chapelure

fulfilled

2008-11-05T22:45:00.005-06:00

Late in the evening on Tuesday, July 27, 2004, I sat before my blog (one long since disappeared) and wrote the entry that follows. I do not attribute these words to prescience, but rather to something that spoke to me and millions of others that night, something that grew steadily in its optimism into the climax of another historic Tuesday just over four years on.

"The audacity of hope"

It’s not often that a politician’s words will compel me to write something positive, but today I’ve been moved to do just that.

I turned on the Democratic National Convention to Howard Dean. His speech was hardly rousing, and his speaking skills were even worse. (He has a way of dropping the inflections at the ends of his sentences, speaking them as if he loses faith in his words just before they leave his mouth.) Despite my partiality towards the liberals, all I could think about was how I was watching pure political blather – a leftist message much less aggressive than Michael Moore’s and much less substantial, too.

Freedom, democracy, the American dream. Both parties use these as fighting words. Though their views may occasionally stand at opposite ends of the spectrum, the language they use to win over both sides, especially at the mercy of the media’s editors, is inevitably the same. Political speeches are about as predictable as the Texas summer heat.

The next time I turned to the Convention, Larry King was talking to Ann Richards and Bob Dole, among others. They were talking about the unity of the Democrats in this year’s election and about Howard Dean’s role in uniting them. Mo Rocca as guest commentator for CNN further reminded me that the most trusted name in news is continuing its descent into more show and less substance, perhaps in its attempt to catch up with the great, embarrassing success of Fox News.

But then, oh then came the highlight of the evening. A name I’d not heard ‘til tonight, but one I will certainly follow: Barack Obama. Obama promised what any politician would promise from his party: employment, education, health care. No doubt Obama was also thinking of his own campaign for the US Senate when he wrote his keynote speech. But in listening to him, I was convinced that Obama was not just another politician. His speech attacked the Bush administration for some of their most grievous mistakes, pinpointing exactly where their party fails to stand for equality and liberty for all. And yet, Obama’s speech wasn’t a negative tirade. Rather, it was a celebration of diversity and a sermon on principles and opportunity.

Very seldom have I sensed sincerity in a politician’s voice, but in Obama’s voice I heard intelligence, compassion, and clarity. A far cry from Bush and Dean both. With his message of hope for a better future for Americans, I believe he also gave us hope for the future of American politics.

my new ride

2008-02-08T21:24:00.001-06:00

I've never been into cars. Point at any car on the road and ask me to describe it, and the only thing I'll likely be able to tell you is its color.

On the other hand, I do like driving. There's nothing like the feeling of control and independence you get from a solo long-distance drive.

For obvious reasons, I didn't drive in Shanghai. Instead, I got my fix with every business trip back to the States, where, depending on the rental company my company used, I got to drive everything from a PT Cruiser to a Chevy Aveo (which handily broke down on me just a couple of miles from the airport.)

Now back in the States, I've spent the past month or so becoming intimately familiar with the excruciating process of buying a new car. What to buy, where to buy, how much to pay, how much to borrow. For somebody who dislikes shopping, hates bargaining, and is fairly conservative with her expenses, spending tens of thousands of dollars on a new car and having to negotiate with salespeople who could smell my ignorance was a nightmare.

Yet, with a little grit and a lot of help from some knowledgeable friends, I came away with some pretty sweet wheels:

25/36 and best resale value sedan for 2008. Considering my top criteria were mileage and resale value (again with the cheap, er, conservative spending), I think I got a pretty good deal. Not to mention, it sure is perty.

this time for good

2008-01-12T17:11:00.000-06:00

For those who don't already know, I am home. Have been for just over a month now.

A friend asked today whether I am happy to be back, and I have to say - yes, yes I am. I know I am happy not because of any uncharacteristic emotional outburst, but because I looked out my window this morning and thought, Wow, it's a beautiful day.

I am happy because it was sunny and just shy of 70 today and we're in the middle of winter.

I am happy because almost every day I am moved to take pictures of the sky on my drive home from work.

I am happy because of this:

and this:

and because they are all only a few minutes away.

Yes, I am happy to be back. Life isn't perfect, but right now I have no reason to complain.

big things happen in big cities

2007-09-02T05:31:00.000-05:00

Despite all the reasons I dislike living in a city like Shanghai, I must concede one fact: big things happen in big cities. Sure, Austin has its place on the national music scene, but internationally, it's not really a center of anything (except perhaps research in certain obscure academic fields).

Shanghai, on the other hand, is a global golden child. Everybody wants a piece of this place, and I'm not even talking about cheap labor. I'm talking about the captive audience of more than 20 million fashion-, status-, and body-conscious people in an area approximately the same size as Austin.

Shanghai is an easy place for advertisers to reel in their own 20 million, and international sporting events are a high visibility means to that end. In the past year or so, Shanghai has hosted the Tennis Masters Cup, the HSBC Champions Golf Tournament, and the Sinopec F1 Chinese Grand Prix, among others. In October, Shanghai will be hosting the 2007 Special Olympics World Summer Games. And just next week, who will be hosting the opening match of the 5th FIFA Women's World Cup but yes, you guessed it, Shanghai.

If I think about the closest I could come in Austin to an international sporting event... well, the answer is probably a joke better left untold.

So anyway, over the past few months I have actually developed an obsession of sorts with the last of the above listed events.

Wait a minute - me, a soccer fan?

Okay, okay, so I'm a bit of an imposter. As a player (if I could even say I played), soccer is probably my worst sport. As a spectator, I don't even know what all of the referee hand signals are, and I do sometimes think that watching people run back and forth for 90 minutes with perhaps only one goal (if any) scored throughout it all can be a wee bit monotonous.

But anybody who, soccer fan or not, saw the 1999 WWC final on TV can't blame me for wanting to see what could be Kristine Lilly's final World Cup in person. Not to mention the fact that the US Women's National Team has consistently been one of the best in the world, and that the host team (among several others in the tournament) can give the US a run for their money, possibly even setting up a rematch of that incredible penalty kick shootout from eight years ago. Also, regardless of the sport, I always enjoy watching a well-played game, so an international championship fits that bill. Oh, and did I mention that I got second-tier tickets to both the final and 3rd/4th place games for only 300 RMB TOTAL? Yes, that's a lot of money, $38 to be exact, but who pays less than $40 for halfway decent tickets to even a World Cup 3rd/4th place game alone!?

To be perfectly honest, I think the biggest source of my enthusiasm for these games is that by attending, I will actually, even if for just a couple of hours, get to be a red-, white-, and blue-blooded American again, one who can cheer, shout, jump up and down, and want absolutely nothing more but for her team to win. Sometimes it's nice to claim the successes of others as your own when the only thing you have in common with them is the country of your birth.

So yes, I'm excited, despite, as of a month ago, having known only three of the players on the 21-player US WNT roster.

I guess there is something to be said, after all, for living in a city like Shanghai.

mala educación

2007-07-15T09:26:00.000-05:00

When I first moved to Shanghai, you might remember that I was full of good intentions. Foremost among these was my desire to learn Chinese. I wanted to leave this city fluent, or at least semi- so, in Mandarin. What excuse does one have after two years of immersion? Yet, a year and half later, here I am making excuses - or at least searching for some justification - for my remarkably slow progress.
I hate to admit that I have given up on learning Chinese. Three years ago, I had an essay published that discussed the necessity of my learning Chinese in order to fully discover my heritage and personal identity. My parents are from Hong Kong; my grandparents, too. My ancestors are from the provinces of Guandong and, perhaps, Zhejiang. I am of 100% Chinese blood. So why do I refuse to learn this language?
No, I do not refuse to learn it. But somehow, maybe subconsciously, I refuse to give learning Chinese the time and attention it requires. Despite at least a year of attending staff meetings in Chinese, I still report my own status in English. Despite my company offering tuition reimbursement for Chinese lessons, I have stopped going to class. Despite having lived with them for half a year now, my two Chinese roommates still feel the need to speak to me in my native tongue and translate for me anything they say in Chinese.
For the past 18 months, I have stubbornly insisted that I want to learn Chinese when in fact foreigners with half my experience in China speak the language twice as well as I. Oh, the shame.
If I were not Chinese by blood, I would still feel guilty for wasting this opportunity for immersion. But, if I were not Chinese by blood, perhaps I wouldn't feel the pressure to succeed that I claim makes me reluctant to do just that. If I were not Chinese by blood, my mistakes would be greeted with encouragement rather than disappointment; my attempts to communicate would be reciprocated rather than halted in disbelief and criticism. If I were not Chinese by blood, learning Chinese would be a personal aspiration rather than a public expectation.
So, here we are, six months from the end of my stay in Shanghai, and I have chosen, once again, to disappoint the public, to fail to realize my youthful potential, to satisfy my own personal interests instead: I have signed up for French lessons at L'Alliance Francaise. Let the uproar begin.

anywhere but here

2007-05-27T05:48:00.003-05:00

[I discovered upon my latest trip home that there are in fact people who keep tabs on this blog and who are sorely disappointed that I haven't made more of an effort to keep it updated. So, dear readers, this one's for you.]

Shanghai has been a dreary shade of gray since I've returned, and as far as I can tell there have been no clouds in the sky. Clouds at least would be better than this haze, since a good storm tends to rain the dust down upon the city, thus clearing the skies for a day or two.

I'm pretty sure I have, over the past year or so, bored my friends to tears with a growing number of reasons why I dislike Shanghai. I feel obliged to be honest when they ask what my thoughts are of this city, and so they get to hear my list which consists of many more negatives than positives. My stock answer for those I think will be offended by my analysis or who are considering visiting the city and ask me how I like it is: It's a great experience, but it's just not my kind of city. An honest answer, and one that spares them a recounting of my many annoyances.

I've been lucky, blessed, spoiled, whatever you want to call it, to have traveled quite a bit in this first quarter of my life. I've visited five of the six livable continents, three of them before I turned 18. I've traveled with family, friends, classmates, acquaintances, and every now and then on my own. I've lived in North America, Asia, and North Africa. I've visited places where I could converse without difficulty and in places where hand signs and a smile were my only available means of communication. I've enjoyed every country that I've ever had the privilege of stepping foot in - all except one.

I'm not sure what it is about this country that brings out the worst side of me, one that grumbles more than rejoices, one that curses silently - if not out loud - at the slightest provocation, one that falls into a minor depression at the start of each new day.

It is true that I, ever the Texan, glean energy from the sun; from the bold colors of nature; from wide, open fields and even wider skies. Conversely, it is also true that crowds have a remarkable ability to drain my energy levels within a matter of hours. That would be an easy explanation, if only it were consistent. Unfortunately, I have walked amongst other crowds in places like Hong Kong, New York, and Rome, and I've never felt so claustrophic as I do here. I have balked at the polluted skies of Los Angeles, wished for a reprieve from drizzly London days, and felt a mixture of shock and sadness at the explosion of houses packed onto the hillsides in Mexico City. But still I have found plenty of redeeming factors in other aspects of those cities. Not so here.

I am sure some of my aversion stems from the cultural differences I've observed, mainly in terms of interpersonal communication. When people's first inclination is to frown at you instead of smile; when everybody from a salesperson to a subway attendant tersely brushes you aside; when people disrespect strangers and the environment in equal measure; when the door is always shut in your face, the line is always cut, the personal space is always invaded without apology; where do you ever expect to find the warm fuzzies?

There is more to it, I'm sure. Somebody is bound to point out the irony of it all: a Chinese-American who loves every country but China!? My brother has always thought I have something against my own 'people', my own 'race'. I take offense at that unfounded and unjust conclusion. Just because I don't scream Asian Pride, join Asian networking/dating/etc. groups, or otherwise surround myself with a predominantly Asian group of friends does not make me anti-Asian.

Others may see my situation as an expression of self-denial and low self-esteem, something along the lines of this: Living in China is like looking at herself in the mirror everywhere she goes. If she doesn't like it there, it must be because she doesn't like what she sees in that mirror. An interesting psycho-analytical evaluation, but I don't buy it either. I may have low self-esteem, but I do not associate myself with the masses here just because of our superficial similarities.

I can't say exactly what it is that makes me, with each trip back to this city, look forward more and more to moving away. It's a combination of many things that I'm still trying to sort out. I'll keep you posted on any relevations, and of course I welcome your own interpretations. For now, though, the coffee is gone, the battery's running low, and I can feel the lining of my stomach thinning with all this unhealthy negativity.

gros faux pas

2006-12-27T21:18:00.000-06:00

This past weekend, my coworkers and I celebrated the holidays with a traditional American feast and a white elephant exchange. The day before the party, I went to the nearest kitsch shop to look for the 'worst' gift I could find for under 20 RMB. Gold lacquered piggy banks with prominently rounded rear ends, earmuffs in the shape of rat-nosed foxes, a kiddie camera that makes a clicking noise and flashes a 5-watt bulb.
Then, up next to the sleek glass picture frames and chic ladies purses, I saw it: a bobble-headed clock. A very kitschy bobble-headed clock.

The base was in the shape of a sneaker with Ronald McDonald colors: yellow, white, and ketchup red. To this base was attached a spring coil, and at the head was an equally tomato-colored clock in the shape of a thumbs up sign. On the thumb was a smiley face, with two donut eyes and a sliver of a smile. The fingernails were painted mauve, and the letters HAPPY danced across the bottom of the hand. On the face of the clock was a cartoon picture of a little boy holding a flower and kissing a girl. The caption read, "Hello! When you're troubled, just enjoy sliding like me!" (I never knew "sliding" was slang for making out.)
I bargained this bauble down to 20 RMB (yes, can you imagine the starting price was actually higher!?) and went home quite pleased with my purchase. This pleasure seemed justified when a coworker unwrapped my gift during the white elephant game and everybody screamed with delight. Pretending I didn't know what the gift was, I asked another coworker, who explained, "It's a really bad gift. It's like the end of life!"
I had chosen my gift perfectly.
Or so I thought.
The next day, I discovered the true reason for the excessive laughter at my present. It turns out that in Chinese culture, you should never, ever gift a clock to someone, especially not to somebody old. Doing so means you want that person to die, or, quite literally, that the end of their life is near!
Merry Christmas!

prejudice

2006-12-16T23:13:00.000-06:00

In the US, we cannot deny our historical and continuing practice of racism, sexism, and other forms of prejudice. Despite well-meaning legislation, we still see the effects of such discrimination, from the demographics of our socio-economic classes and our educational and health care systems to the traces of injustice reflected in our language and social consciousness. Things have improved over our country's brief history, particularly in the last fifty years, but intolerance continues in shaded forms.

Since September 11th, intolerance has grown from greater fear. The oxymoron "Islamic terrorist" has become a political catchphrase. Even the intended victims of prejudice have become confused in the blinding constriction of prejudice itself. At the Chicago airport, I met a soldier on his way home from serving in the Gulf. When I asked him to watch my suitcase while I went to the restroom, he replied, with a grin on his face, "Sure, I'll make sure no Iraqis get to it."

In the US, the daily mix of skin colors, religions, sexual identities, etcetera, seems to encourage emphasis of and breed antagonism over such differences. Political tensions with people of different faiths and genetic compositions only add fuel to the fire. But this prejudice does not thrive only in melting pots; it is alive and healthy in largely homogenous societies, too. In fact, I have witnessed more blatant acts of bigotry by laypeople in China than I ever have in the States.

Before going to the US, my Chinese coworker expressed her belief that many Americans are racist though they claim the ideal of equality. I could not deny her this analysis. But in the US, she did not observe any such acts of discrimination. Whether the racism she expected was non-existent or simply hidden from view, equality and respect were what she observed. I cannot say the same for my experience here.

In China, the Shanghainese are known for being arrogant and superficial, for looking down upon fellow citizens from less developed or less westernized areas. Those from Beijing are also branded as haughty, though in an aristocratic rather than a materialistic vein. However, no regional prejudice seems more pointed or generally accepted than that against the Uyghurs. The Uyghurs are the largest ethnic group in Xinjiang, a region in the northwest populated mostly by Muslim Turkic groups and other Chinese minorities. The Uyghurs are stereotyped as unclean and uneducated - and, especially, as thieves. They are the butt of jokes, the accepted and expected villain in stories of petty crime. I've seen people avoid them on the streets, walking at a safe distance if they must cross paths. I've even seen a woman warn passersby to watch out for their belongings because Uyghurs were coming their way. Uyghurs are the gypsies, the untouchables, of China.

Beyond their borders, the Chinese hold a deep prejudice against people from certain neighboring Asian countries. A number of Chinese I've met feel a latent hatred towards the Japanese, a remnant of often tumultuous relations between their two nations. Those in my grandparents' generation can still recall the bloody struggle for Shanghai in the Second Sino-Japanese War, followed directly by the battle and well-known massacre in Nanjing. The hostility has filtered down to today's generation. A few months ago, a Chinese coworker errantly sent an email through our office listserv calling for her compatriots to denounce Japan's attempt to become a permanent member of the UN Security Council. And comparing somebody's physical appearance to that of a Japanese may be seen by some as insulting.

Koreans receive their fair share of discriminatory remarks from the Chinese, too. The most common stereotype of Koreans is that they have all had plastic surgery because, as my real estate agent so cheerfully put it, "they are all so ugly." Apparently there is a joke about a beautiful Korean couple walking down the street pushing an ugly baby in a stroller. You can guess what the punch line might be.

Minorities in China comprise approximately 7% of the population. In the US, that percentage more than quadruples. Regardless of percentage, both our countries have an Other. And it seems that wherever there is an Other, prejudice thrives.

Maybe it is our nature to feel this way. Maybe it is human nature to fear the unknown. But in so many other ways we have transcended our nature, so what is stopping us now? Enough of our petty prejudices. Let us go find out and make it known: we are all the Other.

back in business

2006-12-15T18:58:00.000-06:00

Thanks to my trusty Webmaster, I can once again post to my blog. No more excuses for my extended disappearance.

best chili in Shanghai?

2006-11-13T08:16:00.000-06:00

Twenty different varieties of chili con carne, al fresco in the seventy degree heat, folks wearing burnt orange and Aggie maroon, live covers on acoustic guitars, and free-flow San Miguel.

I had the pleasure of selling raffle tickets to unsuspecting revelers for most of the afternoon and pouring drafts for the rest. It was for a good cause, though, with more than 5000 RMB raised in raffle tickets alone (and probably more than five times that in ticket sales and cook-off entries). While making my rounds, I met quite a few American expats who pleasantly surprised me by being not nearly as obnoxious as our reputations will have us. A good number were from the Lone Star State, others from Chicago, St. Louis, Seattle, etc. They were fun-loving, proud of their respective NCAA teams, and perhaps even prouder of their chili.

I tried probably half of the chili entries in the contest, and I must say - with complete objectivity – that the best chili I had was appropriately named Bevo's. I missed the announcement of the contest winners, but if Bevo's team won, it's sadly ironic that the Longhorns lost their title hopes on the very same day.

Hokkaido

2006-10-08T22:53:00.000-05:00

I went to Hokkaido with my parents during the Chinese National Holiday last week. Hokkaido is the northernmost island of Japan and is replete with dormant volcanoes, hot springs, clear blue lakes, and lush farmland. The abundance of nature was a refreshing change from the cold gray of Shanghai.

Our scenic drives and peaceful hikes were nourished by overwhelming buffets or hotpots that included plenty of fresh seafood. We ate one king crab that was pulled live from a tank, cracked into bite-sized pieces, and placed, raw, on our table half an hour later. I couldn't help but think about the lobster sushi I once had where I was watching the lobster move as I ate it... yech.

Though I was in Hokkaido for only four days, I did have a few new and/or interesting experiences:

Swimming in a bath house with about a dozen different types of jets and fountains. It was like exploring a village with water jets shooting at you from a different direction at every turn. The bath house was the size of a stadium, with a larger-than-Olympic-size wave pool in the middle, various small jet pools surrounding it, and the jet/fountain village and several nude spas off to the sides. I don't know which was funnier: the occasional man getting confused on his way out of the nude spa and walking in his birthday suit into the main pool area, or the looks on the faces of the attendants who hurried over to the man to tell him to put on some clothes.
Bathing nude in a natural hot spring. Thankfully, there were fewer than half a dozen other women around, all of whom were at least 30 years older than me, so I didn't feel quite so self-conscious. Still, I'm not the biggest of fan of going nude in public. And besides, it was really hot. 42 degrees C. That's about 106 degrees Fahrenheit. I didn't find it particularly refreshing. So I can check this one off the list, but there's no guarantee I'll do it again.
Eating salmon roe and rice for breakfast almost every day. Small, salty orange bubbles layered on top of slightly sweet rice. Yum.
Eating Kobe beef. The cows are organically fed and satiated with sake, then slaughtered at a young age to produce a very tender meat. The highest grade of beef must be ordered weeks, sometimes months in advance. Each portion comes wrapped and tagged with an ID number, which you then can look up online to learn about the cow's heritage and caretakers, not to mention see a picture of the poor animal you just ate. For the price tag ($200-$400/kg.), it's definitely not worth it. Sure, it's tender, but it's also extremely fatty. And frankly, beef is beef. I can buy steak meat in E-mart for less than a dollar. Plus, humanizing the animal does not make it especially appetizing to me.
Traveling in a country where I didn't know at least a little bit of the language. This part was tricky. Our tour guide recommended that we not converse with the locals if we didn't know Japanese because konichiwa and arigato can only get you so far. And in Hokkaido, this advice was pretty reasonable: Hokkaido is fairly rural, so even at the tourist sites, most people did not speak English. I can't think of anywhere I've traveled where I didn't at least know how to say, "Where is the bathroom?" But in Japan, I was completely dependent on fairly ineffective body language and finger pointing. It was a strange feeling.
Falling asleep every time the tour guide started speaking. I initially tried to be polite and listen to everything he said, but frankly, when you're on a bus for three or four hours passing by serene pastoral scenery and the tour guide insists on talking the *entire* time, in Cantonese, no less, which is not the most pleasant-sounding of languages, it's hard not to ease down in your chair so you're just out of view of the guy and close your eyes as his droning puts you to sleep.

it's not uncommon to see

2006-09-07T10:03:00.001-05:00

It's recently come to my attention that I've been stuck in a crappy day for going on a month and a half now, so I'd best update my blog. However, as I've said before, I no longer feel like a tourist here, so I no longer feel compelled to spend every free minute I have exploring some new side of the city. That, in addition to having been rather busy at work for the month of August, has left me with remarkably little to share with you now.
Instead, I'll offer a few more of those crumbs that I promised to share a while back - a few more things that make Shanghai just a little different from Austin. The theme for today: It's not uncommon to see...

People, usually men, sleeping on lawn chairs on the sidewalks or just off the curbs – in their underwear, more often than not.
People, usually men, bathing themselves on the sidewalks or just off the curbs – in their underwear, more often than not.
Hair salons with pink lights and scantily clad women inside. Obviously, you get more than a haircut there.
Hawkers on street corners, peddling everything from cheap knickknacks to slippers to pirated DVDs. I'm told the latter usually sell for about 10 kuai a piece. Blockbuster and Vulcan Video would never survive here.
Farmers on street corners, carrying upon their shoulders a yoke from which hang two baskets filled with a seasonal fruit. A month or two ago it was peaches and, I think, lotus. These days I'm starting to see some persimmons and a few fruits I've never seen before.
Muslim Chinese serving freshly roasted lamb shish kebabs from their street carts.
Babies' bottoms revealed by the open flaps in their pants.
Parents holding their babies up next to a tree or over the grass as they – the babies, that is – relieve themselves.
People of all ages playing badminton in any available open space – usually in the park.
Middle-aged and old men and women singing in a chorus or dancing the waltz or foxtrot in the middle of a public park, as bystanders gather around to watch.

I guess I deserve it

2006-07-21T10:33:00.000-05:00

Today was a crappy day.
Worse than crappy, really, but I'm trying real, real hard to keep this blog clean. Let's just say that to follow an already crappy week, today was Crappy with a capital 'C'.
I'm thinking to myself, "Sure, I'll go eat dinner with my coworkers, because today I'm not going to work overtime, and I'll go home to my cat and finally rest because I've been sick and it's the weekend and I can rest as much as I want as long as my cat doesn't force me out of bed."
It was going to be that simple. But it wasn't.
The minute I step out the door of the restaurant, I feel a slight bump on my bag and think nothing of it. Thirty minutes later, I'm on the bus to go home. I reach into my bag to get out my book, which I'm really looking forward to reading because it's a pretty good book and it relaxes me to read it and after a hard week there's nothing more I want to do on the bus ride home Friday night than to read a relaxing book. So I reach down to open my bag, only to find that – you guessed it – it's already open. And no, the pickpockets didn't even bother with my cell phone, which is what most pickpockets around here seem to take. No, they had to go for my wallet, which they probably saw me take out to pay for my food at the restaurant.
So there I am, a dumb, blind, broke idiot without even the money to hail a cab back to the restaurant to see if by some miraculous turn of events the wallet had actually fallen out of my bag and I could go back to recover it. Instead, I'm sitting on the green plastic bus seat with the blue and white plaid cushion and thinking about all the things that I so stupidly put all in the same, fateful place: two credit cards, one business and one personal; two bank cards, one US and one local; my driver's license; my student ID, which, yes, I still carry around because I think I may be able to use it to get student discounts though foreign student cards aren't much accepted around here; my insurance cards; a copy of my passport; a list of important phone numbers; a prayer card with Jesus Christ on one side, streaks of red and blue light coming out of his heart, and the words Jesus, I Trust in You on the bottom, and on the back side the Rosary Prayer – and no, I'm not religious let alone Catholic, but a family friend gave the card to me about 15 years ago before she died in her mid-30s of cancer, and I've kept it in my wallet ever since not so much because of her, because I hardly knew her, but maybe because that was what she had hope in, and I like to have hope, though I am not religious; about $100 in cash, which may not sound like much, but over here it can get you pretty far, and I only had it in my wallet because I was going to go recharge my bus card that evening, and I usually recharge a lot at a time so I don't have to keep going back every week to recharge it again; the card for my vet which listed out the shots they gave to Milan last time and which they told me to bring back in a month so they knew which shots they'd given him; some of my business cards; some other people's business cards; my SIM card for my Austin phone which had all the numbers of my friends in Austin so now I don't know any of their numbers, not that I call them anyway; three fortunes that I'd saved over the years and that said, You will step on the soil of many countries, You will soon be admired by someone you respect, and You have much to be thankful for; and about half a dozen movie ticket stubs from my favorite movies that I've seen since college. There was also a round, faded sticker in the center fold of my wallet with a burnt orange cow and the words Official Longhorn underneath that I got the day of my university orientation. I put it on my wallet because I thought it was ridiculous that they would think having that sticker would make me feel any sort of pride in the school. And honestly it doesn't give me much pride except when our sports teams win some national championship and I can show it off as if I know something about the sport when really I only know what I read in the paper the day after the game, unless it's football and maybe, just maybe, I've actually watched the game myself. And I also strangely had another sticker from a pair of Asics that I bought who knows how long ago, and I put the sticker there just because I didn't have anywhere to throw it away at the time, and like the longhorn sticker I never bothered to take it off, but it's actually come in handy when I want to know what size shoe I wear in the US or in the UK or in Europe. How I managed to cram all that junk (and probably more) in my wallet, I have no clue. But it's a moot point now seeing as it's all gone.
I keep trying to put things in perspective. There are people dying in the world right now because of war, famine, natural disasters, etc., and here I am complaining about a splitting headache and a stolen wallet that I don't even know why I'm so upset about losing. Well I'm done complaining, so you can stop reading now.

public transportation is good because...

2006-07-20T08:45:00.000-05:00

It's cheaper than a car. Definitely so. Back home, I spent close to $80 on gas each month; here, 80 kuai covers one month of bus fare to and from work.
It's convenient. I walk 5 minutes to the bus stop in the morning, and it drops me off at the front door of my office. Also, I live just above a metro stop, so all I have to do is walk downstairs in order to be taken to the center of town. The inconvenient bit is that public transportation stops running between 9 and 11 at night. After that, your only option is to walk or take a taxi.
It's better for the environment. At least it's supposed to be, though emissions standards here seem much more relaxed than in the States – to say the least. I'm always a bit skeptical that a bus of 30 people creates less exhaust than half as many cars when I hear the bus groan and see a thick black plume of smoke trailing behind it.
It saves time. Well, that's true if your only other option is to take a taxi and it's raining and therefore all the cabs that drive by are full. Otherwise, public transportation usually takes more time than driving. A 20 minute cab ride can end up taking one hour by bus or subway. Still, if you're not in a rush, it's the cheaper and more environmentally friendly option to take.
It's public. It's available to the masses. It provides mobility to millions of people who otherwise might not have access to other parts of the city or even country. The downside to this, of course, is that those millions of people are the ones cramming you against the back wall of the subway or jostling you to get to the back of the bus.

Don't get me wrong; I think public transportation is great. And I think public transportation in Austin and in most places in the States definitely needs to be improved. But sometimes I do miss having a car. I like being able to drive around whenever I want, being at the mercy of my own schedule, and going exactly where I want to go, with the only detours being a result of my getting lost and driving in circles, as admittedly happens quite often. I like listening to the music I want to listen to, rather than to yet another teen pop princess with a pearly face and a voice made for KTV. And I like being able to roll the windows down and breathe in the fresh Austin air, without pollution or the constant honking of horns to spoil the drive.

And now introducing...

2006-06-25T10:16:00.000-05:00

Milan "Milkdud" the Magnificent!

I'm not one to fawn, but allow me this one post to show him off.

I can't tell whether Milan understands English, Chinese, or French. I've tried all three and he hasn't acknowledged any of them. So either he's fluent in none, or else he's just a cat. A pretty one, though, ain't he?

superior employee development

2006-06-23T23:58:00.000-05:00

Forgive me my two-week absence; I've been busy playing tour guide in this adopted city of mine.

Not two days after my old roommate left, my manager came to stay with me for a week and a half. She's been to Shanghai a number of times before and has seen all the touristy sites, so this time we tried to see more of everyday Shanghai. Here are some highlights (or at least places and activities for which I have pictures).

Confucian Temple
The temple doubles as a school for Confucian scholars.

Yu Yuan (Yu Garden)
This 'old city' area of town is done up with old-style architecture and offers various stores where you can buy touristy knicknacks and jewelry. We went simply to fulfill my manager's craving for xiaolong bao (little dragon buns).

Zongzi Party
Our coworkers came over to my apartment and we made homemade zongzi (sticky rice stuffed with pork and wrapped in bamboo leaves). Considering none of us really knew how to make them, ours actually turned out pretty well.

Plant and Pet Market
Our visit to the market ended up being more disturbing than entertaining. Most of the animals were clearly ill or dying. They also were not living in even close to ideal conditions: I saw more than a dozen kittens crawling over each other in a small metal cage, dogs for sale with their ears dyed bright orange and their tails dyed blue, and, most disturbing of all, a young miniature Schnauzer being painted black with something like shoe polish because light-colored Schnauzers apparently don't sell as well.

World Cup Watching
We went to an Irish pub filled with equal parts Dutch and Chinese to watch a couple World Cup games with our coworkers.

It's amazing we got any work done at all last week. My manager - she's a wild one alright.

the yellow watermelon

2006-06-11T07:21:00.000-05:00

A friend of mine is in town on a business trip and stayed with me over the weekend. Saturday morning, she was craving melon for breakfast, so I offered her some watermelon I had in my refrigerator. It just so happened I'd bought a bunch of fruit for a party on Friday night.
I stood in the kitchen eating half of a watermelon that I'd had left over from the night before and watched my friend cut open another. I was just about to comment on her use of a small peeling knife to cut open the watermelon (I, very typically Chinese, would have used a cleaver), when suddenly we both gasped in surprise.
"What is that?"
"Is that a watermelon?"
"I guess. It looks like a watermelon."
"But it's yellow! Do you think it's gone bad?"
"No, it looks fine. Look at the skin - and the seeds. They look like a regular watermelon."
"But it's ... yellow."
Indeed, it wasn't a red watermelon gone bad. It tasted exactly the same as a red watermelon, just as juicy and just as sweet. Only it was yellow.

Yellow watermelon: it puts a smile on your face.

the adventures in bilingualism continue

2006-06-05T09:27:00.000-05:00

These past four months, I've taken the osmosis/immersion route of language training, listening to my coworkers talk at lunch and during meetings, chatting with shop owners and taxi drivers, and watching an occasional Chinese program on TV. Unfortunately, it seems this route has developed my skills in reading body language more than it has increased my Chinese vocabulary. Sure, I've picked up the occasional phrase here or there, and I've chanced upon occasional eureka moments when I realize certain Mandarin words are equivalent to ones I already knew in Cantonese. My listening skills have also improved; I can recognize and regurgitate the sounds people make, regardless of the speed or accent with which they're spoken. But for the most part, I feel my vocabulary is hardly bigger than when I first arrived. I know that with more practice and more structure my improvement could be more noticeable. I also know that I learn best with the formality and routine of a classroom setting. So I'm excited that I will finally be starting official, formal, structured Chinese classes next week.
I went last weekend to take the placement exam. I'd called ahead, and the receptionist asked how long I'd been learning Chinese. I hesitated. Should I tell her one semester, since that was the length of the refresher course I took before moving to Shanghai? Or maybe two years, since I took a Chinese class in high school and one again in senior high – though due to a change in schools, I had to start from the beginning again. Or maybe I should tell her seven years, which is my guess at how long I was forced to attend Chinese Sunday school when I was a child. I said two years, and qualified it by saying I was Chinese-American.
When I arrived at the school, I was welcomed by the same receptionist I'd spoken to on the phone. We sat in a colorful room decorated with a children's phonetics poster and scenic pictures of Nanjing. The receptionist flipped through her files and pulled out a sheet of paper. "Let's take a placement test," she said. She spoke to me only in Chinese.
There were about a dozen questions on the first page of the test, all written in Chinese characters. I was to listen to the receptionist read a passage and then write down my answers to the questions. As she began reading, I realized that 1) I could only read about 30% of the paper, and 2) I could only understand about 30% of the passage she was reading. All I knew was that it had something to do with tea. She repeated the passage twice, noticed the blank stare on my face, and then said, "Let's try an easier test, shall we?"
This time she started off with an oral test, asking me questions about the weather, holidays, food, and travel. Much better; though I was still panicked from the first test, I could at least carry on a halfway decent conversation with the woman. Then she handed me another piece of paper. It too had Chinese characters on it, but this time with phonetics to aid reading. It was also multiple choice. I now recognized about 70 or 80% of the words - but those I recognized did not help me answer the questions, which were focused primarily on specific grammatical structures. When I didn't know the answer, which was most of the time, I guessed. And apparently I guessed pretty well. At least the receptionist thought I did sufficiently well, as she determined that I should be studying at that level.
She recommended that I take the school's Business Chinese class. She said it would be more beneficial to me than the intermediate-level general Chinese class, and that, yes, I would not only be able to communicate in a business context but also would be able to converse more easily with my coworkers around the lunch table after taking the course. The latter is especially important to me. I just want to be able to communicate easily and fluidly with my peers; I could care less if I knew how to discuss mergers and acquisitions at this point in my Chinese studies. So Business Chinese it is.
I've just noticed that the textbook for the class "is designed for those who have completed at least one year to one and a half years of Chinese study at the college level and have gained a good knowledge of basic grammar in modern Chinese as well as around a 1,000-word vocabulary in Chinese." I can't even read the title of the book let alone the table of contents. Can we say "under-qualified"? Oh well, more to learn I guess. And that's the whole point of what's certain to be a very frustrating, ego-bruising, and yet wonderfully challenging experience ahead.

home

2006-05-21T23:01:00.000-05:00

I walked with free-roaming peacocks in an empty garden the other day. As they crowed from their nests high up in the trees, I wandered down a twig-covered path and found myself at the edge of a lake. The wooden boat houses were empty, the glass windows dulled like white sheets over summer house furniture. I couldn't see the sky in the water; the sun's reflection was blinding. I peered through the branches, though, and saw the blue sky overhead. The lake shimmered at eye level, and I contemplated climbing a tree trunk bent down low.

Yesterday I played catch with my brother in the park. Further down the open field, a shirtless man did the same with his dog. Couples whispered under the shade, and a father and toddler son rode a tandem bike down the dirt path. We walked under the cloudless sky to the water's edge. Throwing off our shoes, we stepped gingerly on the sharp rocks leading down to the springs, where we cooled our feet and rested them on slippery, moss-covered stones. Little children and big dogs splashed noisily through the shallow water, while tadpoles attempted to swim uninterrupted.

Today I drove in circles through the hill country. I stopped at a red metal bridge and climbed an uneven path beside it. A lone tree marked the top, its knotted arms outstretched as if eager to dive into the river below. Boats drew white zigzags through the blue-green waves, and across the way were tree-covered hills and the cityscape on the horizon. I napped on a rock jutting out from the cliff as the sunlight seeped into my skin. I waited for dusk, but the sun refused to fall.

Austin. It's good to be home.

sore legs are our souvenir

2006-05-07T10:24:00.000-05:00

I spent the latter half of this golden week climbing Huangshan, or Yellow Mountain as it's known in English, with three of my coworkers. Huangshan is considered one of the most beautiful mountains in China - if not the most beautiful one. It's famous for its Four Beauties: pine trees, rock formations, natural springs, and the 'sea of clouds', so called because the peaks of the mountain seem to float like islands above the clouds. Unfortunately, each of these beauties eluded us, no thanks to Mother Nature.

Thursday was spent in transit - a 6 hour bus ride from Shanghai with some stops to nearby villages (mostly tourist traps not worth the extra money) and a tea house where we tried various green teas unique to the region. That night my coworkers and I discussed whether we wanted to walk up the mountain the next day or take the cable car up, and we agreed that we would walk. Huangshan has three main peaks, Lianhua (Lotus), Guangmingding (Brightness), and Tiandu (Heavenly Capital), each of which is more than 1800 meters high. Lotus Peak, the highest of the three, was closed, so we were going to climb Tiandu Peak instead.

Friday, the weather looked fine for a hike. Our guide recommended that we spend the morning visiting some side attractions so as to avoid the morning crowd on the mountain. We therefore spent the first sunny hours visiting various waterfalls. By the time we set out to actually go up Huangshan, the sky had become deeply overcast, and just as we'd finished lunch, it started to rain.

Before we left Shanghai, we had decided that it would be silly to pack rain gear because even if it did start to rain, we could buy plastic ponchos on the mountain. So, when it started to rain at midday on Friday, we each bought ponchos and covers for our pants from the hotel before heading out. I guess for 5 kuai I shouldn't have expected quality gear, but these outfits were ridiculous. They were as thin as Saran Wrap (cling film for you Brits) and less durable, so that as soon as I pulled the ties to tighten my hood, I ripped a hole where the hood meets the jacket, and somewhere in the span of five minutes I managed to rip a hole in my pant covers that stretched from the bottom of my leg up to the middle of my thigh - not exactly waterproof anymore.

The rain was no dainty spring shower either. It fell heavily and ceaselessly and worked its way inside our raincoats as we climbed. The peaks were closed off (because three years ago, six people were killed by lightning while climbing Huangshan), so there went our plan to climb Tiandu Peak. We had to take the cable car instead. We waited in line - and in the rain - for about two hours before finally reaching the gates of the cable car station. We had just handed over our tickets when we heard the low rumbling of thunder. Perfect timing; the cable car stops running during lightning storms. Thankfully, the lightning stayed away, and about an hour later, we were on our way up the mountain.

The cable car supposedly takes a scenic path, and between the clouds and the fogged up windows, we saw the occasional waterfall or cluster of pine trees. However, we could not even see the cable car in front of or behind us. At some points, visibility was practically zero.

The cable car took us to about 1500 or 1600 meters up the mountain. Our guide then toured us around to various must-see scenic spots at the top, including the Welcome Pine Tree and the Beginning-to-Believe Peak, from whose vantage point it's said that people first began to realize how beautiful Huangshan is. It was a wasted effort, though, as we could hardly see anything at all. We were miserable: wet, cold, tired, and frustrated. Even if we could have seen more than 15 feet ahead of us to take a photo, we didn't want to bring our cameras out into the pouring rain.

Eventually we reached the Brightness Peak, the second highest peak of Huangshan. However, the wind was strong and the rain heavy, so we didn't even stay there five minutes. I hardly remember at all what it looked like. We tried to snap a quick photo, but all you can see is us looking like ghosts in our plastic rain gear. You can't see the trees or the clouds or the mountain.

When we reached our hotel, each of us was soaked through. We had left our change of clothing at the bottom of the mountain, thinking that we didn't want to climb with unnecessarily heavy bags, so we had nothing to change into when we reached the top. I had brought a sweatshirt, which managed to stay fairly dry in my backpack, but had no pants to replace my wet jeans. My coworkers and I, not wanting to catch cold at night, stripped off our pants before going to bed even though we were six to a room.

Saturday morning we were supposed to meet at 5:30 for breakfast and catch the sunrise, but it was still raining and the fog was thick. We could barely even see out the hotel door. We put on our wet clothes and soggy shoes from the day before (they were just going to get wet again anyway) and started our trek to visit still more oddly shaped rocks and pine trees. The rain was lighter, though, and when the guide told us we had the option of taking the cable car or walking down the mountain, we all said we would walk. I should have mentioned that climbing Huangshan is not like walking a steep path; rather, it's like an endless workout on the Stairmaster. So, coming down the mountain was 6.5 km of walking down a winding pathway of stairs. Our legs were like rubber by the time we reached the bottom.

The further we walked down the mountain, the clearer the weather became. We were able to take some photos whenever there was a break in the trees, but by this time we were no longer at the peak and could not get a good panoramic view of the mountain. What was worse, when we reached the bottom, a woman told us that the weather was perfect to see the sea of clouds from the peak. Just a few hours earlier or later and we could have done.

We made it back to Shanghai, exhausted, around midnight on Saturday. I would have liked to say that I enjoyed the trip, but the truth is that it was more of an experience than an enjoyment. We all agreed that the most memorable part of the trip was the rain. What's more, we have many pictures of waterfalls and a few of some pine trees, but none of the hot springs or the sea of clouds. We have no pictures to prove we witnessed the famous beauty of Huangshan - because we didn't actually witness it ourselves. And we have nothing to show for making it to the top of Huangshan, nothing, that is, but sore quads and calves and a waddle when we walk.

another golden week

2006-04-30T23:23:00.000-05:00

Millions of immigrants and their supporters will take to the streets of America today in protest of HR 4437. They will not work, shop, sell, or go to school, their absence intended to highlight their significant contribution to the US economy and society.

In China, as in many other countries around the world, people also are not at work or school today. They are on holiday instead. For them, today is Labor Day, May Day, or International Workers' Day.

I learned, while researching the Day Without an Immigrant campaign, that May Day actually began with the Haymarket Riot of 1886 in Chicago. Anarchists led a rally to protest the May 1st killing of union workers who had gone on strike to demand an eight-hour work day and better working conditions. The rally turned violent: a bomb was thrown, killing a policeman, and the police then opened fire on the crowd. Eight labor leaders (five of whom were immigrants) were charged with the policeman's murder. Though no evidence linked these men to the bombing, all were found guilty, seven were sentenced to death, and four were eventually hung. The governor later determined that all of the accused were innocent and pardoned the survivors. Following this debacle, people across the globe chose May 1st as a day to commemorate the achievements of the international labor force. This holiday was embraced by the far left wing, including socialist and communist governments. The US government, not wanting to show solidarity with those movements, chose to celebrate Labor Day in September instead, following a tradition by the Knights of Labor.

On a day with such a rich and fascinating history, and today with history in the making, I find it extremely ironic that I, the American daughter of naturalized citizens who emigrated to the US from Hong Kong, am now in China and recognizing May Day with a full week off of work.

three months on

2006-04-22T05:09:00.000-05:00

This past Thursday was my three-month milestone in Shanghai. I meant to write something about it then, but I was too busy and forgot all about it. That's a good thing, right?

In Tunisia, I taught three classes, lived in three different apartments, improved my French, explored nearly the whole country, made friends, and said goodbye to friends in all of three months' time. Imagine what I can do with two years in Shanghai.

Three months down, twenty-one to go. Bring it on.

picture time!

2006-04-12T07:18:00.000-05:00

Don't get your hopes up; I still haven't bought myself a digital camera. But, thanks to my friends, I do have some visual record of what I've been up to for the past three months. Here are some things I like to do in my free time.

EXPLORE THE CITY
I always discover something new in this city, whether I'm uptown in my neighborhood or downtown in the shopping district.

TRY NEW FOODS
My coworker Jay took these pictures of us hard at work making dumplings – from scratch! – at my apartment. It's really much more difficult than it looks (except for the eating part).

ENJOY THE ARTS
Shanghai has an underground scene for both art and music. I try to go at least once a week to a different gallery or gig.

SING KARAOKE
Yes, this phenomenon deserves a category of its own. Karaoke is THE way to celebrate a special occasion, or to celebrate nothing at all. Talent is not required.

This picture thing is too much fun. Need to get me a digital camera...

honest living

2006-04-08T21:13:00.000-05:00

I walked home from the bus stop last night. It wasn't late, maybe 8 o' clock or so, but the sky was dark and the streets relatively empty. I was still on the main road when I felt a tug on my backpack. I spun around and suddenly stood face to face with a young man, perhaps in his 20s, his hand still on the back of my bag. He looked at me surprised. Then he smiled faintly, pulled his hand away, and turned to face the traffic. I, too, was stunned. From the corner of my eye, I saw an old woman in a red jacket, a witness to the scene, watching us from about 20 feet away.
"What were you doing?" I asked the man, incriminatingly. Keeping my eyes on him, I felt the zippers of my backpack. One was partially open, but I knew there was nothing in that pocket to be stolen.
The man did not respond; he just continued smiling and watching the cars.
I watched him for a few more seconds but then didn't know what else to do. Maybe there was nothing else to do. So I continued walking.
I took a few steps and then turned around to see if the man was still following me. Instead, he had taken off running in the other direction. The old woman in red had stopped watching and was heading in the opposite direction, too. The man slowed his pace as he neared her. Soon he matched her stride, and then, to my surprise, they walked with one another on down the street.
As I neared my apartment building, I put my hand in my pocket and felt the jingle of about four or five coins. I was suddenly flooded with anger. Why had that man singled me out? What had I done for him to want to steal from me? Then - why had I done nothing to prevent him from stealing again? Why had I just walked on as if nothing had happened? And finally - why hadn't I thought to give him the coins in my pocket? Maybe then he wouldn't think to steal from the next person. Maybe then he'd decide to seek an honest living.
Never before has anyone in Shanghai tried to swindle me. Sure, the people in the markets jack up their prices to twice or three times the true value, but you're expected to bargain the prices back down. Taxi drivers have especially impressed me with their honesty. If you get in their cab at a red light, they wait until they start moving to put the meter down rather than charging you for the wait time. If they get lost, they'll stop the meter and charge you only for what the fare should have been if they had gone the right way. Only once did a taxi driver pretend to get lost; we told him we wanted to go to the east end of the street and he intentionally went west instead, keeping the meter running the whole time. But when we complained and told him we should only have to pay half the final fare, he did not argue at all.
I've also always considered Shanghai to be a safe city. I don't see crime on the streets and have never felt uncomfortable walking outside late at night. I've heard of people getting their cell phones stolen, especially in extremely crowded places like on the subway or the bus. Generally, though, if you keep an eye on your things and use your common sense, you'll be fine. So the fact that I was pickpocketed in the early evening on a fairly empty street in my own neighborhood - that was just shocking to me.

down south

2006-04-01T21:24:00.000-06:00

I flew into Shenzhen, arriving a little past midday on Tuesday afternoon. As I stepped out of the airport, I squinted through the sunlight to read the bus numbers and find the one that would take me to the train station. I squinted! There was sunlight! Not muted yellow light strained through grey clouds and a polluted haze. No! I looked up, and there was the sun, its brilliant self shining imposingly in the middle of the clear blue sky. Blue sky!
The train station was a good 45 minutes from the airport. I tried to use the time to read, but was constantly distracted by the sun's rays that lit up the hills a rich, luscious green. Hills! Green! More mountains than hills, actually, though the word "mountain" suggests (to me, anyway) something harsher, colder - if not barren then at least sparse, if green then covered with grass but with few trees. These mountains, though, were thickly layered head to foot in dark, leafy foliage - unspoiled natural beauty. Unspoiled, until I saw one with a sunken reddish-beige face, heavy machinery carving it away in sheets, as one would do a piece of cake.
The earth from the mountain will, I suppose, be used to fill the coastline, creating new land for developments like the golf course that my parents can see from their 22nd floor apartment. Manicured lawns, displaced trees, transported sand, man-made lakes - all imitations of the very nature they replace. The white egrets, which once made their homes there, have been pushed to a small enclave on the edge of the golf course, their bountiful wetlands now just a meager reservation.
Or maybe the mountain is being leveled so that several large apartment communities can take its place, thus nurturing the fast-growing real estate market. I remember riding the metro in Shanghai and passing rows and rows of tall, rigid, identical apartment buildings, so straight and perfectly aligned, like a battalion of soldiers standing at attention. An aerial view of the city probably looks like a Risk board with opposing forces all grimly ready for the charge. Shenzhen, though a smaller force, is undoubtedly amassing its own armies; competition's always welcome in that Special Economic Zone.
In Hong Kong, construction continues as well. Expansion in the north, in the New Territories - the suburbs, if you will - where there's still untouched land. New train lines, including one stop just outside my old high school. We used to take a 'snake path' up to the school gates, a small footpath worn through the tall grass up the hill from the main road. The snake path is gone, as is the grass. A once isolated school tranquilly overlooking Starfish Bay now neighbors a mass transit line. In the south of Hong Kong, on Hong Kong Island, where practically every space available has already been built up, construction comes in the form of renovation, razing, and rebuilding, motivated by the constant promise of land appreciation as well as the strains of a growing population and a growing economy.
Despite the urbanization, Hong Kong maintains a greater beauty than Shanghai - something in the way the city is built in and around the mountains, with the sea on every side. And, of course, it benefits from the climate. The sun not only brightens one's outlook on the city, but also nourishes a wide variety of vibrantly blossoming trees - trees that are not relegated to parks and botanical gardens, but rather are spread throughout the city, coloring the otherwise soulless, glass and metal landscape.
Though I enjoy Shanghai immensely, spending the week in Hong Kong was like getting a taste of home. The sun, the warmth, the color - I'd forgotten how much I love to be down south.