Shanghai, 26th – 30th August

Stilgar, the battle hardened Fremen, would’ve been counting his blessings if he’d seen the waterworks I turned on the night Max left. Buckets around my hostel bed, Shawshank Redemption ending scene vibes as he basked in my tears.

My head was all over the gaff. For selfish reasons I was sad to see Max go, no more FPL oracle, no more racing to listen to the latest News Agents podcast, no more mindless plodding about in matching clothes. It was a bit like Jermaine Defoe losing Peter Crouch as a strike partner ygm.

But it wasn’t all sad, Max would be reunited with his family and I’d get the chance to see China’s magical south coast at my own pace. That said, late on the morning of the 26th I hopped on a bullet train and pulled into Shanghai that afternoon.

Emerging from the People’s Park underground station I felt like Joe Buck arriving in New York, bags in both hands, wide eyes glimmering with hope and excitement at what laid ahead (probably the extent of our similarities).

My hostel was solid, and the food options on the doorstep were amazing. The first night I very much stumbled into a random gaffery, taking a seat only to find out it solely served river snail noodles. The classic travelling mantra ‘here now, might as well’ took full swing and I enjoyed a tasty (yet slightly urea scented) bowl of snails mixed with noodles.

Inspired by the snails I’d just eaten, I decided to come out of my shell and see the city post 8pm. I chucked on My Bloody Valentine and entered third person mode, watching my self walk down the bustling Nanjing Road to the Bund riverfront (Bill Murray, Lost in Translation, need I say more). There people would take photos with/of me whilst I zoned in and out smiling at the Oriental Pearl Tower, imagining how the fella in Past Lives felt when he was here, 1000s of miles from the person he loved.

‘Aaaaaand cut’.

The next few days I lived my best life in Shanghai. I won’t go into as much detail as above (because who wants another travel blog), but here are some highlights:

• People’s Park: Arthur Shelby would’ve hated it, too zen. It’s a wonderful space; ponds, rockeries, galleries (I’ll get to that in a sec) and of course, birds. I mean no inner city park has the right to not only have insanely calm Black Crowned Night Herons, but also a terrifying Chinese Sparrowhawk perched in a tree like Yoda in a holiday inn steam room. Great park.
• MOCA: it’s a gallery inside the former greenhouse of the People’s Park. An artist called Oamul was exhibiting paintings of gardens, flowers, and landscapes. I’m no critic of the canvass, but it was curated mindfully and definitely … — — . – …. .. -. –. / – …. . / –. .- .-. -.. . -. / — ..- … . ..- — / … …. — ..- .-.. -.. / -… . / – .- -.- .. -. –. / -. — – . … / ..-. .-. — — .-.-.- (translate if thou wishes)

• Bill: met a nice guy called Bill and had dinner with him one night. Bonded whilst chomping on a pigs trotter. He told me a funny story about an attempted mugging on his friend who is known for having a shit phone (sounds more severe than it is). Group attempt mugging Bill’s friend for his phone, he hands it over and asks if he can keep his ID that’s tucked away on the phone. They give him his ID. They take a look at the phone saying something along the lines of ‘what the fuck is this?’. He responds ‘don’t know my dad got it for me from China’. With the phone being so bad, they give him the phone back and take his ID instead. Moral of the story – Android users might experience the world in 4 megapixels, but they are immune from muggings.

• Propaganda Poster Museum: in a censored China, it’s rather interesting to see what propaganda they’ve used throughout the years. Propaganda does not have the same negative meaning in China as in the West, rather it’s simply the media produced by the government at the time. The posters still represent the same core messages of nationalism and unity that crop up in Chinese media today, for that reason the museum has little critical analysis. However, that’s the fun part, you get to engage critically with the pieces. It’s a little weird to be inwardly critical, makes you feel a bit like Winston in 1984 or Neo in The Matrix.
• Hair Cut: who knows what’s gonna to your barnet happen when communication takes the form of nods, hmms, and smiles. Still, I loves it. I had in my mind that Shanghai was famous for haircuts, and Mr Barber sorted me right out. I’m noticing a correlation between tattoos and good hair cuts: Too many tattoos, they are hiding something, most likely their shit skills. No tattoos, no rizz. You want a barber with a couple of tattoos, maybe even just one sleeve. If your barber has an apron, offers you a beer, or has a tattoo constellation like Carmy from the Bear, you better get out of there or risk leaving looking like Frank from Shameless pulled the clippers on you during the night.
• Art district: raining? Too many tourists? Fancy a nice cycle? The art district will do you a solid. Lots of galleries with varying mediums and styles. Not many people about so the gallery staff can be a little eager to engage, but who am I to judge, I once blabbered for an excruciating amount of time whilst trying to welcome Kerry Godliman to the Garden Museum.

• Shanghai Urban Planning Exhibition Hall: its name might evoke thoughts of Thatcher, Blair, or a geography lecture in a cold portacabin, but the SUPEH is a great way to spend a morning. It more or less outlines the plans for Shanghai’s future, covering smaller projects in specific neighbourhoods as well as the broader vision to make Shanghai a bastion for modernity, globalism and ecology. They had some questionable ideas, humans working at 65 metres underground for example. But I was impressed by the seeming transparency of the plans they had. Cannot imagine the GLA being so confident on its plans for the future of London.

Chongming Island, 29th Aug – 2nd Sept

After two hours of podcasts and watching the cityscape of Her pass me by, my taxi pulled up to my homestay on Chongming Island. I’d spend the next 3 days bird watching at the Dongtan Wetlands National park. It was beautiful and peaceful, but in hindsight I should’ve ventured further afield as I’ve heard good things about birding on the coastline, but hey ho, I was in my element.

The home stay was on the edge of a small town called Yu’an, I think (maps didn’t clarify where I was). The host spoke no English and was fairly surprised at my arrival. Still they gave me a room and what I imagine were warm words in passing every morning and evening.

My days in Chongming went as follows; try waking up early (early bird n that), watch Shameless and leave late, walk to town for a breakfast of custard bao buns and coffee, taxi to the Dongtan Wetlands, watch birds and take low quality photos from 10.30am til 12.30pm, much to the amusement of the waitresses – eat lunch at the same restaurant each day, more birding until the afternoon, pray a taxi is available to take me back to the home stay (I once walked for an hour because no taxis were in proximity), nap the late afternoon away, pet the dog for 5 minutes, walk to town for dinner, eat and then return home to watch more Shameless before sleeping… and repeating.

It maybe comes across as mundane to some, but after months of empty schedules, my time in Chongming gave me routine and I loved it. Plus the twitching was decent so that was a bonus.

I left Chongming Island feeling a bit like you do after a weekend at your mums house – refreshed but excited to get back to what you know, which pains me to say, is city life…