Holidays at Grand Mags: Shanghai The Noo

We've spent most of the past fortnight walking the streets of Shanghai. I'd like to tell you what we were doing that for, but I could well be shot dead from space if I did. Suffice to say that the end of result of it all was a guide to the city, filled with hyperbole and blinkered wonderment. The funny thing, though, is that I genuinely do believe that Shanghai is the best city in China and – whisper it – one of the best in Asia.

That's nothing to do with Chinese though; it's because Shanghai is essentially European. Birthed by the British, nurtured by the French and fertilised by every Victorian era smackhead in the world, Shanghai sounded like a jolly good laugh about 100 years ago. Opium production and prostitution were two of the biggest industries of the day, and after they settled down, the place was run by crooks and gangsters, some of whom dressed in suits and pretended to be something more honest.

Then the Communists came along. Everything paused, the enterprising foreigners were kicked out, some of the temples and churches and synagogues and mosques were destroyed, and a lot of folk died. That, as it turned out, didn't bring world peace.

Nowadays, China still pretends to be vaguely Communist, but a visit to Shanghai will, more than any other city on the mainland, really drive home the obvious truth that the rich and poor divide is back, if it ever went away at all.

Between the skyscrapers and posh restaurants and flash cars and designer this and that, it's impossible to ignore the mass flashing of cash. The architecture alone screams “WE HAVE. YOU HAVE NOT.”

Meanwhile, thanks to the European influence all of the old buildings give the city a touch of class, and a grounding in the past. Who says heroin makes everyone miserable?

And they're returning, the Europeans. In particular the French who are reclaiming large parts of what is still known as the French Concession, an arty suburb west of the city centre.

The terrifying thing about it all is that Shanghai was essentially stunted for 50 years by the madness of Cultural Revolution. Imagine if this giant bastard had been aloud to thrive the whole time? I'm not exaggerating when I say it would likely be giving New York a run for its money.

Anyway, having produced one guide to the city for money, I now present another to you, for free.

Do speak to any local who tries to speak English. Because you might inspire others to do the same. Of course, you could stumble around for days and days and there's no guarantee this will happen. Perhaps most of the Shanghainese are quite nervous about mangling their words, more likely they just don't give a opium-fuelled fuck about your stupid gweilo ass. Expect no one to help you, ever. Expect some people to walk away from you in the middle of an attempted conversation.
Once in a while though, you may – as we did – come across something completely unexpected. When getting on a busy train, we found ourselves talking to an old man in his seventies whose English was excellent indeed. The youngsters around about seemed a little embarrassed by it; the middle aged seemed somehow irritated. We were amazed and happy and wanted to give him a little hug.
Do not eat any Chinese food of any type. Because when its not swimming in salt and grease and comprising solely of gristle, the idea of eating it makes you want to be a little sick. Visit the humdrum chain South Beauty to get an idea of what I mean: at venues across town you can marvel at dishes like double-boiled whelk with crocodile gut, or fried donkey, or goose foot soup, all while suppressing a strong desire to vomit.
Do eat at Mr and Mrs Bund. Because it's the coolest restaurant I've ever been to. Sure, they know it, and – yes – they're French as hell, but the food is incredible: it's like the chef has knocked back two shots of wacky and followed them with a zany chaser, and somehow I don't want to punch him in the throat. The tuna mousse starter comes in a tin can; the lemongrass-skewered jumbo prawn is cooked and served in an enormous jar; the candied lemon takes three days to prepare. The staff wear braces and Converse for Christsakes. You might find better food in the city; you won't find anything else so memorable.
Do not go to a Western supermarket expecting Western things. Eating out is cheap, but we foolishly thought that as we had some steady accommodation for 12 nights, we'd self-cater. Hooray! We thought, they have Walmart and Tesco and Carrefour. A few moments later we realised that they are nothing more than shop fronts, stocking the same bizarre, unhealthy crap that any local Chinese minimart would. The occasional Western goods they do have are hideously overpriced and of poor quality. Boo. BOOOOO!
Do put the shoulder in, and never apologise. Despite there being some well established cultural “rules” on inane things like how to present your business card and how to store your chopsticks, in Shanghai, like all of China, it's better to behave like Conan the fucking Barbarian than Mr Darcy. Wait for people without shouting at them, and you'll be there all day; try to get on a busy train without getting right inabootit and you'll be on the platform forever. Thank no one. Don't say please. Shove. Push. Never surrender. Crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and hear the lamentations of their women.
Do not take pictures of hairdresser repairmen. Because Shanghai is full of radge bastards who, as Wee Mo found out to her cost, occasionally lash out. Shortly thereafter we both spent some time explaining in a distinctly Scottish way, that we were quite displeased with his actions.
Do tell everyone that you're a journalist. Because without checking credentials, they dole out free shit - meals, cocktails, backstage access... In the wrong hands a person would be inclined to take the piss. Take a camera to really seal the deal.
Do not take any Malaysian ringit with you. Because amazingly, absolutely nowhere in China exchanges it. Nowhere. Incredible.
Do walk around the French Concession for days. Because it really is very, very cool. Go to Xintiandi for swanky drinks and good food. Get lost in the lanes off Taikang Road and gawp through windows of the seemingly endless trendy boutiques and galleries. Buy paper lanterns and minority clothing. Drink at a micro brewery and listen to jazz. Visit People 7 where getting in is like a challenge on the bloody Crystal Maze and, if you crack the passcode, makes you feel like Jim Bond for just a fleeting second.
Do not forget where you are. Because the moment you do mistake Shanghai for some great undiscovered jewel of Europe, some bastard will spit on your shoes, or barge into you, or serve you a plate of chicken's feet when you expressly asked for something else. Shanghai has all the ingredients of one of the world's great cities, it's just a shame that it will always be populated by the Chinese. And the French.