SHANGHAI, CHINA: Let a Hundred Decadent Spas Bloom

The water room at the Banyan Tree spa in Shanghai.  Qilai Shen for The New York Times

September 16, 2007

By JOSHUA KURLANTZICK

ALONG the Shanghai street, choking haze draped the buildings and gridlocked traffic like a damp blanket. Vendors screamed out prices for water and postcards, and pedestrians hacked into handkerchiefs and covered their faces with masks. Construction workers in torn, dirty jeans bored a hole into the sidewalk, geysering dirt everywhere.

But inside Three on the Bund, overlooking this chaos from a restored 1916 structure that once housed the Mercantile Bank of India, China's urgency and insanity seemed far away. In the cavernous front room of the Evian Spa by Three, which rises several stories and lets in beams of light from its portholelike windows, the only noise was the tinkling of soft music. Spa attendants led guests past polished wood Chinese sculptures and into private rooms, where they could wallow in giant bathtubs and choose from an exhaustive menu of rubs and facials.

Ten or even five years ago, China boasted few spas that could compete with those of Thailand, Indonesia or other famous relaxation hubs. Visitors to the country, and Chinese themselves traveling for the first time, generally sought out the country's best-known cultural attractions, sparing little time for some pampering. China certainly had its own spa tradition — reflexology parlors dotted city streets — but most traditional massage places were simple affairs or, occasionally, fronts for prostitution. Many of the country's hotels, still struggling to overcome the legacy of socialism, had not exactly mastered the art of relaxation.

But times have changed: Chinese spas, sensing the potential of the relaxation market, are giving themselves a makeover, upgrading their services so they can compete with the finest health resorts in Asia. As the Chinese themselves have become travelers — China is becoming one of the largest sources of tourists in the world — they are demanding higher standards of service. With disposable income in upscale eastern cities, Chinese tourists and business travelers now have cash for indulging themselves. And since China features crowds, pollution and fierce traffic, Chinese travelers and foreign tourists often find spas essential to surviving the intense pace of life.

Luxury hotels have opened some of the classier spas in China. In Lijiang, a Unesco World Heritage site in the southwest that could be a poster for classical China, with its old town of cobblestone streets, bridges and houses, Banyan Tree has opened a spa. Near the Great Wall at a complex designed by 12 leading Asian architects, Anantara set its own spa, while Marriott built a spa retreat, called Quan, on Sanya, a tropical resort in the south of Hainan Island. St. Regis even plans to open an upscale hotel in remote Lhasa, complete with a spa.

But in recent years, smaller boutique spas have sprung up across the country as well. “They don't just explore Western things, though, they are interested in exploring Chinese elements as well,” said P. T. Black of Jigsaw International, a Shanghai-based market research firm. “Traditional medicines and technique — from cupping to wolfberries — are playing an important part of the spa experience.” (Cupping involves placing heated glass cups on the skin to extract toxins; wolfberries are said to bolster the immune system and enhance circulation.)

Rather than just depending on Western experts, then, many new Chinese spas incorporate local elements. In Beijing, Zenspa has built its rooms and massage tables in a traditional-style house, whose interior courtyard naturally filters out much of the noise from outside, which is important in a city that makes Los Angeles seem like a driver's paradise.

Inside Dragonfly, a Chinese spa chain, designers have blended stone and traditional dark wood, paying homage to classic Chinese homes. Often open until the wee hours, Dragonfly offers many of the same massages as hotel spas at far lower prices, so it draws Chinese visitors. At a Dragonfly spa in Shanghai's old French concession, middle-age Chinese women with bouffant dos line up for facials next to punky-looking Shanghai teenagers with spiky hair.

Spas in China can draw on millenniums of sophisticated Chinese medicine, which includes cupping, acupressure and many other treatments to improve blood circulation and yin-yang equilibrium. At Chi, a spa at the Pudong Shangri-La hotel in Shanghai, guests can fill out a questionnaire that helps figure out their Chinese element: metal, fire, wood, water or earth. Chi's spa therapists then help guide treatments depending on which elements dominate. (Relying on elements also could encourage repeat business; your element makeup can change, so you would have to return.)

Like several other Chinese spas, Chi uses traditional Tibetan elements. It uses tsampa, a kind of roasted barley flour, in one rubdown and offers another Himalayan treatment involving hot stones heated in oil. The masseuse uses the oiled stones to apply deep pressure, and sometimes leaves the stones on parts of the patient's body because the heated rock supposedly can improve the flow of energy.

Banyan Tree's Shanghai spa also tries to use traditional products, focusing on incorporating local herbs like ginseng into treatments. Hard-core Chinese medicine enthusiasts have even built an entire traditional medicine theme park in Zhuhai, a city in southern China near Macao. At the Zhuhai Chinese Medicine Valley, visitors can soak in pools filled with tea, milk or Chinese herbs.

In one of the stranger new attempts, the Jiaosu Spa in Shanghai offers a treatment based on dust from juniper wood and rice husks. Mixed with enzymes and live bacteria, the dust turns into a hot, dry dirt bath, like the ultimate summer sandbox. Guests sink their bodies into the dirt pit, and spa attendants use a kind of shovel to cover them with this mix of earth. Though one might wonder whether someone who spends days slugging through Shanghai's sooty air wants to rinse off with dirt, supposedly by sinking into this hot pit spagoers can elevate their metabolism, cleanse their skin and even bolster their immunities to diseases.

As they move upscale, many Chinese spas are even addressing their biggest failing, finding staff members who can emulate the grace and warmth of Thais and Indonesians. Some still struggle, but at the most upscale, like Evian, spagoers could easily imagine themselves luxuriating in Phuket or Bali. At least until they go outside again.

VISITOR INFORMATION: TOUCH OF THE EAST

The Banyan Tree Shanghai is at the Westin Shanghai (Bund Center, 88 Henan Central Road; 86-21-6335-1888; www.banyantreespa.com/shanghai). Massages begin at 780 yuan, or about $100 at 7.7 yuan to the dollar; longer treatments cost up to 2,100 yuan.

Massages at Chi at the Pudong Shangri-La (33 Fu Cheng Road, Pudong, Shanghai; 86-21-5877-1503; www.shangri-la.com/en/property/shanghai/pudongshangrila) start at 630 yuan for an hourlong foot massage, with other treatments up to 2,280 yuan.

The spa chain Dragonfly (www.dragonfly.net.cn), with several locations in China, has massages from 65 yuan for a half-hour head-and-shoulder treatment up to 1,288 yuan.

Evian Spa by Three (Three on the Bund, Shanghai; 86-21-6321-6622; www.threeonthebund.com) has a 45-minute foot massage for 400 yuan and longer treatments costing up to 1,600 yuan.

A dust bath at the Jiaosu Spa in the Xinyuan Hotel (1900 Hongqiao Road, Shanghai; 86-21-6242-6688) is 298 yuan.

At Zenspa (House 1, 8A Xiaowuji Road, Chaoyang, Beijing; 86-10-8731-2530; www.zenspa.com.cn) treatments start at 450 yuan for a one-hour Swedish massage, with longer sessions up to 3,680 yuan.

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SHANGHAI, CHINA: The Real Shanghai

Construction workers have dinner in a central Shanghai street. The Oriental Pearl tower looms in the background.  Howard French

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SHANGHAI, CHINA: Shanghai for Kids: An Urban Playground

Children feed the carp in a pond at Yu Yuan in Shanghai.  Qilai Shen for The New York Times

May 13, 2007

By BARBARA KOH

TEEMING with international high-rollers, glittery skyscrapers and construction cranes, China's sophisticated capital of business wouldn't seem a welcoming place for children at first glance. But it won't take long for parents to discover that Shanghai, with its many parks, markets and museums, can captivate the younger set.

It helps that despite the crowds (the population of Shanghai is 17 million), the city is relatively crime-free. Taxis are cheap, and the subway is easy to navigate.

In fact, transportation is part of the fun, which begins as soon as you land. From the Pudong International Airport, about 30 miles east of the city, you can catch the 267-mile-per-hour German-engineered Maglev, or magnetic levitation, train (86-21-2890-7777; www.smtdc.com). It's a scenery-blurring, eight-minute hurtle to the edge of town. One-way trips are 50 yuan, about $6.40 at 7.85 yuan to the dollar, or 40 yuan with a same-day airline ticket. From the Maglev's terminus at Longyang Lu, you can take a taxi or the subway to the city center.

FROM MARKETS TO MUSEUMS

As early as the 15th century, the heart of Shanghai was the Yu Yuan (Yu Garden) area. This Ming Dynasty walled garden of pavilions, willows and rocks has been overshadowed by its bazaar, a labyrinth of kiosks and specialty shops overhung by swooping, Ming-style tile roofs. There, you can buy chopsticks, silk pajamas, wigs, American fast food, guitars, kites and fermented tofu, among many other items. Merchants demonstrate everything from bubble-blowers to Chinese yo-yos; others beckon passersby to sample tea and gelato.

From the Yu Yuan's zigzag bridge, children can toss fish food (2 yuan a bag) into a murky pond, and the water will roil with red and gold carp. Next to the bridge, through the kitchen windows of the Nan Xiang Steamed Bun Restaurant, a dumpling brigade pumps out xiao long bao, soupy pork nuggets that are Shanghai's signature snack. For a super-size, fun-to-eat version, go to the He Feng Lou Snack Plaza (10 Wen Chang Lu, Yu Yuan; 86-21-6326-7898). Diners there poke straws into 10-yuan dumplings as big as plums to drink the broth.

Engrossing to some, gross to others, Shanghai's street markets are an unforgettable adventure. West of Yu Yuan, for instance, Dajing Lu's sidewalks overflow with poultry, fish, shrimp and crabs. A woman guts a three-foot eel, and a few stores down, young men skin palm-sized frogs faster than you can peel a tangerine.

At the Shanghai Municipal History Museum in Pudong's Oriental Pearl TV Tower (1 Shi Ji Da Dao; 86-21-5879-1888), you can judge how much or little Dajing Lu might have changed over the ages. Dioramas of a 19th-century cotton-making shop, a pharmacy and other establishments have life-size wax models, and videos show Shanghai's former racetrack and a Chinese neighborhood in the 1930s. Editorializing is light — aside from the hallway entitled “The Metropolis Infested With Foreign Adventurers,” a reference to almost 100 years of British, American and French control. Admission is 17.50 yuan for children under 47 inches tall, and 35 yuan for everyone else.

Farther out in Pudong, Shanghai's Science and Technology Museum (2000 Shi Ji Da Dao; 86-21-6862-2000; www.sstm.org.cn) catapults you to the cutting edge. Children can challenge a robot at games, ride a bicycle on a cable 15 feet in the air and fiddle with optical illusions. A “4D” movie showers you with snow and other surprises. Although many exhibits lack English explanations, my 10-year-old nephew loved it. Admission: 20 to 60 yuan.

Regardless of your age, “ERA: Intersection of Time” (Shanghai Circus World, 2266 Gong He Xin Lu, north of downtown; 86-21-6652-7501; www.era-shanghai.com) keeps you on the edge of your seat. Contortionists twist into pretzels, stilt-walkers somersault and motorcyclists speed inside a 10-foot-diameter sphere. Tickets: 80 to 580 yuan.

OUTDOORS

Shanghai's lifeline to the sea, the Huangpu River, also divides the city into Puxi, its older, western part, and Pudong, the more recently developed, flashier section. Pudong's riverfront promenade is ideal for strolls, flying kites and views of the Bund, a stretch of early 20th-century European edifices. The hard-working Huangpu bustles with tugs, barges and freighters.

Chinese parks are typically simulations of nature overtaken by pavement, artificial lakes, rides and snack stands. Of Shanghai's public parks, Gongqing Forest Park in northeastern Puxi (2000 Jungong Lu; 86-21-6532-8194; www.shgqsl.com) is the closest to natural. Its tree-stump trash cans are fake wood, but the grassy meadows, fir and bamboo groves and bird trills are very real. Horseback riding, roller coasters, merry-go-rounds, go-kart rides and a rock-climbing wall are among the entertainment options. To get around Gongqing, you can walk, catch a shuttle (10 yuan), or ride a tandem-bike (20 yuan an hour) or boat (20 to 50 yuan an hour). Entrance is free for children under 47 inches, 9.6 to 12 yuan for bigger folks.

DOWNTIME

For a higher-than-a-bird's-eye view, head to Jin Mao Tower, an Art Deco monolith, which on cloudy nights evokes Gotham City. The Grand Hyatt (88 Shi Ji Da Dao; 86-21-5049-1234; www.shanghai.grand.hyatt.com), occupies floors 53 to 87, and the lobby offers jaw-dropping panoramas. From the 56th-floor Patio lounge, gaze up at the dizzying spiral of rooms. Though the lounge is geared toward the cigar-and-cognac set, you can order milk (50 yuan) and chocolate cake (70 yuan). An evening trio plays jazz on classical Chinese instruments.

The Shanghai Huangpu River Cruise tours (127 Zhongshan Dong Er Lu or 219 Zhongshan Dong Er Lu; 86-21-6374-4461) plunk you amid the action on the Huangpu. Cranes mark future sites of the 2010 World Expo, a cruise ship terminal and a 101-story office tower. Boats depart every half-hour, but try for one at dusk, when landmarks on both banks are illuminated. An hour cruise is 38 yuan until 6 p.m., 50 yuan afterward; kids under 51 inches ride free.

With its strobe lights and psychedelic colors, the Bund Tourist Tunnel (300 Zhongshan Dong Yi Lu; 86-21-5888-6000) offers a Disney-esque tram ride across the Huangpu. A one-way trip is free for children under 31.5 inches, 17.5 or 35 yuan for everyone else.

WHERE TO EAT

Have breakfast where the executive chef of Jean-Georges Vongerichten's restaurant on the Bund does: at the stalls on Changle and Xiangyang roads. Meat and vegetable steamed buns, scallion flatbread and egg-filled crepes sell for about 1 yuan apiece. You can picnic at nearby Fuxing Park.

A few blocks south, the maestro at Wang Hao Wang (123 Xiangyang Lu; 86-21-6466-0832) twists and pulls blocks of dough into skeins of spaghetti, then plops them into boiling broth. The noodles, starting at 4 yuan a bowl, are divine.

Din Tai Fung (2nd floor, Xintiandi south block, Huangpi Nan and Zizhong Lu; 86-21- 6385-8378) makes Shanghai's best xiao long bao (45 to 68 yuan for 10). Also on its menu are basics like wonton soup, braised bamboo shoots and sweet-smoky fried fish.

If you're craving upscale and your children are adept at fine dining, T8 (Building 8, Xintiandi north block, 181 Taicang Lu; 86-21-6355-8999; www.t8-shanghai.com) will suit you both. The cuisine is Aussie-Asian; the décor, swanky Zen. Entrees include roasted black cod with potato and lobster mash (288 yuan) and Angus beef tenderloin with oxtail strudel (358 yuan). The children's menu offers pizza, fish and chips or a BLT and ice cream for 58 yuan. Sit alongside the open kitchen to watch the chefs.

The Sunday brunch at the Westin Bund Center (88 Henan Zhong Lu; 86-21-6335-1888; www.westin.com/shanghai) is a buffet with everything from caviar and tiramisù to chicken nuggets and ice cream sundaes. Dancers and acrobats perform, and roving artisans turn balloons and grass into animals for the kids. A babysitting corner has toys and cartoons. Ages 6 and younger eat free, 7 to 12 are 185 yuan, and adults 418.

WHERE TO STAY

At the Portman Ritz-Carlton (1376 Nanjing Xi Lu; 86-21-6279-8888; www.ritzcarlton.com/hotels/shanghai) the service, including babysitting and toddler-proofing kits, is superb. In the Shanghai Center, the hotel is just steps from a grocery store, pharmacy and family-friendly restaurants. Standard doubles are 3,320 yuan, but look for specials.

The Radisson Plaza Xing Guo Hotel (78 Xingguo Lu; 86-21-6212-9998; www.radisson.com/shanghaicn_plaza) is surrounded by lawn and trees. The oasis of a hotel also has a swimming pool, bowling lanes, ping-pong tables and babysitters. Standard doubles, a bit small, start at 1,600 yuan on weekdays.

Regal International East Asia Hotel (516 Hengshan Lu; 86-21-6415-5588; www.regal-eastasia.com) has tennis courts, billiards, a bowling alley, a pool and a small play room. The rooms are simple and comfortable, and doubles are 1,300 yuan on weekdays and 900 yuan on weekends through July.

The Shanghai Center's short-stay apartments (1376 Nanjing Xi Lu; 86-21-6279-8665; www.shanghaicentre.com) generally require a minimum five-nights' stay, but not always. Apartments come with kitchens, maid service and use of the Ritz-Carlton's gym. One-bedrooms start at 1,570 yuan a night, two bedrooms at 1,970.

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SHANGHAI, CHINA: A High-Fashion Lane in Shanghai

Shopkeepers on Lane 248, where the restoration of old buildings has created a chic shopping district. Ariana Lindquist for The New York Times

March 4, 2007

By ANDREW YANG

TAIKANG ROAD, at the southern end of the French Concession area in Shanghai, does not look like a portal to the cutting edge of high fashion. A dark alleyway leads to Lane 248, a narrow street filled with, among other things, old bicycles, yam carts and clotheslines dripping with laundry.

But on a recent afternoon, the floodlights from a television crew pierced the drabness to report on the opening of yet another boutique along the lane. The store, Jaooh, which sells loose-fitting, or deconstructed, clothing under its own label, had just opened the day before.

“This area is quite unique and has more personality and character than many other places in Shanghai,” said Yvonne Wang, an owner of Jaooh (Shop 47, Lane 248, Taikang Road, 86-21-6466-5385). “There are lot of new shops, but the character of the buildings has stayed the same.”

In Shanghai, where mega-developments are the norm, the small stone houses known as shikumen along Lane 248 are being lovingly restored and converted into trendy boutiques, patisseries and cafes. Since last summer, nearly two dozen shops have opened.

“Every day I come here, there's something new,” said A-Ti Dong, a recent transplant from New York City who runs Arts du Monde (Shop 43, Lane 248; 86-21-5465-7896), which sells unusual items like trench coats made from Tibetan fabric (2,500 yuan, about $316 at 7.9 yuan to the dollar), and vintage Christian Dior Mary Jane high-heeled shoes (3,500 yuan).

The “shopification” of Lane 248 has been spurred largely by young entrepreneurs from cosmopolitan cities like Taipei and Hong Kong. Some jokingly refer to their budding district as Lao Tian Di (Old Sky Earth), a riff on a popular entertainment district in Shanghai known as Xintiandi (New Sky Earth) that features immaculately restored shikumen houses — and a Starbucks.

But unlike that master-planned entertainment district, Lane 248 is a community with deep roots. “There's a lot of interaction and harmony among the shopkeepers and the locals,” said Bobbie Cornell, a New Zealand native who opened up her shop, Nuzi (Shop 30, Lane 248; 86-21-5465-3245) in November. Ms. Cornell said that her next-door neighbors, longtime residents of the lane, welcomed her to the area by offering her a number of home-cooked meals.

Nuzi sells New Zealand-inspired furniture and accessories like an ash and birch loveseat by the designer David Trubridge (35,000 yuan) and large-scale prints by the artist Brent Wong (about 600 yuan).

For a Zen-like break between shops, stop by Meshi (Shop 37, Lane 248; 86-21-5465-2450), a Japanese-style teahouse that serves traditional green tea and has the feel of an old Kyoto house. The Alley Bar (Shop 33, Lane 248; 86-21-6433-3469), a tiny bar and coffee shop with a third-floor patio, was getting ready to open this week.

Locals who stumble onto Lane 248 don't always appreciate its appeal. “My producer thinks it's strange,” said Huo Yi-Lin, a film editor working on a documentary about Lane 248. “They are such poor quality houses. But foreigners really love them, and think they are emblematic of Shanghai.”

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SHANGHAI, CHINA: In Shanghai, Balancing the Past, the Future and a Budget

A 360-degree virtual tour of the city in the Urban Planning Museum.  Ariana Lindquist for The New York Times

January 21, 2007

By MATT GROSS

IN Shanghai, the present does not exist. Want the past? Stroll along the Huangpu River and gaze at the stretch of Greek temple banks, Neo-Classical-style skyscrapers and Art Deco hotels. This is the Bund, a relic of Shanghai's golden age, built a century ago by the international coterie of businessmen who had transformed a river town into the richest port in Asia.

Want the future? Turn your head 180 degrees and gape at Pudong, the spanking-new financial district. This is the home of the Oriental Pearl Tower, the silvery tiers of the Jinmao Tower and a feng shui fantasia of glass, steel and construction cranes — a fitting symbol for the international coterie of businessmen currently transforming Shanghai into a new symbol of globalization.

But what, I wondered on a hot afternoon last August, is Shanghai today? On one side I had history (partly my own; I'd been here 18 months before); on the other, speculation — and that worried me. Not because there was no now now, but because the nostalgic and the futuristic rarely come cheap.

I had $500, or just under 4,000 yuan at 7.9 yuan to the dollar, for the weekend, and more than a third was already committed to my hotel, No. 9. A five-room B & B in a 1920s mansion tucked down a quiet lane, No. 9 blends China's distant past, recent history and immediate future in equal measure: Life-size wooden gods from the walled city of Pingyao guard the ground floor, Deco wardrobes and desks adorn the guest rooms, and high-tech touches like Wi-Fi, touch-sensitive desk lamps and heated mattresses abound.

Equally important are its staff members, who pad around smiling in soft black knits, and the owner, David Huang. A furniture designer born and raised in Taiwan, David moved to Shanghai and retook control of No. 9, which his grandfather had owned before the family fled the mainland in 1949. He is the hotel's animating presence, a giver of lavish dinner parties, a wine connoisseur happy to share his collection, and a low-key fixture in the city's art scene who knows all the best openings. At 700 yuan a night — considerably higher than Shanghai's budget inns, but well below the Four Seasons — No. 9 is the Frugal Traveler's favorite hotel in the world.

But since David wasn't around when I checked in, I put my bags away, walked out through the lane — where grandmothers played mah-jongg outside pink stucco homes and cicadas chirred in the trees — and grabbed a quick snack of jian bing, a crepe stuffed with egg, chili sauce and a piece of fried dough, from a street vendor (1 yuan).

Then I caught a taxi to the Bund (fares are cheap; my dozen rides totaled just 218 yuan), where I pondered Shanghai's temporal-ontological issues until the intense heat drove me indoors. Fortunately, many of the Bund's architectural treasures are being converted into air-conditioned malls. No. 18 on the Bund, for example, was once the Macquarie Bank Tower; today its first two floors are full of boutiques like Younik, which offers one-stop shopping for local designers like Lu Kun and Jenny Ji, one of whose sporty striped T-shirts (325 yuan) I bought for my wife, Jean.

But Shanghai knows its visitors want culture with their consumption, so you'll find a headless sculpture by Liu Jian-hua in the lobby of No. 18 on the Bund; the Shanghai Gallery of Art inside Three on the Bund (a 1916 building renovated by Michael Graves); and a must-see ceiling mural at the former headquarters of HSBC at No. 12.

Apart from Younik, however, most of the shops along the Bund are generically fancy — Dolce & Gabbana, Zegna and so on — so I hopped a cab to Lane 210 on Taikang Road, whose affordably chic offerings had wowed me in 2005. The stores were unchanged: La Vie carried more Jenny Ji; Shirtflag still sold cute, propaganda-inspired T's (“Worker, Peasant, Soldier — let's kiss!”); and Kommune remained a hot cafe, where I paid 35 yuan for a smoothie. But a slew of buildings had been knocked down, and my favorite stall for xiao long bao, or soup dumplings, had vanished without a trace. No one I asked even remembered it. Such is the magic of Shanghai today: now you see it, now you don't.

I needed a shower before dinner, so I rushed back to No. 9, half-worried the wrecking crews might have beaten me there. Still no sign of David, but my American friend Ryan soon arrived, and we walked down Jianguo Road in search of food, passing yet more quaint blocks scheduled for demolition.

Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at Yoma, a cozy Japanese restaurant with a dozen blond-wood tables and a harried but friendly waitress. We'd gone there partly because of Japan's historical entanglement with Shanghai, partly for its homey classics like tuna tartare and fried tofu in dashi broth, and partly for its affordability. Spending 200 yuan each meant we could splurge on dessert.

And if there's one place for sweets in Shanghai, it's Jean-Georges, on the fourth floor of Three on the Bund. Ryan and I settled into a black banquette in the dark and sparsely populated lounge and ordered the chocolate tasting — a quartet of cacao-accented flavors that ranged from coconut to Sichuan peppercorns (138 yuan, including coffee). It more than satisfied my cravings, without emptying my wallet.

Then Ryan suggested we see his side of Shanghai: the gay scene. Our first stop was Eddy's, a slick Buddha-themed boîte with low red lights and a clientele of clean-cut Chinese yuppies. After I had bought us each a 40-yuan gin and tonic, we took a taxi to Bobo's, a hangout for large, often hairy men. Wearing a new beard, I figured I wouldn't have to spend another 40 yuan, but I bought our drinks because no one in the clubhouse-style bar took notice. The crowd was too busy belting out love songs on the karaoke stage. Their performances were so heartfelt, the atmosphere so unpretentious, that it was impossible to snicker. Here were a bunch of heavyset but otherwise conventional-looking guys drinking, singing and enjoying themselves — a heartening sign that Shanghai still holds surprises.

The next morning, I woke feeling terrible: I realized I had hardly eaten any Chinese food yet. But No. 9 assuaged my guilt with fresh-made won ton soup, a fried egg, doughy shen jian bao dumplings, a plate of strawberries and unlimited coffee — a rarity in this land of tea.

Fortified, I took a cab to Xintiandi, a ballyhooed urban renewal project masterminded by the American architect Benjamin Wood, who in 2000 turned this neighborhood of crumbling houses into an open-air mall. I have nothing against malls, but I hate boring ones and Xintiandi is dull, from its Alessi-stuffed design shops to its bland beer gardens.

I was in Xintiandi, however, for the Shikumen Museum (entry 20 yuan), a meticulous re-creation of a middle-class Shanghai home from the 1920s. The two stories were crammed with period comic books, baby photos, teacups, iron beds and makeup tables. Placards explained the history of unfamiliar relics like the tingzijian, a small, unheated room rented out for extra income, often to aspiring novelists who later earned fame by writing about shikumen life.

Life in today's Shanghai is not so neatly packaged, as I later learned at 50 Moganshan Road, a warehouse complex that has been converted to artists' studios and galleries. The big kahuna is ShanghART, a huge space filled with paintings and sculptures that often critique Chinese consumerism. There, I found photographs by Hu Yang, documenting the homes of modern Shanghai dwellers, both rich and poor. A laborer, surrounded by dolls, dryly explains in the accompanying text, “I'm making money and living a life”; an executive pedaling an exercise bike in her marble bathroom says, “I will work for a few more years and retire at 40”; an old woman, sitting on a filthy bed, says, “My life is hopeless and I suffer from living.”

I fell in love, and would have bought a print, if they had not cost $8,000. Even Mr. Hu's catalog, “Shanghai Living,” was sold out. So I wandered the rest of the complex in a bit of a funk. It was all I could do, despite my admiration for Alan Xie's paintings, which resemble double-exposed photographs, and the antique rosewood clocks (650 yuan) at Art Deco in Shanghai.

Stopping back at No. 9 to clean up before dinner, I arrived in the middle of a going-away party for an American expatriate, which meant David Huang was in the house. I showered quickly, then caught up with him over a bottle of Georgian wine. David had changed little since I saw him last; he was as casual and relaxed as ever —less an innkeeper than an instant friend eager to hear tales of his guests' adventures.

He couldn't join me for dinner, so I took a five-minute taxi ride to A Future Perfect (how could I resist the name?), where Ryan and a quartet of friends of friends were waiting. The dining room displayed a whimsical paint job and mod furniture that lived up to the restaurant's name. The menu, however, did not — the fusion fare, with names like Tuna-ba-lula and Thor's Thunder, was a decade-old concept. My Mary's Lamb was a simple braised shank, meaty and juicy, but hardly innovative. Still, it was hard not to have a good time; this was one of those hyperchic back-alley spots that make you feel as if you're in on a well-kept secret. Plus, it was perfectly cheap — with two bottles of New Zealand sauvignon blanc, we each paid 232 yuan.

After we'd finished our coffees and chocolate cake, Ryan and his crew tried to lure me out for drinks at Glamour Bar, a night spot on the Bund. But I was feeling cash-conscious, and Sunday promised several opportunities to blow my remaining wad.

The first was shopping. I woke early and walked through the French Concession — past Modernist mansions, Art Deco apartment buildings and nameless alleys — to Fuxing West Road, a strip of Shanghai's best boutiques. I stopped at Urban Tribe, a clothing and jewelry store that takes inspiration from Burma, India and even China's own hinterlands. In the West, such Asian-infused styles are now commonplace, but in Shanghai, they're exciting signs of a nation looking beyond America, Europe and Japan for ideas. The clothes weren't bad, either — I left with a pair of skinny, scrunchy blue linen pants and a pair of slippers for my wife (620 yuan).

Down the block was Madame Mao's Dowry, two floors of Communist relics, including a life-size wooden statue of Chairman Mao, socialist-realist lithographs and a variety of citations and awards given to bright students and hard workers. (I bought one commending a screw factory, 160 yuan.)

I would have continued on, but I was hungry. A taxi returned me to Bund 18 for one last feast, this time at Sens & Bund, whose owners won three Michelin stars for their restaurant in Montpellier, France. Ryan and his usual crew of locals and expatriates were already sitting at an enormous round table, near vast windows that offered spectacular views of the Huangpu River and skyline. The food was exactly what you'd expect from a Michelin-graced kitchen — skeins of black tagliolini with shaved octopus, crisply seared fish with an artistic smear of mustard sauce — but the price was not: a frugal 228 yuan for three courses, or about 350 with a couple of coffees and tip.

At last I was running out of money — and I knew exactly where to blow it: the Urban Planning Museum in People's Square (entry 40 yuan). The museum tells the story of Shanghai's evolution with a spectacular collection of archival photos, meaningless but beautiful exhibitions on wastewater management and other public works, and a scale model of Shanghai circa 2020 that spanned an entire floor.

But I was there for Virtual Shanghai, a computer-generated flyover of the city projected onto a 360-degree movie screen. The camera swoops along highways, over the Huangpu and around the Pudong skyscrapers of an idealized city that may or may not exist. A little nauseated, I stumbled out of the theater and found myself at the souvenir shop, which carried Hu Yang's “Shanghai Living” catalog. For 88 yuan, it was mine — 140 photographic glimpses of the city's present, frozen in time.

Total: 3,987 yuan, about $505.

VISITOR INFORMATION

WHERE TO STAY:

No. 9, 9 Lane 355, Jianguo West Road, (86-21) 6471-9950; cash only.

WHERE TO EAT AND DRINK:

A Future Perfect, 16 Lane 351, Huashan Road, (86-21) 6248-8020; www.afutureperfect.com.cn.

Bobo's, 307 Shanxi South Road, (86-21) 6471-2887.

Eddy's, 1877 Huaihai Central Road, (86-21) 6282-0521; www.eddys-bar.com.

Jean-Georges, 3 Zhongshan East Road, fourth floor; (86-21) 6321-7733; www.jean-georges.com.

Kommune, Courtyard 7, 210 Taikang Road, (86-21) 6466-2416.

Sens & Bund, 18 Zhongshan East Road, sixth floor; (86-21) 6323-9898; www.resto18.com.

Yoma, 1 Lane 189, Wanping Road, (86-21) 6415-5790.

WHERE TO SHOP:

Art Deco in Shanghai, 50 Moganshan Road, Building 7, first floor; (86-21) 6277-8927.

La Vie, Courtyard 7, 210 Taikang Road; (86-21) 6445-3585; www.lavie.com.cn.

Madame Mao's Dowry, 207 Fumin Road, (86-21) 5403-3351; www.madame-maos-dowry.com.

Shirtflag, Courtyard 7, 210 Taikang Road, (86-21) 6466-7009; www.shirtflag.com

Urban Tribe, 133 Fuxing West Road, (86-21) 6433-5366.

Younik, 18 Zhongshan East Road, (86-21) 6323-8688.

WHAT TO SEE AND DO:

Island 6 Arts Center, 120 Moganshan Road, building 6; island6.org, is a multimedia gallery and production space as remarkable for the quality of its high-concept art as for its setting — a red-brick former flour mill in a desolate field of reeds.

ShanghART, 50 Moganshan Road, Buildings 16 and 18, (86-21) 6359-3923; www.shanghartgallery.com.

Shanghai Gallery of Art, 3 Zhongshan East Road, third floor, (86-21) 6321-5757; www.shanghaigalleryofart.com.

Shanghai Urban Planning Museum, 100 People's Square; (86-21) 6318-4477.

Shikumen Museum, 25 Lane 181, Taicang Road, (86-21) 3307-0337.

View Article in The New York Times

SHANGHAI, CHINA: A Time Traveler in Shanghai

Ariana Lindquist for The New York Times

In today's Shanghai, you'll find China's future and its past, but not its present.

View New York Times Slideshow