music: jason mraz and colbie caillat - lucky
What was supposed to be a week's trip lasted for eight days, and not by choice. But I'm two steps ahead, so let me start from day one of my Shanghai sojourn.
That's cousin Brad and I, optimistic and not at all bothered by the delay of our connecting flight, DragonAir, for it meant free food vouchers and a chance for semi-authentic Hong Kong dimsum. Cheap thrill I know, but you can't blame us as neither of us have been to Hong Kong.
We arrived in Shanghai three hours later than expected, and after dinner at the hotel with Uncle Rod, he treated us to a two-hour body massage at a nearby spa, and sleep came easy that night.
At a relative's recommendation, we headed down to Qi Pu Lu the next day, and lost ourselves in the maze of shops not unlike those in Bangkok's Pratunam area. And as it wasn't easy getting a cab back to the hotel during peak hour, we hopped onto a motorcycle rickshaw that wasn't much different from the autos in India, except while the latter could fit three comfortably, this could only fit two rather uncomfortably. The Shanghainese are slimmer perhaps?
We relaxed our aching limbs with a swim and a dip in the hot tub, before meeting the rest of the family for Shanghainese-fusion food at Bellagio Cafe.
Undaunted by the rain, we stuck to our plan of meeting up with RJ who brought us to a bar in the artsy Taikang Lu. We started off slow and easy, but Brad went crazy ordering rum, tequila, gin and whiskey shots.
This is us in some dark alley after way too many shots. Positioning the camera took a couple more tries than usual. I don't know where RJ was looking in the second shot, haha.
I think I was the tipsiest, and I was told the next morning that I said/did something embarrassing when our cab drove past the Four Seasons. No recollection there, and when Berty and I spoke the next day, he told me that I sent him an sms repeating the same point thrice. The sms I remember but not so much the contents. But no hangover the next morning thankfully!
Our third day in Shanghai started at noon (for obvious reasons) and we strolled down to Xiao Chi Jie (loosely translated as Snack Street). Hawkers lined the streets, peddling everything from takopachi to shaved ice desserts and those barbequed kebab-like things RJ recommended but we never got around to trying. Lunch was at a disappointing eatery, and even the egg tart didn't hit the spot. Too chewy and neither flaky nor creamy.
We attempted the Shanghai subway after lunch, and with a little help, made it to new Shanghai (the city is separated by the Bund into old and new Shanghai) for our dose of H&M and Uniqlo at one of the shopping malls.
We busted our budget way too quickly, and after dumping our shopping bags in the hotel, we whiled away the hours at Coffee Bean before yet another family dinner.
A family friend introduced us to the city's clubbing scene, which bizarrely involved either people playing dice and eating fruits, or pole-dancing and flirty hostesses. It was an eye-opener all right. And I started to worry for my liver (and a potential beer belly) after two consecutive nights of heavy drinking. This marked the start of my teetotal days in Shanghai, except for the small glass of red at dinner the next day.
I had my first taste of chou dou fu (smelly fermented beancurd) the next morning at Yu Yuan, and I think we were lucky for this was a lot milder than the original. No toilet breath, thank goodness! And we also queued up for an unjustifiably long time for the famed xiao long bao. Tasted like Crystal Jade to me, haha!
Next stop was an old water town, where our over-enthusiastic guide made us climb one too many bridges and took way too long explaining the significance behind each bridge. We weren't proficient in Mandarin but we just didn't see how we could slip that in subtly without bruising his ego. The town was beautiful though.
We walked through alley after alley and the town felt like a period-drama set at times.
And as it was hailed as the Venice of the East, we just had to plonk our asses on a "Chinese Gondola" before calling it a day.
The next two days were a blur of more bargain hunting at Qi Pu Lu and exploring the area around our hotel.
My favourite moment would have to be when we stumbled upon a seamstress who had set up shop at the edge of a dark alley, and we were made to try on our pants (which we wanted altered) in a dingy room. Also, we discovered a local's flea market where I bought a beautifully lined trench coat for S$10. Imagine my disappointment when B told me that Paris wasn't cold enough for its use.
On our last night in Shanghai, we treated Uncle Road to dinner at City Diner's, a place not unlike the burger bars in Singapore. The burger however was faultless. Way better than Billy Bomber's I say.
We were happy to leave the smog-filled Shanghai behind. This is us, blissfully oblivious while waiting to board the Dragonair flight to Hong Kong.
Who would have known that when we finally reached Hong Kong (an hour's late as the plane was queueing for the runway, imagine that), we were greeted by a surly Dragonair executive who told us that we had missed the connecting flight and that we had to spend the night at the airport hotel.
His expression says it all.
It sucked, but at least we had beautiful single rooms and vouchers for a buffet dinner and breakfast the next day. One of those things on the damned plate rendered me into a curling ball of pain that very night, but I am ahead of myself once more.
Before the poisoned food took effect, I relished the much needed me-time watching tv and soaking in a bubble bath. After a semi-trying week, I was really quite happy to be in my own company.
I dozed off while watching one of the movies on cable, but when I was properly tucked under the covers, weird mini-cramps kept me from sleep. I tossed and turned and attempted to sleep it off, but by 1:30 a.m., the cramps were increasing in strength and regularity. I finally succumbed to their viciousness and called to ask the operator if there was an in-house doctor. I was informed that the doctor only came in at 9am, and I could either:
- Wait it out till 7am, when the airport doctor starts work
- Call for a private doctor but that would cost me S$500
- Go to the hospital, but that would mean missing my morning flight
Stomach cramps are my worst nightmare, but as I lay semi-spent propped against the bathtub and breathing through the pain, I wasn't afraid at all. I wasn't filled with an overwhelming urge to be home and coddled, nor did I feel the need to have someone there holding me close and stroking my head. I felt like crap, but I was fine with feeling crappy on my own. And that to me was the epiphanic moment of self-sufficiency.
I did have B on the phone though when I finally crawled back to bed at 4ish, and after laughing at the sheer absurdity of a repeated situation, I finally dozed off till my alarm went off the next morning. The stomach felt a little unsteady, but the cramps were gone. Phew.
And I got home in one piece, though that was two days ago. I am really glad I opted to fly home earlier. I'd just hand-washed a load of laundry, and I am exhausted just thinking about the other bundle that awaits my tackling. And yes in case you're wondering, the washing machine is not my friend.
