for Shanghai is the future. It is a neon-soaked, smog-shrouded, over-crowded hive of industrious activity and it is the future.
Did I mention that it was the future?
Things™ are happening in this place, and it feels incredible, like you’re at the beating heart of the Asian golden age or something. While that may be exaggeration, this following sentence is not: 20.5 million people live in this city. This city is more populous than Australia.
I apologise for not posting sooner, but crippling transit and seeing Olivia off had killed my desire to bloog. However, now the demands on my time are slightly less, what with just having to go to the hospital now. So I guess I can catch you up a bit.
Anyway, yes, Shanghai.
If you’re in Shanghai and you want a place for around $180 a night for a double room that is way too swanky for tools like us, then the Longemont deserves a shout-out. It’s five-star in everything except the airconditioning and on a clear day you can see forever.
Five days in this place did a lot to repair jangled nerves and windblasted facies. The hot tub and some Moët and Chandon were particular highlights as we tried to kid ourselves into thinking we were brats of the rich and the famous.
If forced to have Christmas dinner abroad, you can’t go past Hamilton House. Truly excellent indulgent french cuisine without the wallet hit (a three course meal including wine costing around $55AU each). 1221 is a pleasant introduction to Shanghainese food, while the Dumpling place in the old city blew all of our faces off.
Cloud 9 is a satisfactory place to get a drink on Olivia’s birthday though I am wondering how I’m going to top drinks with the China Seven in the highest public bar in the world for her next one. Maybe the Burj Dubai will be open then, if it’s not broken up for scrap metal. As it was, it was nice of everyone to dress up.
One of the downsides of the Wilkinson flaming red hair (or the poor imitation that is mine) and six-foot-plus heights is that it makes it difficult to avoid hawkers who view you as a giant walking dollar sign. A pale giant walking dollar sign.
Also, Andrea’s lightning elbow grip foiled an attempt to lift what the pickpocket would have realised was reciepts and an expired Macau ferry ticket from my coat pocket, but her moxie and delivery were impeccable and she deserves a beer.
It’s 2311 on Saturday night in HCMC and all I want to do is sleep. I promise I’ll write about Guilin soon.
Night all,
Tom.
