of the struggling people, I couldn’t help but feel like this was neocolonialism in the flesh.

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Fudan University

Monday, July 20th, 2009

Saturday, October 6, 2007

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Studying abroad at Fudan University was less than what I expected. There was a lack of communication and a nonchalance of accurate information. I didn’t expect someone to hold my hand but I did expect direction. I never knew what my next steps were until it was almost too late. Do you know what that can do to a girl who just arrived in a new city and who can bare speak the language? Serious moodswings.

I always contacted the SUNY Albany program director at the very last minute panicking because I didn’t know what to do.  He always referred me to someone else. Why not cut out the middleman? It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. There was no clear advice from him or from the host university. I was misguided almost every step of the way. At the end of the day, they somehow managed to come up with an excuse to make it seem like it was my fault. No surprised though. I’ve been back to China often enough to know that it was protocol – blame others and take no responsibilities. If that doesn’t work, repeat your statement angrily.

I moved into the Foreign Students’ Dormitory two days after I arrived in Shanghai. The adviser at SUNY Albany informed me that students from the Fall semester weren’t able to move in until August 28th. However, that was the not the case. I could have moved in the day I landed but instead, I wasted about ¥500 for a hotel room I didn’t need. Thanks a lot Mr. SUNY Albany advisor. No wonder they told me you were no longer in charge of the program.

The security guards at the dorm were cold and curt and only spoke Mandarin. Class hadn’t started yet so much of my communication was limited to pointing, making awkward gestures and saying “这个。。。这个。。。这个” (This…this…this). The program’s 9AM  “orientation,” which took place a month after I arrived, consisted of a lengthy reading session from a blue booklet I received the previous semester.  Needless to say, it was a waste of time. I didn’t need to be read to. I can read very well on my own. But like they say, every cloud has a silver lining.

I befriended a few students who lived on my floor. We were all in the same program so we were lost and confused together. It made our experiences much more bearable.

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Hello Shanghai!

Saturday, July 18th, 2009

Sunday, August 26, 2007

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Shanghai felt so much better at 4 in the morning than it did at 4 in the afternoon. How would I know? Because that’s when my plane landed. From a bird’s eye view, there was a gray semi-opaque cloud that masked everything beneath it. I lugged my carry-on toward the baggage claim. As I passed by the automatic glass doors, Shanghai gave me an unforgettable welcome. The gray semi-opaque cloud embodied me with its hot, humid haze. It made my skin turn to glue.

I flew in with Michelle and Patty. The three of us were studying abroad together, except I was in a different program. We crashed at the airport until 7AM when their host university’s staff came to picked them up. My program, unfortunately, sent no one. So I took a cab to the hotel at East China Normal University where they were attending for the semester.

It didn’t take me long to get settled after I checked in. The bathroom had a funky odor but overall it was clean enough. I stepped out at 10AM  with the intention of buying breakfast. But when my face hit the haze I thought to myself,  “I think I’ll get breakfast, lunch and dinner.” I explored the area a little and ended up in food heaven. The supermarket was filled with aisles upon aisles of food in brightly packaged plastic. There was one problem. I couldn’t read Chinese. I didn’t know what was what.  The only thing I could be sure of was cup noodles. So that was what I bought for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

On my way back to the hotel, I stopped by a phone stand to buy a pre-paid card.

那个…可以..打出美国？, I asked. (Which one… makes calls… to America?)

He responded with his native tongue, which sounded 50 times faster than mine. I didn’t understand a lick of it.

五十块可以, I said. (Fifty dollars enough)

As soon as he caught on to my broken Chinese, he tried to hustle me for a more expensive phone card. Apparently, the rates were better but the lowest denomination he had was 100 kuai. Uh, no thanks. I’ve been to Chinatown. I know how this works.

I spent the rest of day watching Chinese soaps and brushing up on my elementary Mandarin. Every time I used the bathroom, that funky smell grew stronger and stronger until it kind of smelled like cup noodles. And then I figured it out. There was a leak in the pipe. All the water from the noodles leaked out and was molding in the corner of the bathroom. I looked around for a towel and that’s when I noticed that there was no shower stall, just a shower head and it was fixed directly above the toilet seat. I don’t know who came up with the idea but it was certainly less than genius. I had to stand on top of the toilet seat cover to shower. Yea, welcome to Shanghai!

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