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