The overnight train trip from Beijing to Shanghai was interesting and fun. We shoehorned ourselves into our compartments, 4 berths per, luggage and all. This is the type of travel where you really, really don’t want to get stuck with a) gassy strangers, or b) bores. You’ll be up close and personal for a good twelve hours. Luckily we bunked with George and Rita of IFAI, old hands at this traveling game, and of course the party atmosphere on the train made the evening enjoyable. People wandered from compartment to compartment sharing snacks, booze, and Beijing tales.
Personally, I conked out at nine, scandalizing the tour guides who were hanging out on the bottom berths. What can I say—this trip has put a serious dent in my partying abilities. I can’t seem to drink here without immediately falling into a stupor.
We arrived in Shanghai at 7 and trundled off to our new tour buses. Apparently the Shanghai tour company is on a budget and has had to put off getting the suspension for their vehicles repaired, so we were treated to a Disney ride on the way to the hotel. Never mind: we always appreciate getting to our destinations in one piece. What’s a loose filling or two?
The Riverside Hotel is our new hangout for the next few days. We ate breakfast in the hotel restaurant and then checked in. They stuck quite a few of us in a wing currently undergoing renovation (“Sorry for the inconvenience”) which meant deafening drilling and pounding (and, I swear, a jackhammer) in the very next room. For the next two hours, Carl and I couldn’t hear ourselves over the din. It put us both in Very Bad Moods.
At noon, we were off to the Chenghuang Miao Temple (complete, now, with Starbucks and DQ) and the Yuyuan Garden, a beautiful formal garden originally created by a lad for his dad during the Ming Dynasty. The name Yuyuan means “Pleasing to your parents,” according to our guide. It’s extensive, with a rockery made of a special stone called huangshi, many bonsai trees, ponds filled with koi, and buildings topped with undulating dragons.
A trip to the Shanghai Museum was scheduled for after lunch, but as we were running behind and the day was unbearably hot (over 100, I heard) that plan was scrapped in favor of proceeding to the next item on the itinerary, an observation deck of the Oriental Pearl TV Tower. We were screened and our bags and cameras x-rayed before being allowed to enter.
For some reason—probably security--we only went to the 263rd-floor observation area, although there are others at higher levels. Still, even from this height, it’s impossible to adequately describe the view. Shanghai is one of the largest cities in the world. From 863 feet up, you can get a good idea of its size and it is literally staggering.
After this amazing sight, we headed over to the Huangpu River for an evening cruise. The river was grey and crowded with coal-hauling barges riding low with their cargo, but once the sun set it became bright with vividly lit excursion boats and the Pudong skyline.
Dinner was at the Rome Hotel, or the Golden Rome Restaurant—the guides haven’t made up their minds which name is the right one. Translation’s a bitch here.
I’m not too impressed with the Shanghai tour operation thus far. The young lady assigned to our bus was half a day late due to an overlap with another tour, so a friend of the owner gamely stepped in for her and apologized repeatedly for not being “professional,” although we thought she was fine. It’s our regular guide who’s—well, well-meaning, certainly, and knowledgeable enough. But she seems to be training for a career teaching kindergarteners, and after a long day in oppressive heat, I really don’t want to play “Can anybody tell me how to sex the Emperor’s lions?” Just tell us, lady, okay?
They also neglected to supply the buses with bottled water at first, and nearly had a riot on their hands. They learn quickly, though; I’ll give them that!
But I don’t want to sound like a grouchy American. Wait, I am a grouchy American.
When we returned to the hotel from dinner, Carl and I attempted to get our room changed. The smiling front desk clerk assured us that this could be done. Great, we said, can we do it tonight or tomorrow morning? Tomorrow morning, she nodded. At noon.
Wait, we said. The renovation festivities start at 9 a.m., we said; there are no tour outings until the afternoon, we said, we’d like to relax in our room until then. We said. She smiled and replied: Sorry. Noon. The hotel is full.
Then George, our AFAI rep got into the act, and trust me, you don’t screw around with that guy. Still, even with George, Yana, and Jane arguing with her, we couldn’t crack the clerk’s immovable smile of refusal. Finally, Yana volunteered to switch rooms with us, as she and Jane were on the 7th floor, well away from the racket. She sweetly (or maybe acidly) pointed out that, as she and Jane were “much younger” than us, the noise wouldn’t bother them as much. I didn’t know whether to be grateful or indignant.
George left the clerk with a warning to have a new room available to us by 9:30 the following morning (to which she gave a derisive smile), and we went up to bed.
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