The philosophers have only interpreted the world in various ways. The point is to change it.” – Epitaph of Karl Marx

Under capitalism, man exploits man; under communism, it’s just the opposite.” – John Kenneth Galbraith

“I’m a Marxist – more Groucho and his brothers than Karl.” – Anon

I have a soft spot for milestones and so, late last October, I jumped at the opportunity to be with my friend, Bartholomew, as he closed in on his fortieth birthday and especially when he decided to “come of age” in China.

To my perhaps wishful and simple way of thinking, meeting up with Bart might confer something hopeful – that is, I could also be clocking in at 40 if I’d approach age from a different direction.

From Pudong airport into Shanghai city, the phalanx of tall buildings lining the route brought to mind the saying that as buildings get higher, morals become lower; indeed, the smog enveloping the city hinted strongly of murky morals lurking out there.

I checked into the Astoria, a Victorian hotel by Suzhou Creek, on the other side of the Bund. Directly facing the hotel was the “Seamen’s Club” where, nearly 30 years ago, I used to quaff a pint or two with sailors and stevedores from all round the world; it now houses the Russian Consulate.

A new concrete bridge spanning the Suzhou Creek has replaced the old and familiar iron one; I was later told that the old iconic bridge was being restored after which the present bridge currently in use would be torn down. A couple of aggressive out-of-towners pinned me down and demanded the privilege of shining my shoes; their all too familiar story of having to seek their fortune in Shanghai due to the high unemployment in their home province of Anhui (it seems that all the migrants in Shanghai come from Anhui) carried with it much more promise and passion than the cursory and off-handed job on my old leather boots.

On this first day in Shanghai after an absence of four years, these thoughts, impressions, and incidents along with the drabness and the grayness around the hotel stoked in me a feeling of profound malaise for this “new” Shanghai.

That evening, two “expat” friends from Hong Kong, Jenny and James, invited me to Lost Heaven, one of the many restaurants in Shanghai operated by “outsiders”; this restaurant, owned by a Taiwanese from Yunnan, served dishes from the operator’s own “minority tribe”.

The spicing was so delicate that for the very first time my tongue retained its faculty and was not numbed or frozen by the too-often liberal use of Sichuan coriander. As we sat by our table, cradling our chopsticks and nipping away at the delicious food, I realized that we represented at least three different Chinese culinary traditions: Jenny’s family came from Shantou (Swatow), James’ mother was born in Shanghai and I have my Hakka and Hokkien provenance.

Interest in food and eating has always been a constant for the Chinese, through the tumults of political upheaval, revolutions, regime change and emigration. The standard Chinese informal greeting is, “Have you eaten (to the full) yet?” For the Chinese, a very colloquial expression for having a meal is to “eat rice together,” in the same way my Jewish friends would “tear some herrings together.”

I can rattle off (which, trust me, I will) a litany of many other memorable meals that I had on this trip, but suffice for now to say that I have seldom been disappointed with food in China (or for that matter, Chinese food) and the only disagreement I ever have, is the occasional rumbling I get from my overstuffed, overworked and overhanging gut.

A hyper-interest in food and with eating has always played a part in my social and cultural development. Growing up and now living in Malaysia, a land of “cornucopia”, I have come to expect when sitting down to dinner that someone at the table would sooner or later weave into the general conversation a dish to come, or a meal to follow. I do find this obsessive preoccupation with food rather disturbing but then on a positive note I recognize that it is today’s abundance and plenty that has fanned this indulgence (in the same way that one should be glad and be thankful to be rich enough to have lost a fortune in the recent financial crisis).

Bart flew into Shanghai the following morning from Europe appearing spry and fresh as he stepped off from his long and arduous flight, which I attribute to his relative youth. We lunched at a local restaurant situated inside a lovely park, which served typical Shanghainese food (among the dishes were steamed xiaolong bao (meat dumplings) and plain fried river shrimps with vinegar on the side).

After lunch we ambled through the leafy boulevards in the former French quarters and made occasional forays into the local shops. But it was not until we got to the “fake” departmental store (departmental store specializing in “fakes”) on Nanjingxilu (Nanjing West Road) that Bart came into his element. I took a ringside seat watching him browbeat the hardnosed vendors into submission by getting them to make further reductions on what, in my opinion, were already very low prices. I am not sure whether it was Bart’s bargaining skills or the looming financial crisis (and the consequent lack of custom) that resulted in such an unexpected windfall (for punters like us) of such low prices.

Even under the dark days of communism, the Chinese have always been good with the production of consumer goods, especially in day-to-day wares, and no doubt this has helped them to weather through the transition from a planned “socialist” economy to a “market” economy much better than did the former Soviet Union (which was good at producing heavy industrial machinery but not utilitarian goods).

In this, the Chinese share a common strategy with Japan whose economy, devastated by the Second World War, was rebuilt through the production and then the specialization of consumer goods (cameras, transistor radios, electronics, watches, motor vehicles and so forth). Up to the mid 80’s, the motifs emblazoned on consumer goods ranging from bedspreads to washbasins seem to feature patterns made up of either big, bold peonies or coy mandarin ducks.

With global economic integration, designs from Western brands have been directly lifted with scant regard to cultural context or to copyright infringements. However, I welcome the development in the area of design for it has helped to retard the nascent huaqiao (overseas Chinese) aesthetics that was threatening to flourish and take off during the early 80’s – that particular “artform,” which favoured clashing colours and riotous designs that knew no reasonable restraint.

In today’s world of fast changing fads and “taste,” it will require a lot more than just mere copying of designs in order to become successful in the production of consumer goods. I long to see the day when good industrial designers will redeem China from being typecast a country of copycats to one originating fresh and exciting designs that are easy on the eye.

Like the English with (the English) language, Chinese civilization is very open in its embrace and inclusiveness of other cultures and then bringing them under the Chinese label. By making foreign foodstuff (like chilies, tomatoes, peppers and groundnuts) become such an integral part of their cuisine, the Chinese have conveniently made us forget that these foods came through Westerners who, in the first place, obtained them from the “New World.”

This appropriation of “things foreign” and passing them as “native,” extends even to clothing – what comes to mind are the elegant qipao (cheongsams) and the “Mandarin jackets,” which are Manchurian in origin and the “Maoist” jackets (with the “Nehru collar”), adopted from the Indians. After all, if they have been able to make the uber-Mongol, Genghis Khan (whose claim to being Chinese was that his grandson, Kublai, founded the “Chinese” Yuan dynasty), be seriously considered as a Chinese, what other foreign things can they not borrow and seamlessly pass it off as its own?

Promiscuous development has changed the cityscape of Shanghai; streets that should only accommodate bicycles have now banned their use, though to help ease the expected traffic congestion a new underground system has been put into place. Tall buildings have displaced many of the old and dilapidated low-rises and because of the narrow streets, the city seems weighed down under the strain of granite, steel, and concrete; the only saving grace is that there are still some pockets in Shanghai that have not come under the developer’s block.

There is a constant and palpable scent of money in the air and the animated activities on the streets send an occasional frisson of promise that perhaps round the next corner there is a large fortune just waiting to be made. Shanghai, (literally, “Up from the Sea”) was established in the mid-nineteenth century by entrepreneurial Westerners seeking trade with China, on the mudflats by the Huangpu, a tributary on the mouth of the Yangtze.

In the early 70s' a shopkeeper friend who sold wicker baskets on Spadina Avenue in Toronto told me, “When I was a young girl growing up in the 30s', Shanghai was the most advanced city in Asia. The first 'moving staircase' (escalator) was installed at the 'Wing On' Departmental Store (now the First Departmental Store). During this time, there was not a single “moving staircase,” in the whole of China, not even Hong Kong, which was then a very sleepy Colonial village.”

I cannot vouchsafe the accuracy of her recollection but the point, that Shanghai was China’s premier commercial city, is taken.

What I find revealing is that for years after “liberation” and the founding of the Peoples’ Republic of China in 1949, the depiction of Shanghai was always synonymous with the row of commercial buildings on the Bund built by foreign traders and compradors from its past. However, today whenever the image of Shanghai is flashed on TV screens or splashed on the covers of periodicals, it is the futuristic and modern megaliths in Pudong, directly across the river from the Bund, that have come to define the city.

Next week, Philip shares his Beijing experiences.