China's Showpiece: Shanghai

When I told my Korean elementary school students I was going to Shanghai for the weekend, they crinkled their little noses in disgust.

"China dirty, Teacher!" they cried.

Frankly, I couldn't disagree more.

Unlike Korea, where the smell of sewage hits you every few blocks and the pavement is lined with garbage for lack of trash cans, Shanghai sparkles. The glass and steel from the city's impressive skyscrapers gleam, reflected in the water of the Huangpu River, which was only a few minutes from our hostel in the Bund - an elegant neighborhood that is home to upscale shops like Versace and Dolce & Gabbana, as well as eateries with famous chefs like Jean Gorges. Even in the world's most rapidly changing country, Shanghai stands out.

It easily rivals Hong Kong with its couture shopping, cutting edge architecture and 20 million residents. Once known as the "Whore of the Orient" - for the back-street gambling, the hookers and the opium trade - today it's one of Asia's financial centers and a humming port second only in size to Singapore. The city is divvied up into many distinct neighborhoods, most of which are remnants of British, American and French settlements.

We arrived early Saturday afternoon, whisked about 50 kilometers from Pudong International Airport to the center of Shanghai in under eight minutes on the world's fastest train (The Maglev reaches 431 km/hour!) We immediately set off on food for Yunnan Street, our grumbling tummies ready for the tiny shops and carts lining the road, selling piping bowls of noodles and the delicate hand-made dumplings for which Shanghai is famous.

We opted for xiao long bao ("small steamer buns"), noticing the impressive line of people waiting outside the tiny shopfront, not a white face in sight. I was certainly not disappointed. For $1, I received four plump dumplings freshly made before my eyes, the outside soft and thin, the inside full of sweet pork. It quickly made up for my last botched attempt at eating street food in China!

The sky had clouded over as we exited the shop, and we decided to buy a warm cup of bubble tea, the sweet milky liquid and tapioca balls reminding me of the Asian restaurants in Seattle that also serve the popular drink. We slurped them up through thick red straws, enjoying the stroll through Shanghai's streets.

In the early evening we walked over to Jin Mao Tower, one of the tallest buildings in China. We took an elevator to the 88th floor, hovering about 1,115 feet above ground. For roughly $6, you can stare out of the floor-to-ceiling windows on the observation deck, looking at the shining city below. The buildings blinked before us - yellow, red, blue. The Huangpu River was decorated with the twinkling white lights of boats floating past, part of the city's tourist cruises. And in the center of the 88th floor, you can look directly down at the lobby of the Hyatt, a dizzying and terrifying experience.

On Sunday, our only full day in the city, we awoke early - lured out of bed by the promise of banana pancakes at a cafe in the French Concession. The area, once territory for a French settlement, is now one of the trendiest neighborhoods in Shanghai. If the Bund is Shanghai's sophisticated aunt, dripping in diamonds and fur stoles, the French Concession is her edgy twenty-something cousin, all spunk and style. Boona Cafe lived up to the reputation, charming with framed pictures of Shanghai on its red walls, small nooks next to bookshelves overcrowded with paperbacks. The rest of the morning was spent exploring the back alleys of Taikang Road Art Centre - the small photography exhibits, the sidewalk cafes, the handmade Indian jewelery shops.

After the trendy and modern, we took a harrowing taxi ride (as all our taxi rides were; one driver hitting 160 km/hr) to Old Town, just as the sun started to peer through the cluster of thick clouds. We paid about 30 yuan to enter Yuyuan Gardens - like Central Park, an oasis of greenery amidst a bustling city - where we wandered over bridges, past ponds of bright orange koi fish and blooming cherry blossoms the color of cotton candy. The gardens were built in the traditional Chinese style during the Ming dynasty, and are said to be one of the most remarkable gardens in all of China.

On the way back to the hostel, we cut through a large, open park and I almost stopped dead in my tracks as a familiar smell hit me.

"Oh my god, you guys. Grass! Do you smell that?! It's grass!"

Everyone stood, sniffing appreciatively. Parks, trees, grass - all pretty non-existent in Pusan, Korea. I didn't realize how much I missed it; wanted to roll around in the grass until I had green stains on my knees. It was also refreshing to see children playing in the park on a weekend afternoon, throwing a ball, rollerblading, skateboarding. It's rare to see children past kindergarten age wiling away precious study time in Korea, and I was delighted to see children out enjoying themselves in Shanghai.

The week before my trip to Shanghai, I saw firsthand just how much Korean children miss out on. One of my lessons in Listening class was about zoos - we were discussing whether zoos were a good way to protect endangered animals or a cruel means that kept animals out of their natural habitat. My students were elementary school age, between 10 and 12 years old, and I tried to start the debate by asking them their thoughts about zoos.

"Do you guys like going to the zoo?" I asked them, walking up the aisle of their desks. "They just re-opened the zoo in Pusan, right? Has anyone been yet?"

Silence.

They are usually a fairly energetic class, so I was surprised they didn't have more to say. Don't all kids love exotic animals?

"Daniel," I said, looking at the dark-haired boy doodling in his book. "What's your favorite animal? Do you like elephants? Giraffes?"

He stared at the book. "I like elephants," he said quietly.

"Do they have elephants at the Pusan zoo?" I asked.

"I don't know, teacher," he said.

"Has anyone been to the new zoo yet?" I asked, addressing the whole class. "Or did you go to the zoo before they expanded it?"

Silence.

I started to feel exasperation. "C'mon, guys!" I cried. "Nobody has any thoughts on the zoo? Nobody has been to the zoo?"

One of the smaller girls raised her hand timidly.

"Yes, Lucy? What do you think?" I asked.

"Uh, teacher. No time to go to zoo," she said. "Zoo is for younger kids."

"You don't have time to go to the zoo?" I repeated.

Jason spoke up. "If you go to zoo, it needs 3 or 4 hours to walk in whole zoo. Only younger children have time for that."

Younger children? I thought. You're in 5th grade.

"What do you mean, younger children?" I asked Jason.

"You know, teacher. Like in kindergarten."

I didn't know what to say. I looked around at their faces, so serious, thinking that they hadn't even reached middle school and they couldn't find an afternoon to enjoy a zoo. It was so sad.

And maybe that has been the best part of my trips outside of Korea in the last few months - certainly the Chinese are hard-working, certainly things in China are changing and growing at a frenetic pace. But in my few weekends there, it was nice to slow down, to sit in a park, to watch children playing together on a sunny afternoon.

I wish many of my students had that opportunity - to stop and smell the grass every once in a while.