Old man Sai raised horses for a living. One day, one of his prized horses ran away from the barn. His neighbor felt sorry and came to comfort him. But Sai replied, “good luck or bad luck, we never know.”
Swear words, swear words everywhere.
I was the first to wake up and saw that my flight was canceled due to a typhoon.
Here’s a tip if you want to travel around Asia during September/October: don’t.
Typhoons be messing things up.
I frantically paced the living room until Hui Chin came down and I told her the situation. She went on to Wechat to ask for help. Wechat? Shouldn’t we be talking to a real person over the phone? No, this is faster, she said. And she was right, in no time, we were attended to.
Remember how I’d forgotten to apply for a visa at the beginning of the trip, forfeting my first leg, and used a 6-day transit visa by flying in from Korea instead? Well, turns out, with China Eastern Airlines, if you forfeit the first half of the ticket, your void the full ticket. Their offer was a new ticket to Fukuoka, which is going to be $1500 and the next flight would be on the 3rd of October.
No, no no no no no. No. I can’t miss my daughter’s birthday again.
The wife was laughing on the phone, in my head, I don’t remember now.
Since China Eastern gave me the finger, I found another budget flight from Shanghai to Saga, two hours away from Chika’s home. It’s scheduled for the next day, so I could still make it in time. Chika and dad begrudgingly agreed to pick me up.
But visa, my six-day visa was expiring on the day.
Do I need to go to the airport to renew the visa?
Am I allowed to book a new flight?
Will I get detained at the airport?
Cut to Nelson’s shouting match with immigration on the phone.
He can’t be in the country without a valid visa!
But he can’t fly out if his flight is canceled!
Then he has to book another flight.
The next flight is tomorrow!
He can’t be in the country without a valid visa!
But he can’t fly out today if his flight is canceled!
It took me too long to ask him to rephrase the question:
What is the punishment for overstaying in the country with an expired visa?
The answer after a brief pause: 300 yuan a day.
That’s sixty Australian dollars.
All of us breathed a sigh of relief.
Nelson yelled the equivalent of ‘why didn’t you say so earlier, thanks for nothing, suck shit!’ in Mandarin before hanging up.
And I booked my not-so-budget budget air ticket to Saga.
It was noon, and we had enough dosage of adrenaline rush.
After a while, the lost horse returned with another beautiful horse. The neighbor came over to congratulate Sai. But old man Sai replied, “good luck or not, we never know.”
This is great, the travel God of Shanghai wanted me to stay an extra day.
Maybe I can take it slow. Something like a nice lunch, followed by a massage.
“Massage? I know a good place,” Nelson said.
So we cycled to Nanjing Road to have lunch – a soy milk / Chinese doughnut (dan bing you tiao) kind of place, and before we go relaxing at the massage, Nelson said he wanted to show me something.
So we cycled, and cycled, and cycled.
A few weeks later, while riding on the new horse, his son was violently thrown from the saddle and broke his leg. The neighbors once again expressed their condolences. but old man Sai replied, “good luck or not, we never know.”
I saw the trees and vegetation receding, and the streets became what I’d remember as ‘pre-Hero’ Zhang Yi Mou movies – bare, industrial. I vaguely remember seeing the gates of Fudan University and we arrived at the West Bank Camp, next to the river. There was an art and technology museum, Google despite being banned in China was sponsoring an A.I. convention (there’s a metaphor in there with me in the country illegally), and there was an abandoned train track that was converted into a park. A guy playing saxophone.
It was nice and all, but I was thinking ‘where is the massage place?’
“Ok, ok, we’ll go now, not too far,” Nelson said.
So we cycled, and cycled, and cycled.
I’m used to sub-divided paper-thin walls, but we each had a room along a dark corridor, a pot of tea and cut pear were waiting, and there was even a shower room. I don’t really remember much about the massage itself, but more of the feeling of the place. I felt young and dangerous like a triad boss.
I also felt nervous, because I knew what Nelson was up to. He’s making up for all the touristy things we had not done for the last six days. I suspect after the massage, we’ll be cycling a lot more again.
And I was right.
I don’t know what image you have about Old Shanghai, but I guarantee it will never match Nanjing Road towards the bund. I’ve never been to Times Square, but I didn’t think I need to anymore.
It was almost pitch dark when we finished our massage, but I doubt the bund ever experienced real darkness.
Nelson pointed to different buildings, telling me which were owned by Singaporeans. The same feeling as the first day – all this shininess, prosperity had nothing to do with me.
I don’t want to be a tourist, but it was no escaping it. It seemed like the right thing to do.
One year later, the Emperor’s army arrived at the village to recruit all able-bodied men to fight in the war. Because of his injury, old man Sai’s son could not go off to war and was spared from certain death.
At some point, as we were turning into an old street, that feeling just subsided.
I wasn’t supposed to be here, it was a borrowed day.
It was getting dark, my pocket camera couldn’t handle the ISO, running out of battery, telling me whatever I felt, it was goodbye.
I snapped, and snapped and snapped until my camera died of exhaustion.
We met up with Hui Chin after work near a Starbucks Reserve – the first and biggest in the world.
Just to let you in on how insane it was, they had a tea section upstairs and it was already bigger than all cafes I’ve seen in my life. Martini espresso? You bet.
Dinner was in a restaurant serving Hang Zhou Food, within a mall. For some reason, the only photographic evidence I have of the meal was a plate of braised peanuts. It was great since my daughter was allergic to nuts.
My flight was 8.45am the next day, so I left Nelson and HC’s around 5.30am.
The cab driver heard us speaking mandarin and asked me who was the local, shocked to find out the answer was none.
I have driven many Japanese customers. And they’re all nice people. But history is history. We will never forget.
There it was.
It had to be the final person I spoke to in Shanghai.
To be fair, we spoke about many other things, but I wondered who would comment on my wife being Japanese.
Perhaps I did it on purpose, as a final souvenir.
Saga airport was tiny. Smaller than a train station in Tokyo.
I suspect it was open that day just for the flight from Shanghai. The Japanese staff yelled in Mandarin:
hu zhao! hu zhao! hu zhao! (passport)
kuai dian! kuai dian! kuai dian! (hurry up)
I’ve never heard such harsh tones coming from any Japanese.
When it was my turn in the queue, the guy saw my blue passport, and switched to English.
Werucome to Japan.
Followed by a bow.
As I saw the Chinese tourists boarding their tour bus, I thought about the taxi driver.
History is history.
And then I saw my family waiting at the gate, and it didn’t matter anymore.
I made it. I self-published a book, went to Shanghai, gave a talk to strangers, rode the bike in peak traffic, and made it back to my daughter’s second birthday.
In the end, I did not receive any fine for overstaying my visa.
Chinese Eastern Airlines even refunded the whole ticket.
End note
In case you’re still wondering, this happened in the year 2018. I was in Shanghai for a week to promote the launch of my first photobook.
Also Day One | Day Two | Day Three | Day Four | Day Five | Day Six
For some reason, I have completely blocked out the seventh day, until I saw the photos of the city under lockdown since March.
I retraced my memory and finish my travel diary. It only took four years.
The lockdown ended 7th August, but is it really ending if shoppers are fleeing IKEA over a suspicious test result?
I have mixed emotions, but I definitely look back at my last day in Shanghai in gratitude, as much as I was whinging like an entitled brat on the inside.
You know what old man Sai would say to that.
