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.

On The Doorstep Of The Dragon

The tail end of our Southeast Asia circuit -- largely spent lazing in the southern Thailand beach locales of Krabi and Ko Samui -- was decidedly unadventurous, but enjoyable nevertheless (particularly so for Vik who delighted in reading Red Sox and stock market message boards when he should have been assiduously updating this blog). After passing the week by reading frivolous paperbacks and dining al fresco, we bid the tropical weather farewell and made the two-hour plane journey from Bangkok to Hong Kong.

As we approached the sprawling metropolis during our descent, we were mesmerized by the unabashed verticality of myriad skyscrapers alongside mountainous topography. To Kaberi, the images below looked like Lego creations from the sky, almost as if a child had constructed the tallest possible configurations with all of the blocks in the set. We were both embarrassed to admit that our preconceived mental images of Hong Kong had completely omitted hills -- perhaps the second most conspicuous feature (after skyscrapers) of any competent description of the city.

While we queued up in a lengthy, albeit crisply-efficient, line for immigration, Kaberi conducted a running play-by-play commentary on the conspicuous luxury brands proudly worn by fellow travelers: Hermes purse, Tod shoes, Burberry shirt, Bulgari scarf, Prada slacks (and that was all on one lady -- no kidding -- Kaberi would never joke about such a serious topic). The incident served as a reasonable preview of Hong Kong's affluence and materialism. In our faded, well-worn North Face jackets, we were a bit underdressed in relative terms. Fortunately, our obvious fashion deficiencies did not preclude our securing a Hong Kong visa (after passing from British to Chinese control in 1997, Hong Kong became a special administrative jurisdiction). In short order we found ourselves on a sleek Airport Express train heading toward the city center.

After a twenty-minute cab ride up laughably-steep inclines, we finally arrived at the panoramic penthouse abode of our friends, Shiv and Suvarna, high atop Hong Kong's Midlevels neighborhood. Nestled below the grandiose Victoria Peak and above the commercial district of Central, Midlevels boasts, among other things, its own neighborhood escalator. Upon walking through the front door, we were greeted by a tall stone Chinese warrior standing watch over an expansive flat with sweeping views of the waterfront and a huge, private rooftop terrace (complete with a large daybed where Shiv regularly serenades Suvarna with Hindi film songs and vice versa).

On our first night, the four of us headed to nearby SoHo (South of Hollywood) for an excellent, authentic Chinese meal, complete with Tsingtao beers served in shallow bowls. Aside from the unlevel grade, Hong Kong's SoHo strongly resembled its Manhattan counterpart with an artsy energy and international vibe. After dinner, we checked out the expat bar scene, and stopped in at a vodka bar where the room temperature was literally kept at 20 degrees Fahrenheit (the group picture features Shiv showing off his cool breath in this unique backdrop). We capped the night off with dessert on Hollywood Street before making our way back to higher ground.

The next day we tagged along to a barbeque hosted by one of Shiv's colleagues. There, we met several Americans posted locally (hearing a chorus of genuine American accents after two and a half months abroad was music to our ears). Many of our new acquaintances had traveled extensively and offered helpful advice on a monthlong China and Tibet excursion. They managed to do so as knowledgably and effortlessly as if recommending a brunch spot or pizza joint back home. This experience impressed upon us that the circle of people with access to an international lifestyle was much wider than we ever imagined.

As nightfall approached, Shiv and Suvarna whisked us across the harbor to Kowloon via the Star Ferry. During the barely 10-minute, 1-mile voyage, we watched as Hong Kong's skyscrapers came alive with a distinctive light show that bathed both the night sky and the waters beneath us in brilliant technicolor. Once comfortably settled on the Kowloon side of the harbor, we made a beeline for the Peninsula Hotel's Spring Moon restaurant, where Shiv and Suvarna treated us to a scrumptuous meal featuring decadent jasmine tea and Peking duck, among other dishes.

On our third day in Hong Kong, we took a respite from the cosmopolitan glam and drove to the more tranquil southern side of Hong Kong island. Our journey took us over high outcrops with tantalizing views of the water unfolding around us. After brunching with one of Vik's old Stanford roommates, the two of us strolled around Victoria's Peak, the highest point in Hong Kong. The pleasant contours, shady foliage, easy foot paths, and total escape from the nearby city greatly reminded us of Frederick Law Olmsted's park atop Mont Royal in Montreal. After making the one-hour loop, we scaled the terrace for unobstructed city views and then made our descent to the city below via the backpedaling Peak Tram.

On Monday, we continued our tourist exploits. We started the day with dim sum at a downtown hotel vaguely reminiscent of the lair of a 1970's James Bond villain. Afterward, we explored the boutique-heavy corridors of Central and SoHo before dinner. With the benefit of Suvarna's Hong Kong Luxe guide, we stumbled upon Shui Hu Ju, an amazing SoHo restaurant featuring painfully-spicy Northern Chinese cuisine and carafes of chilled lychee wine. Our evening concluded with chocolush martins and chocolate ganache meringues at a nearby street cafe, an indulgence mostly rationalized by thoughts of the 140-stair uphill walk home at the end of the escalator.

On our last full day in HK, the ominous storm clouds looming overhead derailed our plans to cruise the harbor in a traditional Chinese junk or take a ferry to one of Hong Kong's outlying islands. With the weather forcing us indoors, we finalized our China travel plans through the help of Shiv's office manager and Kaberi's personal archive of New York Times travel articles. With our farflung travels abroad finally coming to fruition, the reality has finally begun to sink in. Within 24 hours, we will have made landfall in mainland China. First stop ... Shanghai.

Lao And Behold

From Chiang Mai, we returned to Bangkok to collect Kaberi’s temperamental camera from the Sukhothai’s camera-savvy concierge and indulge in a 2-hour, full body Thai message. After being kneaded and prodded by our diligent masseuses, we found ourselves more limber than at any time in recent memory as we boarded a regional flight bound for Luang Prabang, Laos.

In making this journey, we were setting foot in the country where Kaberi’s father – in his previous life as a globetrotting civil engineer – narrowly averted an attempt on his life by local rebels some 40 years ago. We didn’t quite know what to expect from Laos, the first communist stop on our itinerary. We looked out the window of our turbo-propeller plane with a mixture of curiosity and fascination as the red roofs of Luang Prabang sprung out of the hazy contours below.

Located in verdant green hills in north-central Laos, and nestled between the Mekong and Nam Khan rivers, Luang Prabang may be the best-preserved example of French colonial architecture in all of Southeast Asia. This distinction largely stems from a thorough lack of road access to the area until 10 years ago and accords the town UNESCO World Heritage status. Walking the one square mile town center entirely devoid of cars and taxis, save for the occasional lone antique Mercedes sedan, we felt ourselves transported back in time.

We quickly found our way to The Apsara, a colorful oasis one street from Luang Prabang’s main thoroughfare, with tasteful rooms overlooking the Nam Khan river. Our second floor room featured a veranda for people-watching in the balmy evenings and air-conditioning to provide much-needed climactic refuge during the day. With daytime temperatures eclipsing 100 degrees by noon, we spent the mid-day hours in the shady reception/lounge/restaurant area in the company of free, but slow, wireless internet access and old-fashioned fans hungry for stray fingers.

Wandering the peninsula of land making up the town center, we stumbled upon one Buddhist wat after another. Unlike the temples we had seen in Thailand and Cambodia, the Lao wats served as functioning monasteries filled with young men and boys (some as young as 9 or 10) in vivid saffron robes. In fact, Luang Prabang’s largely-peripatetic populace seemed almost evenly divided between monks and monk-seeking tourists with cameras in tow. Invariably, the monks kept themselves occupied with various chores such as tending to the gardens, hanging robes out to dry, and ringing the bell to herald evening prayers. They also seemed to maintain remarkable restraint and good cheer in the face of the tourist paparazzi following closely in their wake.

In subsequent mornings and afternoons, we scaled Luang Prabang’s sacred Chomsi hill, viewed the Floating Buddha photographic exhibit at the National Museum, and walked through a Sisavangvong Road Night Market brimming with Hmong quilts and BeerLao tank tops. We also enjoyed a 25-kilometer ride on a long-tailed boat -- captained by the Laotian Jimmy Page (minus the occult fascination and the nasty heroine habit) -- down the murky Mekong. After a brief transfer in a pickup truck cum tuk tuk, we found ourselves immersed in the brisk clearwater pools of the 200-foot Kuang Si waterfall.

In Luang Prabang, Kaberi’s internal clock steadfastly remained impervious to her surroundings. This afforded her the opportunity to watch the 6:00 am procession of the monks who receive their daily alms from the townspeople. Careful not to make eye contact with their benefactors, hundreds of monks proceed single file down the town's main street as the villagers tak bat (give alms) by individually placing food into each of the monks’ bowls.

Before arriving in Luang Prabang, we had read in the Bangkok Post that the tourist boom here was increasingly pricing local townspeople out of the market, and threatening the ritual morning feeding of the monks. The obtrusive tourist presence during the proceedings indeed made Kaberi question her own presence as an observer. While she made sure to stay back, using her telephoto lens to discreetly capture the beauty of the scene, she took only minor comfort in being more respectful than a nearby American couple triumphantly announcing “We fed the monks!” as if they were at the local petting zoo or various Japanese tourists taking turns posing beside uncomfortable, hemmed-in supplicants. Vik managed to avoid this ethical dilemma by using the time for an alternative purpose … catching up on his beauty sleep.

During our brief stay in Luang Prabang, our encounters with Lao townspeople were marked with sincerity, gentleness and respect, representing a nice change of pace from the ceaseless, in-your-face hucksterism of well-trafficked Thailand. This experience was all the more remarkable to us considering Laos’ unfortunate status as the most bombed country in the world on a per capita basis, a status thoughtlessly bestowed during a secret war orchestrated by the Nixon Administration’s witless Henry Kissinger. Our stay was also characterized by rapidly-diminishing air quality. A permanent smoky haze descended upon the city, seemingly overnight, as a result of widespread Laotian slash-and-burn agricultural practices (similar to those near Chiang Mai).

As we waited in the airport for our departure flight, Kaberi recognized herself in a Canadian traveler seated nearby who was also completely absorbed with her passport. In tandem, Kaberi and the young Canadian woman scanned their passport pages battle-scarred with visas and arrival and departure stamps and painstakingly removed staples binding departure papers in place. With only three months on the road, half of Kaberi’s new passport pages are already filled, leaving her to wonder if there will be enough pages to last the entire trip. Only time will tell.