ISpyShanghai

#407 Walk out into the middle of the road during rush hour, set up a bamboo ladder, and start tinkering with the power cables.

Not to make the whole site into a series of Part 1, Part 2 etc. type features- but here’s Part 1 of the trip I took over the October holidays.

From: Shanghai –> Songjiang
By: Taxi & Subway
Saw: Thames Town

It’s not easy to say how many people live in Shanghai, because at the outlying areas of the city are places like Songjiang. A town in it’s own right (and long before Shanghai was anything to write home about too) but connected to the hub on subway line 9. From the price of the big villas and fancy apartment buildings, you’d have to assume that a lot of the residents of Songjiang are making their money in the city and come out here to get a bit of peace and quiet in the suburbs. 

We only stopped for one night to get our bearings before we headed off west into Jiangsu province, but since our hotel was right next to Thames Town- we thought we’d have a look.

Thames Town (or the “British Featured Precinct” according to one street sign) is a housing development made to look like an English town. It’s all a bit bizarre for English folk like me and Emma; you can walk along Harry Street past Kensington Gardens and end up at a village green. The attention to detail is superb in places, the designers probably mapped out entire streets in Bath or Stratford and dropped them in here.

It’s tempting to think of the place as a film set, but I know actual towns in England (I’m looking at you, Retford) that are smaller than this place- and the houses and shops are real places that are available to buy.

The problem with Thames Town is that the business plan seems to have been

If you build it, they will come

Well they did, and umm nobody has.

Almost everyone on the cobbled streets is just in town for a few hours to take wedding photos, most of the shops either rent out fancy dresses or try to sell the acres of empty property.

The cobbled streets of Thames Town are lovely in daylight, but it must get pretty lonely when the tourists go home and you’re left with a life-sized replica of a village Church.

Maybe in a few years time they’ll move all of the residents out and let a gang of robotic Beefeaters roam the grounds.

I for one would pay big money to hunt those Beefeaters down with a machine gun.

(Note for the new: I live in an area of Shanghai called Jing-An)

Whilst I had a wonderful Christmas season in England, it was good to get back to Shanghai- after all, as the old saying goes Jing-An make us much warmer and fragranter.

Some people say that Jing-An isn’t central in Shanghai, that it’s a little too far north to be amongst the good bar and restaurant action. What these people forget is that the melody of civilization is singing from here. 

And they’d do well to remember that.

Fools.

Here’s my round up of the year. 

jANUARY

I started off the year in in Letterkenny, Oirland where I was pitched up in a remote cottage following my brothers wedding.

It was great craic (fake irishmen: please note the spelling) although if you want to get a Chicken Tikka Masala at 3am on January the 1st, I’d recommend not being in a village of 250 toothless fishermen. 

On returning to Shanghai, Emma convinced me to take a trip to the freezing wastelands of Harbin where they brighten the place up once a year by holding an ice festival. 

“How cold was it James?” 

I hear you ask. So cold that there was frost on the end of my eyelashes. 

So cold that when I saw a man peeing in the street, I wanted to shake his (left) hand for bravery.

Very, very, cold.

Continue Reading »

I’ve bought some horrible stuff at Shanghai’s various fabric markets. Shiny blue jackets that I’ll never wear, an ice-white linen suit that saw a brief outing at one of Dingle’s fashionable BBQs, and numerous pairs of trousers that developed holes at just the wrong place and time.

Still though, winter is coming up and I can’t be seen wearing last year’s coat- what would the neighbours say?

Here then is my timely guide to getting a good price at the Fabric market:

Act like you’re not bothered
Only suckers act like they really want to have a suit made, suckers who get ripped off. You really haven’t decided whether you’re going to buy today, maybe you’ll buy a hamburger instead.

This is a hard act to pull off when you’re specifying fabrics, number of buttons, extra-crotch reinforcing etc. so pretend to treat all decisions hypothetically;

“Assuming I was looking for a jacket, then maybe I’d like you to copy this one that I’ve brought all the way across town in a plastic bag.

Perhaps I would want you to make the waist slightly bigger, because it’s possible that I eat a lot of mashed potato and gravy at KFC“

Subtly imply that you don’t have much money

“You don’t need to make the pockets very big, usually all I carry is a bus pass and some stale rice“

Speak Chinese
The more the better, but at the very least you need to manage a passable ”Aiyo!” when the first tentative prices are being floated around. Extra bonus points are added for a

“Tai gui le!” (too expensive!)
or a
“Wo bu shi ri ben ren!!!” (”I’m not Japanese!”)

If you’re white / otherly foreign, then speaking Chinese is basically a way of saying that you’re not a tourist, and it also gives the stall holders something fun to laugh about when your back is turned.

Speak Shanghainese
Slightly more tricky to pull off, but expat wisdom suggests that whilst stupid old whitey always pays more than the Chinese, out of towners also pay less more than anyone who can speak Taxi-driver talk.
(fixed 30th Oct, ta Liam)

Don’t blink first
Market stall holders can spot a sucker at 30 paces, but if you’re following the steps above it’s going to take them a bit longer to work out what kind of sucker you are.

Prolong their realisation by point-blank refusing to name a price that you want to pay. Let them name a price (which you should find both hilarious and horrifying) and have them come down a couple of notches first.

Ideally you should have the clothes hanging up in your wardrobe at home, with patches of wear beginning to show from a few seasons of regular rotation before you call up the tailor and make your first low ball offer.

Do the walk off. (But not that walk off)
Everyone knows the old walk-away-in-disgust technique- where the stall holder is supposed to chase after you in tears begging you to come back and pay whatever small coins you have in your pocket.

Maybe it’ll work, maybe it won’t- but there are few things more embarassing than doing the walk off and then having to come back shamefaced because you can’t find another stall that’s willing to make a lace girdle for a 30 year old man.

If you do decide to go this direction, then pretend that you’re breaking up with someone. It’s not them, it’s you, you want to think things over, you can’t help thinking that somewhere out there is a piece with better quality, a cheaper price, or sleeve buttons that actually fasten (hmm, this metaphor needs some work).

Finally

Always remember that the following phrases have no meaning whatsoever and should be ignored:

• “Friend price”
• Final offer
• Ohh handsome!
• Where are you from? Oh I like England/USA/Botswana very much!
• Please put underwear back on! Do not touch fabric like that!

There are two main fabric markets in Shanghai:

South Bund Soft Spinning Materials Market
399 Lujiabang Lu (near Nanpu Bridge)

Shiliupu Material Shopping Market
Dongmen Lu near Zhonghua Lu

Serious post today, normal service resumed tomorrow.

Richard Massey was born in Doncaster and went to the same school as me. He was two years older so I didn’t know him that well at home, but we both ended up in Manchester and after a chance meeting just before I graduated University, he got me an interview at the company where he was working.

I passed the interview and started at the same company, was looking for a place to live and ended up moving in with Richard.

For the next few years we hung out all of the time- working, living, drinking, and laughing together as he helped me change from being a student with no money to a young professional with no money. Richard was wicked fun to be around, singing at the top of his voice and pipping the horn to the music as we drove home on Friday night, making batches of Vodka Red Bull before we went out, and getting into trouble around town before crashing into a guilty health-binge of homemade soup and half-full cigarette packets in the bin on Sunday.

It was Richard who started me off on the whole travelling-for-work business- he had already spent new year’s eve in Hong Kong and a night in a Hungarian jail before I even started at the company.
Current workmates have still got plenty of stories about Massey 6 years after he left the firm.

After working in Manchester, Richard moved to another company, lived in Ascot for a while and was then sent to NYC.

New York was the dream posting for Richard- he had a huge company apartment near Wall Street / Ground Zero with a view of the Statue of Liberty, and the whole of Manhattan on his doorstep. When I visited in November 2003 he was having a blast; big nights out with great new workmates, using his English accent to try and charm the local ladies (although he confessed “It’s no good though James, they can smell the Donny on me”).

Unfortunately in the few weeks between the end of that trip and his planned visit to England for Christmas 2002, something went wrong.

Richard Massey went missing from NYC on December 19th 2002 (another link).

On Friday night, I got a call from home to say that the 6 year search for Richard was over, and the family had found his body.

I have no idea how his family must be feeling right now, I wouldn’t wish the 6 years they’ve been through on anyone- hopefully after bringing Richard back home they can get some kind of peace.

Not knowing what happened to one of the best friends I’ve ever had has been horrible, I still don’t know anything other than that he’s been found and is being brought home. It will be good to be able to talk about someone that I really looked up to with other people who knew and loved him, before this no-one really knew what they should or could say about someone who could come back into our lives as quickly as he disappeared.

Now I guess we can remember him.

No Shoe Tuesday music today- it’s too loud.

I am sick today- my stomach is making noises like a Galleon rolling on the high seas and my tongue is covered in brown fur. It’s either something I ate recently, or the toll taken by changing meal times constantly whilst jet-setting between England and here.

(The food in England was excellent by the way, Smoked Mackerel, real ale, clotted cream and scones every day).

The one thing that’s pulling me through is the thought that I’m shaping shoe fashion for the ages, as I’m sure you already know.

When I was back in the UK there was a story about Victoria Beckham (ex-Bananarama, wife of Gary Lineker) wearing a pair of painful looking heelless shoes. No doubt I don’t even have to mention that she got the idea from this post.

[caption id="attachment_1275" align="alignnone" width="194" caption="Old news"][/caption]

Then when strolling through the arcades of People’s Square subway station (birthplace of all fashion) I came across not one, but two Shoe bags.

I may be ill, but I’m still sick with the shoe fashion yo.

We flew BA to Heathrow, the flight was so full that they had no seats left in Economy and we had to sit in Business Class. Bit of a shame as I always enjoy that “back in the womb” feeling when the guy in front puts his chair back and I only have space to inflate one lung at a time.

From the airport we took a bus to Reading. Health and safety regulations in the UK are so extreme now that you weren’t allowed to use a mobile phone in the first four rows of seats, in case it disturbs the driver. If you tried to undo your seatbelt to tie your shoes, an alarm went off and an armed bus marshall beat you with a rubber hose.

We stayed at Emma’s parents on the first night and had a look around their lovely new home (more on that later in the week)- then the next day Emma’s mum was driving up to Durham. The route pretty much took her past my parents house in Doncaster (England is small) so Mrs Emma offered to drop us off on her way, and I suggested she call in to meet my folks.

Emma didn’t seem keen on that for some reason; maybe she thought they would get into a fist-fight over the last slice of Battenberg cake or dowry negotiations- but sense prevailed and our parents ended up talking for ages over tea and sticky buns about how great I am and how lucky Emma is to have me (either that or house prices and the education system, I forget now).