Tis the Season

For the flu.

After a grueling ten-week half term term filled with marking, marking and more marking, I bid a three-week farewell to the PRC and boarded a flight to nations more discerning in their chicken part consumption. Since Paul's health has taken a turn to the more dramatic, this means ten days in London followed by ten days in Michigan. Thank Buddha for my tendency to hoard frequent flyer miles.

I boarded the BA flight from Shanghai on Saturday, generally dubbed the 'Dulwich flight' due to the mass migration of staff and students back to the motherland, with a minor cough in tow. I'd been lugging around a pollution-induced cold for roughly three weeks--imagine a sneeze behind the nose that never quite comes to fruition, a tickly throat that never quite blossoms into a cold and you get the gist of it. Sadly, as per usual on holiday, things ripened into a full-blown cold. Yesterday, a low grade fever and flu-like symptoms came out to play. I've been marooned on the couch for something like 48-hours; I don't handle idleness very well. Just beyond my window is a world of London I want to explore--Oxford Street and mince pies, mulled wine and the National Gallery, carol services, Borough Market.

It's almost like my body is responding to the clean air.  It hates it. And considering China is currently experiencing some of the worst pollution it has ever experienced, I really have to wonder.

I've become annoying in my desire to escape. Paul, bored of my moaning, took me on a journey to Tesco. The ten-minute walk there exhausted me. Inside, screaming babies, people speaking english, the self check out not working, all drove me to new levels of crazy. I reckon there's a degree of reverse culture shock going on, something I really wasn't expecting.

In an attempt to occupy myself, I'm resorting to blogging. Unfortunately, I've migrated my photos from Google+ to Google+ photos and in the process don't entirely understand how to upload images directly from my phone to the blog. If anyone knows how to do this, please feel free to leave me a comment below. Otherwise, this whole process of blogging various  journeys in going to become rather tedious.

In short, bah humbug. I'm ready to feel better now.

Thanksgiving Dinner, Chinese Style

When in Shanghai, it only seems polite that, on Thanksgiving, one eats Chinese food. This isn't your run of the mill Chinese Chinese food. Fortune Cookie is the love child of two Cornell grad friends (one Chinese-American whose parents own Chinese restaurants in the US) who decided to move to Shanghai and open an American Chinese Restaurant. That's right--American Chinese food is now a genre. And it doesn't disappoint.

Let's start with the menu--a culinary smattering of everything you'd want in a US takeaway from Sweet and Sour to Mooshu to General Tso's, the sauces taste just like what Americans think Chinese food should taste like:

.

And the owners are totally charming, totally young, totally getting everything right in what could have been a disastrous business venture.  They're been written up in various huge global publications from CBS news to the BBC and they're taking it all in stride.  The clientele, a curious mix of expats and Chinese, keep coming back for more.

What's not to love? You finish your meal, you get a fortune cookie. You need takeaway? How about those little white boxes so ubiquitous with American television shows that the rest of the world outside the US didn't think they were real. Check and Check! 

Perhaps the best part for me is that this local little gem is a five minute walk from my flat. And if i'm feeling really lazy, ohhhh delivery. For Thanksgiving though, I have a little tradition--find the most unabashed American meal possible and do it justice. Karen, Gemma and I opted against the day's special, mooshu turkey pan fried in a wok, but plenty of other filled the rafters for exactly the same experience.

Any way you look at it, it's winning.

Fungi

Look closely. They're on a log. In the refrigerator section of a fancy Shanghai grocery store.

And the log doesn't come cheap--£5. Because, China. 

La Cucaracha

For all these years if spiders were the insect I feared the most, it was only because I'd never come face-to-face, glove-to-glove with the rat of the insect world, the cockroach.

They're big, they're fast, they proliferate and multiply when even threatened with murder. Having lived in a temperate climate for much of my life, I knew little of this. The cockroaches of my myths only found their way out of dirty hovels of basement apartments. They lived amongst the detritus of waste products at the back of derelict alleys.

In moving across the river, I'd heard rumours of this mythical insect. In Puxi, the buildings are old and the cockroaches are plenty, my friends warned. I scoffed, thinking that my apartment was newly remodeled and I had an ayi who cleaned my flat on a regular basis. 

But subtropical climates are the breeding ground for beasts of the wild. 

Post dinner on a non-descript Wednesday, I went to wash my dishes and was confronted with one sauntering languidly across my kitchen floor. I screamed repeatedly, three protracted, piercing yells like the signal of an impending freight train. It hightailed itself to the corner on its six scrawny legs and absconded somewhere underneath, possibly between the handbag and gym bag I had dumped on the floor. 

Cue little girl screams and invective expletives. In a week of deadlines, lesson observations and medical updates from London, it became the cockroach that broke the camel's back. 

I whipped into a raged frenzy and chased the damn thing around the tiny kitchen of my tiny apartment. It cowered under a shelving unit before making a break for my bedroom.  Cue more incessant screaming. Which must have stunned it into a new path because it made a beeline for the living room and disappeared.

Never to be seen again.

The next day I relayed this story back to my colleagues, the beacons of Shanghai knowledge. Instead of consolation I was greeted with horror stories, a virtual best-of worst cockroach stories. Ones that fly, ones the size of your hand. And then the horrible question: 'Was it an adult cockroach or a baby one? Because if it's a baby one, that means there's more, many, many more.' Um. Mine was more a teenager--bulking up but on its way to maturity. Unfortunately, where there's one, there's many.

I was caught unawares on my next sighting.  Sitting on the toilet, a toddler-aged cockroach languished in the corner. It didn't move. And so I had time to flush, then wield the mop and thwack it on the head repeatedly, screaming a warrior cry all the while. It fought for its life but I had the benefit of a handle. And eventually, it met its demise.

A week later, an infant cockroach crawled out of my rather unsuccessful attempt at growing chiles.

Now it seems the flat is somehow no longer my own. Cockroach bombs and boxes are out of season now so I've settled for a can of Raid. I also engage in a rather formal process of introducing myself to the usually unseen invaders by opening my door, loudly, turning on the light and stepping in by making as much noise as possible. It's a regular routine. Symbiosis?

The B Boys

As a farewell to charming Seoul, my friends arranged tickets to attend a B-Boy show. I knew little about the experience I was walking into only we were heading to the basement of one of Seoul's myriad high rise buildings and that the premise of the show was a message about bullying.

We walked in late to a mini theatre half empty. On stage, a school scene was unfolding--nerdy kid getting bullied by the 'cool' kids. It seemed like an amateur performance put together by a troupe of university friends with lots of free time. I began to experience a wicked case of secondhand embarrassment, only second to the time we walked into the one-girl Alice in Wonderland performance where Alice was played by a Spanish girl with the world's thickest Castilian accent.

But amateur dramatics quickly unfolded into a breakdancing scene--Korean men leaped out in front of us to throw their bodies at the ground in weird angles and perform gravity-defying scenes of strength:

For the next hour and a half, we were rapt. It was a scene from the American 90s, from my high school lunchroom days and the crowd of boys who used to breakdance by the stairs. Whatever country cultivates the B-Boy as a national pastime is a country I want to be in. 

As it turns out, the roots of the hobby come from the American soldiers stationed in Korea in the late 80s. But Korea has managed to morph it and turn it into something uniquely theirs. And for that, I salute them! 

No B-Boy show would be complete without a closing 'Gangnam Style' number: 

We were even a little bit starstruck: 

Oh, Asia, you charm me.

Seoul's Neighbourhoods

I am restraining myself from punning, of baring my heart and Seoul, of Seoul searching. Yikes, too late. This city has an energy that's hard to put into words. What's possibly the best thing about it is something I experienced in going to New York City for the first time. It's that popping up into a new part of town and experiencing a completely different neighbourhood. Every district has a distinct tone. On our five-day stay we didn't make it to every part of the city; but what we did see felt like a unique piece of a gigantic puzzle waiting to be solved. 

In Gangnam, we witnessed more plastic surgeons per-capita than people. Girls with bandaged noses dotted cafe tables, trendy shops abounded and you could practically feel the dance craze down the streets: 

 

Bukchon hilltop village was perhaps my favourite. Antique shops, trendy stationery shops and tiny clothes shops dotted the ancient lanes. The streets wound up and up offered good views of the city below: 

 

 

 Traditional houses and rooftops dotted the landscape and even the odd artist took inspiration. It's very probable that one neighbourhood blended into another here but I think that was part of the fun.

 

Nearing Gyeonbokgung Palace, we were greeted with some odd art, statues linked to the signs of the zodiac:

This, according to our local experts, is a nod to some childhood game. We were relieved...

 Gyeonbokgung Palace itself was also quite impressive. Its location in the middle of the city made it easy to dip in, enjoy the fresh air, and pop out the other side.

 

 

 The changing of the guard:

 

 

Hongdae, the district we're staying in, is considered the hip and trendy part of town. Its location near the university district helps this quite a bit. Street markets, at night and day, restaurants, both cheap and more expensive, and a series of shoe shops, clothes shops, dessert shops make it the place to be.

 

At Insadong, a wide pedestrianised market cuts off into little side streets. We didn't have enough time to explore this area but it's definitely worth a look for all those bowties, art supplies and hipster gear you might want:

 

 

For a taste of the outdoors, head to Myeongong, pass the hordes of shops, hang a right and take a leisurely hike. You can take the lift or walk up to the heights of Seoul Tower, where glorious views of the city await: 

 

 

At the top of the tower, you can post a letter from the highest point in the city. And let's be honest, who wouldn't want to do that? 

 

 

A brief wander through Itaewon takes you to the War Memorial of Korea and the vast complex built in commemoration of the lives, many American, lost in the conflict. I've never seen so many American servicemen anywhere outside of the US.

These pictures don't even do half the city half the justice. Given more time, or perhaps another trip, there's a million more neighbourhoods to shop, things to eat and definitely streets to pause and people watch. What a place.