Back To The Future

Today was the Chinese holiday called Duanwu Jie, which translates to “Dragon Boat Festival.” The holiday is based around two myths. The original story was one of a poet that lived at some unspecified time in China’s history. This poet worked for the emperor, but the emperor did not approve of his work. Heartbroken by his inability to satisfy the king, the poet killed himself. This pleased the emperor, but he was not satisfied with just his death, so he had the poet’s body thrown in the river.

Afraid that the fish would eat the poet’s body, the peasants made “Zongzi” (by wrapping balls of pork in gelatinous rice) and throwing them in the water. The fish thought the Zongzi was flesh so they ate that instead of the poet—who was still dead.

Now if you’re like most people, you might notice there are no dragons or boats in this story. The dragon portion comes from a totally separate myth that arose in the same era of Chinese history. This one is set in a remote village where a peasant saved a dragon from drowning. The dragon turned out to be a god, and as thanks for saving his life, the dragon widened the river so the town would always have enough water.

Over time, the two myths merged into one holiday. Now, in traditional Chinese culture, each dragon boat day, families stay home to watch dragon boat racing on TV and make homemade Zongzi.

What do most modern Chinese people do on Dragon Boat day? Go shopping! (Just like most American holidays)

With tomorrow being my first day of work I wanted to get a bag that I could carry my tablet, umbrella, and books to work in so that I don’t look like a total tourist fumbling through the subway. Nate and I went to West Nanjing Road. Everywhere, in every mall, every market, every street corner, people were cramming into stores to take advantage of the sales.  We eventually found a shop selling knock offs. The quality wasn’t perfect, but the price was right and I got a small briefcase for about 18USD.

Consulting my new book, we looked for things to do. I recognized one section on a neighborhood called Xitiandi. It was another neighborhood that Jessica’s friend had recommended. We took the subway over there.

Once again, the mall and shops were packed. We found a Vietnamese place that had patio seating and got lunch. We both ordered pho—Nate got beef, I got chicken—and I got a mango smoothie while Nate got iced coffee. My smoothie looked just like the one from the other night, although not quite as big and not quite as good. Nate’s coffee came in a small one cup percolator, with a cup of ice.

The Pho was really good. The broth tasted great on its own, but I added a little lime, basil, sprouts, and onion. The noodles were slimy, and I tried my best to be polite and slurp, although it still felt very rude and unnatural.

“Why are Vietnamese restaurants in the US always called something like ‘Pho 24’?” I asked.

“Because that’s what they are called in Vietnam,” Nate said. “Nothing in Vietnam has a name, it just goes by its address.”

Reading about Xitiandi in my book, I learned that it was part of the French Concession. In the 1920’s it was the place to be if you had money and wanted to show it off. From expensive shopping districts, to fine dining Xitiandi had it all. The large homes, called Shukimen, were built with stone doors and often housed large families of three generations, along with their servants. The neighborhood was a destination spot for writers and artists to find the muse and has often been compared to the 1920’s in Paris.

Xitiandi was also the neighborhood where the Party was born and was the seat of the Party during the cultural revolution. At the time, Xitiandi fell to disarray. In the 1990’s an effort to rebuild it went into effect and it has again returned to a trendy, artistic neighborhood. Foreigners find it cultural, while locals find it foreign; both find it a charming place to escape the city life.

While you can go to visit the Party headquarters and see the original meeting room, entrance to that exhibit requires a passport. Instead, we decided to go find the museum in an old Shukimen house. Winding through the streets, we walked under trees that were planted so closely together, their canopy almost blocked out the sun. The roads had changed from pavement to cobblestones and the buildings were now made of uneven bricks.

Nate saw a store advertising that they were a “life shop.” Curious what it might be, we went inside. It turned out, they sold any type of junk you might need at any time in your life. We immediately left. Seeing a red flag about halfway down the street. We walked towards it and discovered that it marked the entrance to the museum.

We bought tickets and went inside. Each of the small rooms were filled with 1920’s knickknacks. From paint brushes to post cards the desks were covered with different parchments and implements. The beds were lined with silk sheets, and various black and white portraits hung on the walls.

As we walked up the mahogany stair case, there was a small room off on one of the landings. A sign in English explained that these rooms were often built into the homes and rented out to travelling writers as a way for the families to make some income.

The bedrooms upstairs were small and wallpapered with newspaper and movie posters. It reminded me of Anne Frank’s room in Amsterdam, although with much more natural lighting.

Finished with the museum, we went back outside. Winding through the streets, it really did feel very Parisian. People sat in patio seating outside restaurants as they enjoyed afternoon drinks under the shade of the trees. You could feel the essence of 1920’s Shanghai. It struck me that this was the first time I really felt back-in-time. Almost all of Europe felt like a flashback, but most of China thus far had felt very modern, if not a bit futuristic. Here, these anachronistic streets offered a small glimpse of where Europe, America, and China all met once-upon-a time in history.

As we walked through the little ally ways and under the arched buttresses, we rounded a corner and nearly plowed into Jessica and Dayana (what are the odds that in a city of 23 million people, we would run into two that we knew.) They had pretty much slept in and spent the day wandering like we had. We stood in the street and talked a bit until Jessica mentioned a park they had just come from. We decided to go walk around it too.

Walking mostly out of the little neighborhood and crossing the street, we came into a nice garden with a bright blue pond. “Pretty sure they color that water,” Nate said. If it was supposed to look clear, it didn’t. It was definitely dyed a highlighter blue, perhaps in giving the illusion that it was clean. The park, however, was filled with beautiful flowers and tall grasses. It was nice to stroll along and take in the fresh smells of the plant life. I even noticed that the rain had washed away the smog and we now had blue sky overhead.

The one nuisance in the park were the guards. They were hidden at various points (most of the time unseen) to strictly enforce the rules of the park. For example, every time someone stepped on the grass or got too close to the edge of the pond or climbed on any of the statues, they would jump out and blow their whistles at you.

What a job that must be.

After making a lap about halfway around the pond, I decided I wanted to get back to the apartment. I was meeting my boss for dinner and I wanted to take some time to unwind and freshen up before going to meet him. The three of them had made plans to go for Mexican food (which kind of freaks me out in China) so they decided to head back too.

Back at the building, I went to my room while they continued on to the restaurant. In my room, I started looking at some day and weekend trips I want to take. When it got to be six o’clock, I got ready to head out. Packing up my new bag, I locked up my room and headed to dinner.

Now the real fun begins I thought. This is what I came here for…hopefully this will be what opens the door for me to understanding China.