7,000 miles later...

A little over 24 hours in Shanghai and I woke up from the last of a series of jet lag induced naps hungry. Aside from granola bars I’d packed in my suitcase, the last thing I’d eaten was some sort of odd omelet on my flight in.


After I’d checked in to my hotel the previous day, it was dark out and I didn’t feel like wandering the streets looking for food. The next day I’d lost all motivation to even want to leave my hotel room, but housekeeping opened my door (despite the “Do not disturb” sign) and then followed it up with a phone call a few hours later wondering when they would be able to clean the room.

So, forced out I had two goals: Find and ATM and find food.

Was I looking for dumplings? Pork Bun? Stir fried Rice?

No. I was looking for the most shameful, horrifying thing a person who just flew 7,000 miles from America could: McDonalds. (I justified it by telling myself I was tired! Cranky! Tired! Sad! And I just couldn’t muster the will to walk into a restaurant where I didn’t know the language).

As I was walking past storefront Chinese restaurants selling combos of dumplings and noodles and walk up windows offering fried, crispy items, I kept thinking, “All I have to do is open the door and point, they’ll know what I mean.” But instead, I continued scanning the distance for the familiar golden arches, dodging cars and motorbikes in the street.

But I was worried. I thought, “What if someone sees me going in? What will the locals think? That I’m not trying? That I’m some sort of sad American eating McDonalds in Shanghai by herself.” They could pay me to sit in the McDonalds like a mascot, some sort of sad nouveau Ronald McDonald.

Worse, I thought, what would experienced expats think of me? That I can’t even pull myself together enough to point to a plate of rice in a Chinese restaurant where – if I’d even attempted to go in – I’d probably find that they spoke at least enough English for me to order.

In the end, I never found a McDonalds. I’d walked on for awhile, it was cold and had started to rain so I decided to turn around and head back to the hotel.

Home is where the Starbucks is.

And that’s where I found a Starbucks. So, a little more than a day spent in Shanghai and I’d finally eaten – a Mocha and a warmed up chicken wrap that cost me the outrageous price of nearly 60 RMB or about $9 USD.

{It’s worth (worth it to me) noting that since the McDonalds near-incident my jet lag subsided and I’ve been able to navigate my way to authentic Chinese foods}