In Transit: Hello, Shanghai...this might be awkward, but I should probably tell you that I'm in love with you

16 July 2010

Hello, Shanghai...this might be awkward, but I should probably tell you that I'm in love with you

If you're reading this, it means that I've made it out of California/the UK/Qatar and into Shanghai, have figured out how to skirt the CCP's ban on blogging sites, and am finally getting my *** together and doing the blog like I promised. Although I'm kind of screwing myself over by being awake at 3am to write this-the girls and I are leaving for Hangzhou, about 200km south of the 'hai, in less than four hours-I figure that I've been here for three days already and should probably say a little something about the place. It's just bits and bobs, so don't expect great things.

What I like about Shanghai:

-the heat! Even when you go out at night, you don't need to wear a jacket. To me this is a beautiful thing. The flat has air conditioning, which I've never really needed to use in California or Scotland (HAHAHA), so it took me a while to get the hang of, you know, turning it on, so in short the air con keeps us cool when we're inside.
-the flat! It's on the 8th floor-eight being very lucky here in contrast to crappy 4-and has massive windows and a balcony looking out over Jing'an. We've also got an L-shaped couch, something I've always wanted. But Mom always said we didn't have space. Now that I am 21, I have space. As they would say in 1996, booyah.
-the flatmates/other interns/pretty much all the Westerners I've met here so far! They're lovely people that are obviously globally minded and well travelled; just living here acts like a filter. As in, I haven't met anyone here who thinks that 'Homeland Security is there for our protection' or 'Nick Griffin isn't that bad' or 'let's nuke the Middle East and start over'. Or at least they haven't said it to my face.
-the cost of stuff! Europe and North America are expensive. China, even in its most expensive city, is not. Enough said.
-the food! I simply cannot tire of Chinese food, and even if the unthinkable were to happen, I would have a host of other options at my fingertips. The bao and dumplings alone are enough to convince me to live here. Plus the majority of people in this city don't think I'm weird for liking things like tea eggs or bean curd-flavoured ice cream.
-the internship! aka the reason I'm here! I had my first day at Riviera and this is the first summer job I've had where I ACTUALLY GET TO USE MY BRAIN. And it feels fantastic. Plus I like getting to wear nice clothes and be in an office; it makes me feel like a real person. Marketing, so far, is interesting.
-the Expo! Drove past it on the way from the airport and the pavilions I spied from the car were definitely eye-catching. At some point I will definitely go and explore it. In the meantime, the city has been prettied up, spitting and honking bans are in place, and there are people from all over the world flocking here.
-there are obviously more, but finally, not to get all abstract, but the energy of the place! Shanghai feels so lively and exciting, but it's gracious at the same time. It's quite green, full of tree-lined streets and a few beautiful parks, and you do get that intriguing mix of rambling old apartment blocks with the washing all strung out to dry in front and massive sleek skyscrapers.

Things I don't like:

-stupidly, my camera cord managed not to make it to Shanghai with me. I will track down a memory card reader or something, but for now I can't upload any of my pictures. I'm sorry! I'm sorry!
-that my faithful hound Katia apparently sulked for days after I left. This makes me sad, though I think Shanghai is too hot for her, and there's not enough shady grass where she can flop on her side.

This is more her kind of scene.

The money shot of Pudong. Unfortunately, not taken by me.

In short, Shanghai is rather good. More later!

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Where I am

I'm actually so cutting edge that I moved from San Francisco to Oakland, which I'm told is super current; however, on general principle I refrain from making "I heard X is the new Y" statements because it became really uncool after Maureen Dowd did it. I eat a lot of organic produce, complain when the weather drops below 60F, do finance stuff during the day, and have three acupuncturists stored in my contacts who I know judge me for my fondness of early evening cocktails and whisky. Though I don't work in tech, I know a cornucopia of people who do.

Where I was

For four years, home for yours truly was a tiny and immensely picturesque seaside town in Fife, Scotland that goes by the name of St Andrews (also known as the Bubble, St Andys, the 'drews, the Drewzilles, etc). Most people know St Andrews for one of two things, so I get a lot of the following: OMG did you apply because of Prince William? and Heyyy, ever played any golf?

(The answer to both is no. William graduated long before I was here and really, honestly and truly had no influence whatsoever on my choice of universities. And this may be the ancestral home of golf, but I've never picked up a golf club in my life. I have nothing against the sport, it just doesn't get my adrenaline going the same way that plunging down a mountain on a pair of skis or piloting a two-tonne horse over a jump does.)

The town has three main streets, creatively named North, Market and South, and as such, any point in St Andrews can be reached after walking for twenty minutes. There is one Tesco, one Starbucks, one Romanian lady selling the Big Issue and an astronomical charity shops-to-people ratio. By the end of one's degree the place starts to feel distinctly claustrophobic (hence the nickname of the Bubble), especially considering that it is utterly impossible to venture out of the house without running into one or twelve people you know. Sometimes that's great; other times, you just wish you could pick up a pint of milk without having to change out of your comfortable but admittedly foul-looking jumper.

The skeletons of a castle and what would have been Europe's largest cathedral outside of Chartres call St Andrews home as well, though if the Reformation hadn't happened, they would still be intact. Our little town actually has a long a bloody history; look it up on Wikipedia.

Owing to its northerly situation, winter sees lashings of snow, ice, sleet, hail and wind that penetrate even the thickest of gloves and jackets, and it gets dark at three in the afternoon to boot. On the other hand, it's light for twenty hours a day in the summer and St Andrews looks positively gorgeous when the grass is green and the sea and sky are blue. If only it happened more often.

To summarise: it will always have a special place in my heart, and I do miss it, but not in a a wrenching, sobbing-into-my-pillow way. Just in what I suppose is a 'normal' missing way.

My digs immediately post-degree were located in the delightful and now riot-free Clapham, which, for those only familiar with Harrods and Trafalgar Square, is south of the river. The area is a mix (a heady mix?) of out-'n-proud gay men, Caribbean families and 'young professionals' like me who are figuring out what to do with their Hunter wellies and Fair Isle knits now that they live in an urban environment. And lots of Australians with a penchant for talking fifty decibels above everyone else.

Along with central tube connections on the ever-packed Northern line, Clapham's amenities include a great massive nucleus of a Sainsburys, a high street full of bars and restaurants, the green expanse of the Common and one really shitty nightclub called Infernos.

Where I'm from

It all began in 1989 just north of San Francisco, California in a place called Marin County (hop across the Golden Gate Bridge and there you are). Blessed with an embarrassment of riches in the looks department and a climate somewhere close to perfect, Marin was my day-to-day world before I moved to the frigid wind-blasted shores of eastern Scotland.

Back in the 60s and 70s there was a lot of protesting the war, hanging out in hot tubs, wearing homemade hemp clothes and having mystic crystal revelations with the help of psychedelics. Although it's still quite laid-back in comparison to pretty much anywhere outside the tropics, my mom tells me that it's gotten a lot more uptight in the past decade or so, largely thanks to an inundation of wealthy Generation X-ers.

As such Marin now has a reputation that's a weird hybrid of self-indulged, free-spirited, filthy rich, tree-hugging, Botoxed, vegetarian-friendly... After not having lived there for a few years, I'm starting to be able to look at it more objectively, and good God is it a strange place.

But oh, how fantastic-Marin sits on some of the world's most heart-stoppingly gorgeous beaches in addition to residing just a hop, skip and a jump away from the rather fabulous skiing and alpine lakes of the Sierra Nevadas and the world-class wines of the Napa Valley. And of course San Francisco, home of more eccentrics than you can shake a stick at, outstanding East Asian and Mexican food, and the US's oldest ballet company, is just across the Golden Gate. I may be slightly impartial, but I have yet to meet anyone who dislikes the place.