Familiar Places

The Shanghai Sculpture Space in the background and Shanghai Sculpture Garden in the foreground.

When I visit new cities, I have a bad habit of comparing their neighborhoods to places in the metro Detroit area. I don’t know why I do it, maybe it’s to make things more familiar. When I visited Portland, I found a neighborhood that reminded me of Birmingham, Mich. and Ann Arbor. When I visited Toronto, I compared neighborhoods to Royal Oak and Grosse Pointe.

Shanghai hasn’t been any different. When I drove into the city the first day I arrived, it reminded me somehow of driving into Chicago.

Yesterday, I went to an area of Shanghai called Red Town to visit the Shanghai Sculpture Garden. Red Town itself seems like an isolated artists’ enclave, with a few galleries and cafes.

But what really struck me was how much the Shanghai Sculpture Space  – which the Sculpture Garden sits outside of – looks like the Russell Industrial Center in Detroit. Both places were former factories and both seem to be the anchors of developing artist-and-creative-centric areas.

 {And on a side note, if you’re looking at the photo, yes – it was that hazy.}

More from the Shanghai Sculpture Garden

Yes, I'm complaining about the cold

I feel like I really underestimated the Shanghai winter. It’s cold. I’m cold.

It’s true, it’s definitely warmer than Michigan – and over the Spring Festival holiday we got really lucky with temperatures mostly in the 40s and some days in in the 50s and reaching into the 60s. But now, the temperatures have dipped back down to the low 30s, again, and we’ve seen a little snow and a little cold rain mixed with sleet.

When I packed my suitcase to come to Shanghai, I knew it was cold, but I kept thinking, “Not as cold as Michigan. Not as cold as Michigan!” I was more worried about Shanghai summers, which are supposed to be extremely hot and humid. So, I brought one coat, two winter hats, one scarf, one pair of mittens and very few sweaters to free up room for warmer weather clothing.

I’m cold!

On a particularly cold night last week, I met up with friends and I was commenting on how cold it was. The Americans said, “But, you’re from Michigan, aren’t you used to this?”

Sure, it’s much colder in the winter in Michigan and it snows and it’s icy, and in general, treacherous and dismal and depressing, but here’s the thing: I never walk anywhere in Michigan in the winter. On cold mornings I’d leave my toasty house for about 2 minutes to start my car, then drive to work in a warm car, spend about 30 seconds in the cold parking lot walking to the door and then once again I’d be inside a nice, warm building. Really, on average I’d spend about 3 minutes actually outside in the freezing cold.

Here, I walk to the metro station, I walk to work, I walk to restaurants, I walk to get coffee, I walk to the grocery store. I’m outside all the time. And it’s cold.

What I miss even more is central heating. Oh, central heating! In my apartment in Shanghai, I have what is essentially a space heater mounted on the wall that kicks out hot air maybe every half hour and doesn’t even come close to actually heating my bedroom. Sometimes I just stand under it, like it’s some sort of human dryer, until I’m warm. 

When I go to bed, I bundle up in clothes that, when I packed them, were intended to be worn outside of the apartment, not to sleep. One of the few sweaters I brought has turned into pajamas, along with running tights and sweatpants – worn at the same time for extra warmth – socks, slippers and a few times even a hat. I feel like I’m camping all the time.

Now that we’re headed towards the end of February, I’m hoping the weather warms up soon. Although, I have a feeling that come around July, I’ll just repost this blog replacing “cold” with “hot” and wishing it were in the 30s, again. 

A sidebar about the washing machine

Laundry (not my own) being hung to dry outside my apartment.

Thanks to everyone who commented about the washing machine. I did eventually break down and start pushing buttons. There were two in particular that screamed “Try me” so I did. One, I’m assuming was power and one was start. The other buttons….I’m not going to press my luck here. So, I have clean clothes, I can use the washer, I just can’t use any of its other functions like gentle cycle, etc.

Ode to Kim, my social media manager

Here's Kim -- the keeper of my social media while I was blocked by "the man"

I finally got a VPN! That means I finally have access to this blog, Facebook and other sites that have been blocked in China. Big, big thanks to Kim who for over a month has been updating both my blogger and Facebook for me! Now she's finally free from social media duty! 

I'm also finally able to respond to comments left here -- so thanks to those who have left comments!

Personal Space: It’s a luxury, not a right



Qibao had shops filled with things you don’t need.



For Spring Festival, I had something like 10 days off from work. This is incredible because not only had I just arrived and really only worked a few weeks so far, but I don’t think I’ve ever had 10 days off from work for a holiday before.

I spent most of the time having “tourist” days with a group of expats. We’d essentially open a guidebook and whatever page we landed on that day, we’d go there, making pit stops along the way.



One day, on our way to The Bund – a touristy strip along the river – we stopped at a “fake market” and I haggled for a knock off Jimmy Choo handbag that feels a lot like a vinyl car seat.



Another day we went to Qibao on the outskirts of Shanghai. Qibao – a “river town” where we took a Venice-style boat ride and had tea at a traditional tea house – was not overrun with foreign tourists, like I’m used to in the expat area I live in, but rather Chinese tourists celebrating the New Year. And it tested my capacity to tolerate the Shanghai “zero personal space” policy.



Qibao shortly before dusk, looking a lot calmer than at midday!



There’s a lot of people in Shanghai, so things get tight. At 8 a.m. on a Monday morning, getting onto the metro is a lot being in the ocean. You sort of get caught up in this giant group of people trying to squeeze onto the metro and you’re carried on like a wave and then you’re packed in tight with nothing to hold onto and kind of sway with the others as the train goes around corners. When you get to your stop, you sort of just fall out of the train with the others. (On a sidenote, I just read today that in 1999, Shanghai’s metro had only one short line. But by 2007 it had become the 7th largest metro in the world. During the expo last year, apparently lots of new stops were also added).

In Shanghai, the streets are crowded. The stores are crowded. The restaurants are crowded. You learn to accept that there’s someone always at your elbow.



The crowds that I couldn’t handle.



But in Qibao it went beyond someone just walking close to you. The Old Town streets were narrow and packed with pedestrians. It was hard to peel off from the masses to even go into one of the little shops and there was always someone inadvertently touching you. It drives me crazy and I do not like it and I feel like I’m going through some sort of immersion therapy where I’m thrown into the deep end to get over my need for wide open personal space.





This guy was making some sort of “floss” candy that was a little like cotton candy but slightly chewier.





While our short boat ride was fun, the water was filthy and filled with trash. In fact, as you pass under the bridges, you sort of dodge trash people are throwing in the water.




This bridge was packed with pedestrians.



Mitten-hand and other cultural differences

Last week in one of my classes with older students, we were talking about cultural differences – how we do things in America differently than they do things in China. 

I asked them whether, when they got into a taxi, they sat in the front or they sat in the back. That was one of the very first things I noticed when I got to Shanghai. Driving into the city in a van provided by the hotel, I kept seeing taxis with the lone passenger in the front seat, not in the back. 

I told the students that most Americans would sit in the back seat of the cab and the only time you’d probably sit in the front is if you have four people in your group and someone was forced to sit in the front. 

Some of the students explained that they thought this was because Americans see the driver as lesser than us because he’s working for us. 

I think I agree and disagree. Certainly there’s some truth to it. We treat a lot of people who “work” for us in a lesser manner. Think about employees at department stores or waiters in restaurants. 

But I think we sit in the back seats of taxis because that’s just the way we do things. I sit in back seats of taxis because at some point in my life (not having grown up in cities where one would take a taxi) I started seeing movies and television programs where the characters got into the back seat of the taxi, not the front.

By the time I ever actually took a taxi, the idea of sitting in the back seat of a taxi was reinforced by seeing people sit in the back seat – not because someone told me, or that I think, the driver deserves less respect than I do. 

I’m sure I’ll eventually get tired of it, but I still find it really fascinating to talk about the differences between the cultures. 

I actually even find it fascinating to talk to other westerners not from America about the differences between our cultures. 

Recently, a South African co-worker pointed out that when asked “Where are you from?” American expats are more likely to say what state they’re from and nearby large-ish city. 

“I say I’m from South Africa,” she said. “Not Atholl or Bryanston or Johannesburg.” 

I’m definitely guilty of the state thing. When I first got here and people would ask where I was from, I would say U.S. But the next question was always “Where in the U.S.?” So to save time, because you get asked where you’re from a lot, I say “From Michigan in the U.S.” 

During orientation I also whipped out the Michigan mitten map and I’m not ashamed. The “where are you from” conversation with someone had progressed as far as me telling him I was from near Detroit. He, from the UK, said “That’s on Lake Michigan?” So, I explained the mitten-shaped nature of Michigan and pointed out, using my mitten-shaped hand, where Lake Michigan would be and where Detroit is. 

He didn’t seem at all impressed that I was from a state that allowed me to use my hand as a map. He was probably just jealous. 

Not a cultural difference, but definitely different – every time I cross the street I’m in danger of getting hit by a scooter. It’s a scooter bonanza here!

How the washing machine broke me in China

I’m just going to come out and admit this – I don’t know how to use the washing machine. Washing machines in China are of a different style completely and on top of that the buttons and controls are in Chinese characters.

So, while I’ve been able to go to a store and buy laundry detergent, I STILL don’t know how to use the washing machine and I’m running dangerously low on the clean-clothes supply I brought from home when I moved here.

I have a roommate, but I haven’t seen her since the first day I moved in and even if I did see her, she’s also a westerner and could very well also not know how to use the washing machine, either.

Sometimes I look at the buttons on the machine and I think, “I could just press this button. It’s probably this button. There’s a good chance this is the button I should use.” But then I have visions of flooding the apartment with an erroneous button selection and I retreat from the washing machine, dejected, broken and a shell of my former self.

Because, really, how could a washing machine be the single hardest obstacle I’ve come up against in China? I don’t know the language, but I’m able to get around on public transportation, order food in restaurants, buy clothing in stores and do my banking. But the washing machine is seriously killing me.

In the two months or so I had to plan before moving here, I did some hardcore Google research about what some of the challenges would be for me moving here and no one indicated using the washing machine would break me.

(I was however warned that dryers aren’t all that common, and I did move into an apartment where there is no dryer. But that really has had no impact on my life since I’d need to use the washer before I dry anything.)

When I do figure out how to use the washing machine, there will be a post for any other sad expats in China who also don’t know how to use their washing machines.

Speaking in gestures

When I first arrived in Shanghai I was really aware of the language being spoken and how I was NOT able to understand it. I still haven’t started Chinese lessons, but now rather than being hyper-aware of what people are saying around me (and my inability to understand it) it’s faded into some sort of background noise that I don’t pay attention to anymore. So much so that I was passing through security at the entrance of a metro stop the other day and by the time I’d realized the security guard had said ‘thank you’ to me in English, rather than Chinese, I was already headed down the stairs to the train and really regretted not being able to say ‘you’re welcome’ to him in English.


What’s (maybe?) worse is that I’ve stopped even saying English words when communicating with Chinese-speakers. Before, if I needed a bag in a store, I would bring up both hands like they were holding onto bag handles and say, “Bag? Bag?” It was of course the miming that made what I wanted understandable, but at least when I verbalized I felt like I was making some sort of effort.

(On the flip side of this, I would also launch into prolonged English conversations with people who clearly had no idea what I was saying, and for some weird reason even though I knew they didn’t understand anything I said I would end it with “Do you know what I mean?” As if they would understand THAT and give me some sort of verbal confirmation that, no, they did not know what I meant and would I please leave their store/restaurant/taxi before I wasted anymore of their time).

But lately, along with no longer actually listening to the language being spoken, I’ve moved into a phase where I sometimes no longer even speak what I want in English.

Last week I was at a checkout in a grocery store and instead of saying “Bag? Bag?” I just held up both hands, holding my invisible bag. The clerk just nodded and gave me my bag.

And strangely, even saying the few Chinese words I do know was intimidating because even though I’d heard them spoken many, many times since I’ve been here, I was worried I wasn’t pronouncing them correctly. So, the first time I said ‘thank you’ to a clerk in a store who handed me my change I half expected her to get angry at me for sullying her language with my American mispronunciations. But, she just nodded – the same nod as when I ask for a bag using improvised sign language – and we all moved on with our lives.

Just for fun, these are the Chinese words now in my repertoire:

Hello – Sometimes (OK, most of the time) if a clerk greets me with the Chinese word for Hello, I respond back in English because I’m afraid they’ll think I know Chinese and continue to speak to me in Chinese.

Thank You.

Receipt – for when you’re in a taxi. For some reason when I first arrived a lot of westerners told me to make sure I get a receipt when I take a taxi in case you’re scammed, but I have yet to understand how I would even KNOW I was being scammed. So, now I just have a collection of taxi receipts piling up.

Gam bei – which is a toast that I think equals ‘Bottoms up!’ and I think I usually use it in the wrong way, like “You need to Gam bei that drink so we can go.” I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to wish the drinker good health and then ‘Gam bei.’

Bathroom – This is the single most important Chinese word I know because I have yet to find sufficient body language that indicates the need to find a bathroom.