matamatics

Shanghai Continued… (Picture: View from the apartment overlooking the crumbling buildings below)

I pick up a few Chinese words early in my stay to help me get around and my first week in Shanghai is spent venturing around the Hongkou District on Giuce’s bike. The Hongkou District of Shanghai is not flashy. But what it lacks in glamour, it makes up for in genuine Chinese culture. Below Gianmarco, Garrett and Emma’s apartment there’s about a square mile of slum-like crumbling buildings—it’s what I’d imagine the unindustrialized China of the 1970s looked like: food vendors line the dirt covered streets with all sorts of animal body parts for sale and people on bikes and scooters weave between each other. I spend time exploring the area and the rest of the Hongkou District early in the week.

Later in the week, I sit in on a day of work for Garrett. He teaches English at a local elementary school to kids in grades first through fifth. Garrett introduces me to each 35 minute class as his boss. I get the impression that most of the students aren’t familiar with the term “boss”—or perhaps don’t believe him—and they participate in their normal childish behavior. For the most part, the kids are full of energy, enthusiasm and a general aura of glee. The feeling they provide is contagious and I quickly appreciate why Garrett and Gianmarco enjoy what they’re doing so much. Teaching kids in China doesn‘t look so bad after all. After the last class at the end of the day we leave the school as kids yell from afar, “Bye bye Mr. Sacks!”

Garrett and Giuce are ready for the weekend as it approaches—despite its rewards, I notice that teaching for 25+ hours a week can be quite draining. Friday comes and Gianmarco, Garrett, Emma and I plan our evening. It starts with a couple Suntory beers and left over hard alcohol from their New Years party. After that, we migrate to a club called Sky via taxi. The place is swanky and comparable to the finer nightlife spots of Western Europe and the States. We enter, pay an all you can drink cover charge of 100 RMB (about $15 USD), and find a nice spot at the bar. I flash my wrist band and get a gin & tonic, and take in the happenings around. Apart from the fact that we’re four of about seven white people in the entire place, it feels like any other night out in any other Western city. Three German girls find a spot next to us and conversation (in English) begins. The night unfolds pleasantly—we drink, dance and talk, then two of the three girls share a cab back to the apartment with Giuce and I. Upon arrival I reach to my back pocket to pay for the ride and realize my wallet is no where to be found. First iPod, now wallet. Sweet. After a slightly panicky search in the cab, I accept my loss and move on. Fortunately, the cab was relatively cheap and Giuce has money.

The next day is spent in mourning as I nurse a hangover and cancel credit cards. The idea of drinking that night sounds awful. But, as Conor Oberst once put it, “As the night rolls around it all starts making sense; there’s no right way or wrong way, you just have to live.” So, that evening we get together with a few other teachers in Gianmarco, Garrett, and Emma’s teaching program for dinner and drinks. We meet at a Japanese Teppanyaki restaurant that serves us a delicious several course meal. Shortly after choking the first Saki Bomb down, the next chant begins. Saki bombs lead to more Saki bombs, which leads to continuing the party. After the dessert (a super tasty green tea ice cream served with a fried banana on top) we make our way to a nearby club and find that there’s a break dancing competition going on. I feel like I’m in a scene from Stomp the Yard (yeah, I’ve watched that movie) as I stand on the edge of the dance floor and two short Asian men battle it out in front of me. I can’t help but be truly amazed by their talent as arms and legs fly through the air. Mad skillz. We watch the final round and the victor is crowned.

Our original group begins to thin out as individuals get tired and/or too drunk to continue on. A few of us decide to make our way to another club and break away from the remaining stragglers. After a small detour we arrive to our next destination called “Shelter”—named because of it’s similarities to a bomb shelter. It sounds a bit claustrophobic, but after walking down a long arched corridor we find that the place is surprisingly open and comfortable. The club’s DJ is spinning as two horn players stand at his side and float over the beats with pleasant melodies. I’m intrigued and bob my head for a bit, then we find a table and continue conversation over Tiger beers. It’s approaching 4 in the morning and I signal to Giuce that I’m ready to head back and get to bed. We get a cab and our night comes to an end.