Today is the day. THE day. It’s our first full day in Shanghai and last full day in China. We awoke to the promise of an ATM that accepts our bank cards and finally, some cash for Clare. Beijing is thankfully a distant memory at this point. Clare says she feels like a completely different traveler given the experience of the past 9 days — for the better. What has suffered a bit is our ability to speak properly. We have long ago started dropping the plural form. When we bother to use verbs, conjugation has all but disappeared. Most sentences are short and choppy when we speak to each other or locals. We’re not making fun or trying to be offensive evidenced by the fact we have yet to raise our voices when attempting to help non-English speakers understand our requests. It’s just a cultural immersion of sorts. It was like the weekend I spent in Jackson, Mississippi for a wedding and by the end of it, we were all speaking in a higher pitch, the letter ‘g’ had no business being spoken at the end of ‘-ing’ words, and even the most accent-less among us had adopted a distinct soft ‘suh-thun’ drawl. It just happens.
Our first stop was to the Longyang Road Station to ride the high speed train.
It was pretty cool. As promised, it went far and fast. 99% sure the only people riding the train were tourists. My acute powers of deductive reasoning ascertained that people on their way to work or business travel don’t record every minute of the journey, take endless selfies, or giggle with glee when the train starts moving,
Zip zip like that we’re done and on the way to a day of shopping at (what we thought was) an open air flea market. Imagine our surprise when we pulled up to a massive warehouse. Take any Chinatown in an American city — New York, San Fran, whatever — and put a roof over it. 
That’s where we were. Who wants purses? Shoes? Get a custom made suit measured today and delivered to the hotel tonight. Nike. Prada. Rolex. (Sure, right.) You want? We have. Then Kelly delivers the fatal blow. “If you want glasses — Ray-Ban, Chanel, Tom Ford — you follow me.” The dam breaks. The floods of designer eyewear come crashing in. That thing happened where in cartoons a character blinks hard and their eyeballs turn into dollar signs. I must have stroked out a little because drool was pooling on my face.
Kelly escorted us to a very specific shop and we are immediately turned over to a handler. Clare pointed out that we had our own personal guide — because for whatever reason, no matter the city, our pheromones are wafting lapsed judgement. We had been instructed by someone in the states with experience haggling in China, to start at 30% of the price they offer. Then go up from there. But never pay more than 50% of asking. If that doens’t work, walk away. They’ll pull you back in. I need a pair of glasses glasses. (That means prescription.) Despite never having touched them for the past 9 days, mine had suddenly disappeared. Clare is on a Ray-Ban quest. She settles on a pair for herself and a friend. She gets an ok price and immediately senses the sales girl caved too quickly. Too high. I go in based on her winning bid and try and do better for myself. I do pretty well — just a little more than the price of Warby Parkers. I vow to not buy anything else. ANYTHING ELSE. They offer us beer (apparently not their first rodeo.) 
Clare goes back in for another pair for someone else. Her gift list keeps growing (cold hands, warm heart.) Her benevolence creates enough of a delay in leaving that I cave and find a pair of sunglasses. I learned my fortitude and self control has a 3.6 second lifespan. Clare is ready for the negotiation now — but is also anxiously sweating. Despite this haggling behavior not being in her nature, an even better price is secured, but not without casualty. They lay the guilt on thick, it’s almost more than she can bear. My attitude is as hardened and crusty as the barnacles on the Titanic — this heart ain’t goin’ on — so I bark firm “no’s!” at Clare to help her stay strong. With enough pair of glasses to power the Hubble, we move on to our next conquest.
Our guide is a tiny little thing — zipping around the maze of corridors filled with “good price for you” items. It’s a little like trying to keep up with R2D2. Things range from cheap water bottles to custom clothes and things in between for your edification.
Next stop? Silk underwear for Clare’s brothers (because that’s not weird at all.) Clare’s adrenaline is pumping so hard now from her Sunglasses Hut victory, she can’t wait for this. She picks out what she wants. $60. Two pair. That dog don’t hunt. I remind her of our newfound knowledge of how to detect real silk. 
Next thing we know, we’re rubbing underwear on her head by the handfuls, and she’s starting to look like she’s just put her hand on a static electricity orb. After much back an forth (they didn’t seem to realize that she kept decreasing her ‘top price’ in the haggling) she tried the walk away. R2D2 pulled her back. She offers 50% again. The shop girl says “No way. Can’t do. I make no monies!” Clare holds firm like gorilla glue. Our girl gets her price. Her brothers get their silky droops.
Then, the moment we’ve been waiting for. The ATM. For the record, only Bank of China for sure and sporadically the Bank of Communications will allow you the sweet release of cold hard cash in hand. There is about 8 hours left in our trip, and Clare is finally in the black. 
It has been a very frustrating, helpless feeling. Physical money is rarely used here. Credit cards don’t exist. Most people use what I assume is the equivalent of the Apple Pay app. Everyone has a QR code scanner on their phones and they scan to pay for everything as far as I can tell. It’s an amazing advance in a system of currency. Having watched so many post-apocalyptic movies and shows, it is as scary as it is genius.
Back on the bus on the way to a Dim Sum lunch. We learn about the Opium war of 1840. China was open to different countries traveling via the Eastern sea of China. Because of it, “old Shanghai” is an odd blend of modern architectural marvels in the midst of European structures creating a look and feel that is part Dublin, part New York City. 
This is the city we’ve been waiting for, and we only get to spend about 8 hours in it. We guess there isn’t enough opportunity for the tour company or the government to engage us in pay-for-propaganda so we are only allowed to see enough to make us want to return. To Shanghai.
We arrive at the restaurant and get on the elevator. If I hadn’t had the distinct pleasure these past two years to learn how to let shit go, the fact that my entering the already full elevator caused it to groan, sputter, cough, and refuse to ‘el’ would have sent me into a fetal position, rocking back and forth. Instead, I stepped out, looked over my shoulder and gave an adipose snort to my far less rotund new friends and joined the next group. I guess those magic pills came at a perfect and painfully necessary time.
The lunch was fantastic — an upgrade in selections to make up for several of the itinerary snafus. As we always do, (its the rule of overseas travel and MANDATORY when you’re on the chain gang of affordable tours) we use the bathroom even if it’s not imminently necessary. It was our last day. We had gone through 2 of the rolls of TP we had brought (second rule of overseas travel – always have TP.) We opted for a much flatter package of wet wipes (rule three) for the day. I hand Clare the pack and hold our things so she can squat without fear of pee spattered cross body bags. She exits the stall and I see a familiar face of disgust — with a slight change. “Something very very not good has happened.” I think our Imodium-free run has come to and end. I couldn’t have been more wrong. In my haste that morning, I grabbed the pack of disinfectant wipes. Clare had, for all intents and purposes, just Lysol-ed that which should not be. While she smelled lemony fresh, it was still a concern. I assured her it wasn’t a horrible issue because, Hangzhou.
Ever since our pre-China weekend in Seattle, we had been looking forward to and had a mission to accomplish one ‘off road’ activity together. In Seattle, the home of Starbucks, there is a one-of-a-kind experience in the form of the Starbucks Roastery. Except now it’s two-of-a-kind. The second being in Shanghai. We loved the experience in Seattle with a massive gathering social space, several different bar areas with food, ‘craft coffee’ drinks, beer, wine, it goes on and on. Starbucks sells experience, not coffee. Say what you will about them – with this, they’ve cranked up that experience to beverage level pregnant Panda. We were so excited to be able to say we visited the only 2 Roasteries int he span of 2 weeks and compare the experiences. 
On top of that, it was our first hour alone in 12 days and we needed to cram in a bunch of unfulfilled aunt/niece time. We went. We saw. We conquered. You know your standards have fallen in the toilet when the thing you’re most excited about is one. If for nothing else, the trip is worth the facilities.
We’ve overstayed our welcome. We have 15 minutes to go in 25. We could use a speeding bullet right about now. We speed walk our way back in just under 17 — not bad. Just in time for Clare to add yet another impulse souvenir buy. She can’t resist an old peddler and they know it.
We’re driven to the Bund – the long river walk on the Huangpu River overlooking the skyline. We have 20 minutes to enjoy. We take turns getting the perfect shot. Clare steps behind the camera and literally get body checked by another tourist who preferred the spot where she was standing. It was so blatant, his wife had to laugh at how the custom was executed. 
One last headstand, and we’re out.
Next stop: Old Town. 
It wasn’t on the official itinerary but it was next on my ‘escape and all costs and get there.’ Same for many of us. This is shopping and browsing we are actually on board with. Except that Kelly has now gone full Little Caesar. She is walking like someone doing the green apple two-step. Her pace is so clipped that she has to stop every 5 minutes and count off: Family Number One! Number Two! Number Three! Number Three? Where is Number Three? (I don’t feel bad for my nicknames. We’ve been answering to numbers for almost two weeks.) 
We keep wanting to stop, but with no hope of kickbacks from store owners, the best she can allow is dropping us off in the center of old town and giving us 10 minutes to take pictures. Thanks for the benevolence, Castro.
Clare squeezes in one last gift and we have 5 minutes to spare. Street food. Thank the money cat! We finally get street food. Since Kelly does not subscribe to American military protocol — she will leave people behind — we are harried with our order. The man behind the counter looked at us, either unable to understand or unwilling, pointed to the women working the funnel cakes and went on to other, less white patrons. GAH! We have about 2 minutes. This is where our new Chinglish comes in handy. I get the attention of another worker, deploy my index finger, point and say with the confidence of a politician without an opponent, One, One, One, One. What we get is crazy good. Is it because it’s on a stick? Possible. When has food on a stick NOT delivered? We have a chicken skewer with mystery sauce. Delicious. Squid (on a stick) flash fried and grilled. Where has this been my whole life? A cup of fried nuggets that were so good despite not being able to identify them. What are these? Haggler Helper looked at me with wondering if I was serious and said “chicken.” Lordy, but buds are off. And finally 2 small fried crabs — on a stick of course. 
We had died and gone to carny heaven. We ate it all literally on the run (Kelly switched on her time-lapse mode) because we had to get to our final ‘optional’ tour — a river cruise to see the spectacular Shanghai skyline at night.
We’re being joined by a 2nd tour group, so as we wait, we activate rule number one. The ‘facilities’ are in the corner of the parking lot. Washington had just returned and he looks at us and simply says “it’s ‘primitive.'” How bad can it be? We swapped toilet paper for toilet bowl cleaner and lived to tell. We arrive at a small box of a building. There are no indicators of men’s and women’s so we go by tone of voice. We clearly won’t be walking through that ‘door’ (it’s really just those long plastic ‘curtains’ they have for walk in coolers — although this certainly isn’t air conditioned.) We go to the ‘curtain’ next to it only to be met with a tirade of sounds behind us. It’s a group of men clearly indicating that is still not the correct entrance for us. (We still don’t know what was behind door #2.) We find door #3 and learn just what ‘primitive’ means. There are stalls in the form of half walls. No doors. You simply step in, position yourself over the trough that runs from one end of the women’s through the other end of the men’s, drop your drawers and hope you don’t have shy bladder. We are really wishing for those disinfectant wipes at this juncture. Clare is horrified because in addition to her dignity, her stream gets to wash away the previous person’s less-than-solid food intolerance. Shit is literally rolling downhill.
One last cattle all line to get on the night river cruise. It was a cross between the people getting onto the ferry in Dark Knight and the people rushing to get to a higher deck on the Titanic. Either way, there wold be elbows to dodge. We rush to the top level for the best views. It really is spectacular. 
I’m a sucker for a good skyline at night. And for a silk scarf bonanza. And for green tea detox. And questionably real Ray-Bans. I don’t even want to guess at how much our $399 tour actually ended up costing, but we redefined the meaning of “somewhat inclusive.” We wished there was a lot more of Shanghai under our sodium bloated bellies, but I guess it’s best leave ’em wanting for more.
Roam Free 
This was so fun to read about your trip!
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