Mainland Metropolitan

Our arrival into Beijing began auspiciously enough. The flight from Hangzhou was uneventful, the capital welcomed us with marvelously-clear skies (belying its reputation for ceaseless smog) and we efficiently dispatched with an airport hustler trying to charge us six times the going-market-rate for a ride into town. At first blush, the city defied our expectation of a Chinese version of a dreary Soviet bloc enclave. Extensively wide and squat as compared to the awesome verticality of Hong Kong or Shanghai, Beijing had the feel of an American Sun Belt boomtown with a skyline of ubiquitous construction cranes and endless half-built commercial buildings. Our arriving confidence and poise began to wane, however, when our cab driver's tentative and circuitous approach toward our boutique hotel finally deposited us in a small, cramped alley seemingly miles removed from any semblance of modernity. As we stared at the nondescript and claustrophobia-inducing gray walls penning us in on both sides, we began to reconsider our choice of accommodation. The hotel's aesthetics had looked sufficiently stylish during a cursory review of its website, but our current vantage point suggested liberal artistic license by a fast-and-loose-with-the-truth graphic designer. Our mounting apprehension checked briefly upon locating a preening fire red door flanked by two red and gold hanging Chinese lanterns. As the door opened, it became quite obvious that our fears were entirely unfounded. Crossing the threshold was for us akin to Alice's experience with the rabbit hole. In seconds, we found ourselves quite literally transported into a new world. We discovered that our boutique hotel -- an oasis of traditional Chinese decor and exquisite western taste -- was fashioned out of a restored hutong, a historic Beijing neighborhood of stone-walled houses encircling an interior courtyard. And in a stark indictment of our real estate sense, we learned that we were very much in Beijing's high-rent district, with several posh hotels and shops within walking distance and the CEO of one of China's largest companies living down the street. The hotel was just beginning its soft launch, making the two of us the first couple to visit its confines. As we wandered around our new surroundings, we couldn't help but boast self-congratulatory grins over our find. Perhaps we were really hipsters after all. Minutes later, after we finished thoroughly patting ourselves on the back, we settled in to plan our time in Beijing. The hotel's amazingly-helpful assistant manager Michael (who was at our beck and call for the duration of our stay) secured a prime Saturday night dinner reservation for us at the acclaimed Made In China restaurant at Beijing's swanky Grand Hyatt hotel. We would later come to find out that the owner of our hotel, an amazing woman named Shauna, had interceded on our behalf and used her personal connections to guarantee us a seating. Shauna had even gone so far as to pre-order Made In China's in-short-supply, house special Peking Duck for Kaberi. Dinner easily lived up to its billing, and not just because of the delicious food. We enjoyed a vantage point strategically overlooking a glass-enclosed dumpling cooking station and found ourselves seated near two friendly American businessmen. Our animated conversation centered around world travel exploits and amusing stories from the road. We were intrigued to learn that American executives in certain key industries routinely had their hotel rooms in China bugged and that Tiananmen Square was often crawling with undercover policemen. The evening passed quickly and enjoyably, especially as we caught up on news from back home. Before we realized it, it was 11 p.m. and time to exchange handshakes and good wishes. The next afternoon, we met up with Shauna and a fellow hotel guest to explore Beijing's up-and-coming 798 Dashanzi Arts District, the third largest area of its kind in the world, after Berlin and Manhattan's SoHo. Unbenownst to us when we accepted her invitation to join her, Shauna is a mover-and-shaker in Beijing's artist community. Attending several gallery showings as Shauna's guests allowed us to enjoy a unique glimpse into the contemporay Chinese art scene. And with the galleries gearing up for the International Arts Exhibition starting the following week, we had a chance to see several avant-garde works in unique settings, including a converted state-run beer factory (still brandishing a 'Long Live Chairman Mao' tribute on its walls). We were both quite surprised by the relative degree of artistic freedom throughout the complex as evidenced by liberal depictions of full-frontal nudity. Shauna did concede, however, that the artists' political messages had to more subtlely portrayed here than in the West. That evening, we were invited to join Shauna and her friends at a dinner to congratulate one of the featured artists, a talented photographer who cleverly incorporated real-life incarnations of a famous Chinese animated character into various modern, urban settings. Over a traditional Chinese banquent-style meal (complete with a 10-person lazy Susan), we basked in the charming company of Shauna and her friend PaungPaung (literally translated as "fatty-fatty"), a slim, elegantly-dressed 60-year-old expectant grandmother who looked to be no more than 40. Afterward, the five of us went back to Shauna's spectacularly-sprawling penthouse apartment, allowing us a peek into high-society Beijing life. Over the course of the evening in Shauna's exquisitely self-designed digs, we came to learn about her former lives as an Elle model and as a high-powered San Francisco investment banker. The next morning, Vik enjoyed some much-needed R&R while Shanua took Kaberi to some of her favorite shops in Beijing's Ritan Park neighborhood. With the benefit of Shauna's local negotiating skills, Kaberi returned beaming with a considerably-discounted cordoury jacket and Shanghai Tang sweater. That afternoon, we made our way to the extensive, walled Forgotten City, which proved to be a disappointment with a majority of the complex under renovation. After investing 50 yuan, Vik was especially dismayed to learn that Roger Moore had been replaced as narrator of the self-guided audio tour. After leaving the Forbidden City, we walked south to Beijing's imposing Tienanmen Square where we self-consciously walked in close proximity to one uniformed policeman after another. Standing out among the grim, almost-Soviet architecture was a prominent digital clock counting down to the 2008 Olympic opening ceremonies. Beijing seems well prepared to play host, with pollution and traffic controls in place and construction underway on an impressive bird's nest-latticed national stadium. City authorities have also started making locals sign pledges to dispense with the dual national pastimes of spitting in public and cutting in line. From Tienanmen Square, we walked further southwest to Liu Lichang, a street of restored houses featuring sundry stationery stores. On our last evening in Beijing, Shauna encouraged us to have dinner at one of her favorite spots, People 8. Shauna's guidance was once again impeccable. People 8 was easily the hippest restaurant we've ever patronized, as it featured a hidden door between a grove of bamboo trees that only opens with a step on a pressure-sensitive stone at the end of an inconspicuous walkway. Once inside, the modern decor is enveloped in pitch black darkness with intermittent spotlights positioned in such a way to highlight only the the table surfaces. The restaurant affords diners both a sense of privacy and intrigue as patrons at the surrounding tables are not easily discernible. Suffice it to say that the Japanese-inspired cuisine -- which included miso cod and spicy togarishi chicken -- was first-class. After dinner, we walked to the nearby Lan Club in Beijing's Twin Tower office building. The club was a gaudy, smoke-filled, over-the-top $30 million nightspot that cemented in our minds Philippe Starck's reputation as an unprincipled commercial sellout. We had trouble reconciling the club's "see-and-be-seen" reputation with its choice of decor and musical talent. Ten minutes into our visit, we were tormented by the screechy babbling of what could have been the world's worst lounge singer (think 2 parts Eartha Kitt and 3 parts Jackie Chan). While a hasty exit was unavoidable, we had to admit that, even when Beijing was bad, it was marvelously bad. As we drove to the airport the next morning, we were sad to leave. We regretted not having more time to spend in this fascinating city. Beijing had completely charmed us during our brief stay. It definitely deserved much more than just three days.

Zhou So Crazy

Our plans to arrive at Hangzhou to see the pictureque West Lake by sunset faded abruptly when our one hour and forty minute train ride from Shanghai turned into a three and a half hour one. With none of the almost-exclusively Chinese occupants of our compartment appearing troubled by the delay, we focused our attention on the passing scenery. Factory parking lots full of bicycles, small towns abutting dirty canals and several seemingly-endless developments of cookie-cutter homes passed by our window. In time, high-rise apartment blocks began to amble past, marking our arrival into the outskirts of our destination.

When we finally arrived in Hangzhou's sober central railway station, we walked down a long, dark and cramped passageway to join a queue of 300 others awaiting transport from all-too-scarce taxis. Instantaneously, we found ourselves privy to one of the daily rigors of China's billion-person middle and lower classes as we were pushed and shoved in all directions while trying to hold our place in a vague semblance of a line. To our surprise, many of the travellers introducing their forearms and elbows into our personal space did so while simultaneously offering us friendly smiles or curious stares. There was absolutely no malice directed at us in line, just a bit of expedient impatience.

After the wait, a mercifully-brief cab ride delivered us to our hotel, and we took an evening stroll around West Lake. Tiny, white lights scattered amongst the trees illuminated our path while captivating examples of traditional Chinese architecture beckoned. After taking a few minutes to get our bearings, we decided to escape the tourist-heavy strip directly on the lakeshore, and ventured into the maze of streets a few blocks away. Soon, we happenstanced upon a discreet establishment serving decent pasta in a trendy lounge setting.

After sleeping in until 8:30 AM the next morning (an act which rendered Kaberi livid over such a lackadaisical approach to sightseeing), we made our way back to the lakefront. We hopped onto a ferry shuttling tourists across the lake and enjoyed riveting views of temples nestled into a backdrop of misty, green hills. Disembarking from the ferry at both the Mid-Lake Pavilion and the Three Pools Mirroring the Moon, we took semi-tranquil walks where temporary refuge from hordes of similarly-minded tourists was offered by waterfront weeping willows and lined bamboo trees. Given her stubborn perfectionism defying logic, Kaberi was befuddled by the many Chinese tourists willing to blissfully snap photos of themselves with a sea of strangers crowded into the background. In stark comparison, Kaberi was quite content to wait an eternity for the crowds to clear in order to capture an absolutely-unimpeded shot.

When the Nikon was finally put away, we managed to enjoy the impeccably landscaped surroundings a little too well. We soon lost track of time. Upon finally realizing that we had a mere 90 minutes to return to the hotel to collect our bags and catch our onward flight to Beijing, we quickened our pace. Unfortunately, we mistakenly took a ferry even further away from our original entry point. We had no choice but to walk the picturesque, tree-lined, three-mile Su Causeway back to the shoreline where, to our chagrin, vacant taxis were nowhere to be seen. After a harried jog back to the hotel, we had only an hour before our flight was scheduled to depart with a 40-minute ride to the airport still awaiting us.

Bathed in sweat, we hurriedly checked out of the hotel, jumped into a nearby taxi and theatrically pantomimed urgency to the driver. With the benefit of light traffic, we made it to the airport with a few minutes to spare. We managed to make the check-in deadline at the domestic airline counter by the skin of our teeth. Boarding the plane, we undoubtedly made a distinct and not-particularly pleasant olfactory impression upon the unfortunate passengers sitting nearby. Fortunately for all of us, the flight to Beijing was only two hours long.

Shang-High

We bid Hong Kong au revoir on a gloriously-sunny day and enjoyed clear, unfettered sightlines from the plane window as we made our way two hours northeast towards Shanghai. Our descent into Shanghai, in contrast, was marred by a dense, gray haze that largely obscured our view. Given the reputation of mainland China's cities for harboring significant amounts of airborne pollution, we grew concerned about our ability to enjoy our brief time in the city. As it turned out, our fears were entirely unfounded. Shanghai's many charms were soon impressed upon us, and the air quality proved to be merely a minor nuisance.

Given Vik's fervent insistence on the matter, we ended up taking Shanghai's zero-resistance Maglev (magnetic levitation) train into town without fully having a sense of where our hotel was located. The ride from the airport to Shanghai's eastern border involved reaching a top speed of 430 km/hr (250+ mph) and took exactly eight minutes. But that was just the tip of the iceberg of our journey. Forty-five minutes later, armed with only a vague Shanghai city map and an American kindergartener's command of Mandarin, we found ourselves smack dab in the middle of a busy Shanghai subway station at rush hour scratching our collective heads like a couple of overwraught chimpanzees. It was only after sheepishly approaching a very official-looking military policewoman that our luck began to turn, and the astonishing kindness of Shanghai's locals became clear to us.

A passing commuter noticed the two of us feebly trying to communicate via a combination of slow-motion English and wildly-exaggerated hand gestures and took pity on us. He then proceeded to escort us from one subway line to another and then onto the correct train in the midst of a very crowded rush hour, all the while offering to carry Kaberi's rolling backpack for her. Fifteen minutes later, above ground, another gentleman sprinted across the street past oncoming traffic to ask for directions on our behalf when he didn't recognize our hotel's address. Two minutes later, a shopkeeper literally walked right out of her store's front door onto the street to guide us to the right turnoff in an elaborate six-lane intersection. Then, around the corner, two smartly-dressed young guys accompanied us for five blocks to confirm that we were in fact walking in the right direction.

Despite our fatigue, we found ourselves amazed by the generosity of spirit we encountered upon arriving in this bustling city. As a result of the experience, Vik vowed to henceforth help any disoriented visitor crossing his path back in the States. By her estimation, Kaberi regarded this as a nice, but potentially misguided, gesture as it would very much be a case of the blind leading the blind. Vik has chosen not to dignify this characterization with a response (a rarity for him).

Upon finally reaching our hotel after first navigating a narrow, dark alleyway teeming with working-class flats and then passing through a large, imposing gate, we took inventory of an authentic five-room, 1920's Art Deco mansion profiled in both the New York Times and the Shanghai Luxe guide. We found ourselves quite content to sleep in a living museum with art prominently featured in the lobby and antiques gracing guestrooms and common spaces. The uniqueness of the space went a long way in making up for the out-of-the-way location in the western edge of Shanghai's French Concession neighborhood, the lack of English-language customer service and the draftiness of our second-floor room (which apparently gave Kaberi carte blanche to steal much of her husband's precious body heat).

Thereafter, we headed northeast into the French Concession. The so-called French Concession resulted in the 1840's from the aftermath of the Opium Wars. Over the next 100 years (until the point when communist revolutionaries rose to power), the area's corrupt law enforcement helped to transform it into a den of ill-repute overrun by gangsters and prostitutes. Ironically enough, China's earliest communist organizers took advantage of the lax oversight of the French authorities to hatch the beginnings of their movement here.

We soon arrived at Shanghai's historic Xintiandi district where a farsighted Hong Kong developer restored and renovated traditional Shanghai middle-class Shikumen houses (characterized by gray and red stone exteriors and prominent front gates) to house high-end boutiques and restaurants. The attention to detail in the restoration was exceptional and we were thrilled to see a part of Old Shanghai retained for contemporary use (the local Starbucks was particularly striking). Nearby, we stopped in for a delicious gourmet Chinese dim sum meal at the highly-touted Ye Shanghai restaurant where we scarfed down the amazing lotus root and sweet-fried sunflower appetizers. We were so taken with the area that we returned the following afternoon to visit the Open House Museum, a traditional Shikumen house morphed into a turn-of-the-20th-century time portal.

On our second day in the city, we made our way to the Taikang Lu arts district to sample more restored Shikumen architecture. Kaberi especially enjoyed window-shopping and people-watching at the sundry boutiques, cafes and artisan shops of Lane 248. We had a brief moment of deep national regret, however, upon encountering a smug American woman loudly singing Broadway showtunes as she walked in and out of shopfronts. Suffice it to say that the Chinese tolerance for visitor boorishness appears to be nearly limitless. Noise pollution aside, the Takang Lu area represented a nice contrast to the endless high rises dominating the Pudong (eastern) side of the Huangpu River, to which we had relocated for a night at the tony Shangri-La Hotel. Before returning to the hotel, we stopped at Shanghai's acclaimed Bund on the west bank of the river where we partook in sunset views and bellinis atop the Three On The Bund building. A rather full day concluded with a meal at the hotel's in-house Japanese restaurant and a chance to watch the city light up below us from our 27th floor room.

The next morning, we returned to the Bund to appreciate the vivid Art Deco architecural detail of several prominent buildings fronting the river. Created in Shanghai's then-financial and cultural heydey in what was the British Concession, the architecture of the Bund stands surreally frozen in time at the point of the communist takeover in 1949. Walking around with our heads on a swivel, we were particularly impressed with the marble lobby of the HSBC Bank (where Kaberi surreptitiously and illicitly took a picture of a scene commemorating her beloved Calcutta) and the mosaic murals of the Customs House. Our visit concluded with lunch at the illustrious M On The Bund rooftop terrace capped off with a sinful pavlova.

Before rushing off to Shanghai's South Station to catch an afternoon train to Hangzhou, we took in one final attraction: the unartfully-named Urban Planning Exhibition Hall. Despite the uninspired branding, the UPEH made for a truly-remarkable sight. Comprising five floors, the exhibition hall has as its centerpiece a vast model of Shanghai as envisioned in 2010. In yet another amazing testament to Chinese engineering, city planners have managed to miniaturize the entirety of this dynamic city into the width of half a city block. Our trip to the UPEH neatly summed up our entire Shanghai visit, leaving us both completely enthralled by that which unfolded before us and craving much more time to fully savor all of it.