Young Love

It was a good infight movie, my headset was working fine, and the meal was moderately tasty and adequate in portion. Flight was relatively turbulence-free, no annoying passengers kicking me in the back. So far this was a smooth and uneventful journey.

Earlier I was a bit miffed that the 2 seats to my left were taken by two teenage girls, complete with tinted hair, black fishnets and puffy skirts, giggling and gasping as they were the last to board the plane. But they were polite, asked for my pardon as they made their way past me, and were quietly nodding off while I was eating.

The movie was over, and passengers started to stir and stretch. Food trays were cleared away, tray tables were folded up. I sense movement next to me, I automatically make some elbow room by moving my arm inside the armrest. I needn't have bothered.

She turned towards her friend, and put he right arm around the other’s shoulders. Her left arm was snuggled deep somewhere between the other’s knees.

The other girl stirred, and her pink head was tucked under my neighbour’s chin. Four stockinged legs twined around each other, the airline blanket askew while their arms wound around each other. I sneaked a peek, expecting their lips to be touching.

And indeed they were. Tender kisses on the pierced eyebrow, whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears. She giggled lightly, then she shushed her. I catch bits and pieces of it..

What’s your first class tomorrow?

I don’t remember – doesn’t matter, I’ll skip it.

Did you sms your mother that you’re on way back? Just in case she forgets to iron your uniform.

Of course I did, did you?

I’m going to school naked!

(Giggles and hushed whispers)

The captain's anouncement about landing approach alerted them to the need to disentangle. They buckled up and sat quietly as my ears popped. All was hushed, they were serene in each other's company.

Shoulders barely touching, heads tilted just that little bit towards each other. Teenage coltish knees within a whisper of a contact. Her right hand was holding her left hand, fingers clasping with no overt passion but an incredible gentleness. The girlish fingers were slowly rubbing the other hand, and the two lovers quietly enjoyed their homecoming together.

A tender, touching, yet strangely surreal tableau.

Travel experience # 274: Spending three and a half hours next to teenage lesbians.

Looking for the Closet in Shanghai

The evening was clear, the air brisk and snappy. Winter in Shanghai is not uncomfortable, a refreshing and bracing nip that makes you open your eyes a little wider and your feet step a little faster. I had spent the evening walking along the major boulevards of this old old city, marveling at the metropolitan city amid dodging suicidal taxi drivers and scooter-riders that use their feet more than they do their wheels.

Traffic has come to a standstill in Shanghai, and no wonder as it is only 6.30 pm on a Friday on Shanghai’s busiest shopping street. I keep walking in the general direction of west, and I see a little alley. The dirty laungry hanging off the lines between dilapidated blocks was like a beacon for exploration, and I was justly rewarded.The alley was a local residence street, and it was getting ready for its busiest time of the day.

Men and women who had spent the work day in office towers and shopkeeping and making their way home on feet, on bicycles. In their minds, thoughts chase after one another – what to buy for dinner, has the son finished his homework, has the husband paid the mobile phone bill. They pass the neighborhood bun shop man, who has just brought out freshly steamed meat buns – not to sell just yet, but to fry.

The flat greasy pan is never washed with soap and water, generations of wiping the oil away with a cloth has left a patina of nostalgia and flavor that defies description yet leaves more than just an aftertaste. Fresh pan-fried buns are the best indulgence while you’re traipsing your way down the street, poking your head into little shops, smiling at the staring locals.

When you’re done with the buns, dump the plastic bag that they were served in without looking at the grease that collected at the bottom of the bag. No point, it’ll only take away the enjoyment.

I pass several vegetable stalls, butchers, fresh seafood stores. Look past where their wares are displayed in the front, and you see a house not unlike any other on the street. Different and yet the same – each house indifferent from the next, but for the mix-and-match front porch that could be selling vegetables today, plastic sandals tomorrow, and fresh lamb the day after.

Pausing at a fruit stall, I see kumquats of all shapes and sizes selling at a good price. They are the perfect snack while snacking – the perfect mix of sweet, tart and the little zesty zing that makes your lips smart a little. Not to mention the very liberating feeling of spitting the seeds onto the street without worry, because everyone is doing the same. I buy a half-pound’s worth, and keep walking…

When it hit me, that I need to go the bathroom. While I’m intrigued by the shops and homes in the alley, they can easily tell me to get lost as they will call me over to buy their wares. This is not the place to ask to use a bathroom.

My little detour had taken me almost out to the famous Bund, where the stately European-style buildings gaze benignly down at traffic. I walk up to a famous restaurant on the Bund, and ask the valet for the bathroom – I’m told it is for guests only. Not worried, as there are hotels down the road.

Well okay.. not really hotels, but “hotels”. But just bathrooms, right?

No, they tell me in Putonghua. I don’t care that you’re just taking a piss, no.

But of course you can tell me where else I can go?

Try the public bathrooms in the park around the corner.

I profess to have strong faith that the China Metropolitcan Public Bathrooms of today are no longer the horror stories of ages past. I arrive at the little building at a slight run (feeling the pressure now).

I don’t know if the conditions of these bathrooms have improved since I last went into one, because public bathrooms in Chinese parks are closed after 6.30 pm and it was almost 8 pm.

A little distressed now, I step into a neighbouring noodle shop and purchase something to go, asking to use their bathroom. “We don’t have one.”

What the…

“Go try the one in the parking lot across the road, see there, under the elevated highway?”

I left with the promise of coming back to pick up my food. I braved Chinese drivers on a one-way highway and ran to the parking lot, where the guard pointed to a little corrugated tin shack with no light and no door. There was a pit in the ground and a large pail of water next to it, which was scant consolation when I would be taking a piss in full view of the nouveau riche zooming by in their newly acquired Volvos and Audis.

The situation was getting dire. The nearest hotel that would have friendly doormen was at least a 30 minute walk away and I had already been searching for the past hour. There was no other way for it – I ran back, grabbed my food, and hailed a taxi.

Cost of a bathroom visit in Shanghai after working hours
= RMB20 soup noodles
+ RMB 30 taxi ride (20, if there is no traffic)
+ RMB 5 tip to doorman