CHILDREN RIDING PARENT-CONTROLLED PURPLE ELEPHANTS A whole range of things have been adapted into Chinese culture; it is well known that the Chinese embrace change and development rapidly. Lactose is better assimilated by the younger generations, and so there are now some very tall men and women in China. [ + ]
CHILDREN RIDING PARENT-CONTROLLED PURPLE ELEPHANTS
A whole range of things have been adapted into Chinese culture; it is well known that the Chinese embrace change and development rapidly.
Lactose is better assimilated by the younger generations, and so there are now some very tall men and women in China.
But the Chinese are not only getting taller: it seems they are becoming wider, too. McDonald’s and KFC have been widely accepted and welcomed in China.
Nowadays, China is reaching record-breaking levels of obesity: there are fat camps and fat-reduction hospitals where parents can send their only child to lose all those extra pounds.
In ten years, China’s childhood obesity rate has doubled, with the greatest gains made in urban areas, owing to more Westernized dietary habits combined with more sedentary lifestyles, with more and more kids spending time in front of their computers and playing video games instead of going outside and getting some exercise.
According to recent official figures in China (2012), more than 12% of the nation’s children are overweight, representing some 120 million individuals under the age of 18.
This trend is partially due to a loss of neighbourliness and community spirit . Children have no brothers and sisters, and instead of living in an open environment such as the lilong where there are other children to play with, their typical living environment is an apartment on the 30th floor, with only Mum, Dad and/or Grandma and Grandad for company.
As a result, parents take their children down to ground level – home of the shopping centre and the market place. Then, using a remote control, they set in motion the newly bought purple elephant, or giraffe, upon which the child is sitting comfortably, so that parents and children alike can happily eat their ice cream in peace.
UNDERWEAR Buying a bra was a conscious decision. Getting new clothes, shoes, going to the tailor, could all have happened to me at any moment, as spontaneous decisions. [ + ]
UNDERWEAR
Buying a bra was a conscious decision. Getting new clothes, shoes, going to the tailor, could all have happened to me at any moment, as spontaneous decisions. Going to buy a bra, somehow, was different.
I went with a friend of mine. We saw some amazing bra systems. Truly ingenious systems. Some seemed to attach to your back with just a single strap, while others featured elaborate patterns of straps that would transform into another, different pattern in order to support the breasts, almost like a piece of origami.
Others didn’t seem to need any breasts inside them, as they were already satisfied with the cotton, gel or water pads contained within them.
I decided to try one of the origami bras, which would subtly tattoo my back with a kind of butterfly motif. Inside the changing-room cubicle, however, I realized that trying on this bra would be more than a simple choice; it would be a major challenge.
I stood there, thinking I had understood the system, only for everything to fall apart when I opened it. I tried to put it back together in every way imaginable, recomposing its intricate form and attempting to fit myself into it, but things didn’t quite work out as I had hoped… and by this time, quite some time had passed. The woman in the shop decided to ask how I was doing. Hearing my answer in bad, breathless Chinese, she decided that she had to come into the cubicle to help me. She looked at me, and then, with a series of almost computational movements, she solved the problem, and I had the bra in place, with everything exactly where it should be. She looked at me and asked if I would like the bra; I simply couldn’t believe what had happened, that someone could just walk in and do that.
Once my friend and I had bought these masterpieces, we both came to the conclusion that this had been a perfect Shanghainese experience. Back in the West, no one would have ever dared to do this – to barge into your cubicle and dress you, essentially – and I wouldn’t ever have allowed it, not by a long chalk. But here, in a city where the borders between public and private aren’t really fixed, in a city whose inhabitants feel at ease everywhere they go, where pyjamas can be deemed the perfect outdoor attire for the day’s activities, where my kitchen is everyone’s kitchen, it seemed normal. The boundaries are drawn differently here.
FAKE BUILDINGS The first long day in Shanghai was long in terms of time, but the more it passed, the more we tended to forget about it, being brought back to reality only by occasional biological reminders: hunger, thirst and the need to go to the toilet. At a certain point, it became obvious that I was not in fact a superhero, but merely human. [ + ]
FAKE BUILDINGS
The first long day in Shanghai was long in terms of time, but the more it passed, the more we tended to forget about it, being brought back to reality only by occasional biological reminders: hunger, thirst and the need to go to the toilet.
At a certain point, it became obvious that I was not in fact a superhero, but merely human. The message my body was sending me was loud and clear: “Hey, it’s time to go to the toilet!” But where? Whom should I ask? How does it even work here?! I panicked.
After seeing my pained face, a friend said to me, “Let’s go together; I’m bursting too.” We decided to go to the building that looked the newest, where we would ask to use the toilet. My friend assured me that “there’ll be a Western toilet there for sure. You know… one with a seat…” We both walked determinedly at a brisk pace.
Then we saw it: a marble building, all clean and shiny, with a blue glazed façade. We were in the centre of Shanghai, after all.
We opened the door, entered the foyer, and… well, there was not much to see.
It was still a rough construction site.
Despite this surprise, we still really needed to go. So we asked the porter. He pointed at a wooden box within this huge, empty building. It turned out there were no Western toilets after all, or indeed anything remotely similar.
Since then, I have stopped trusting façades.
COLD MEAT 3 I got on the train, and began to wander through the train corridors. Suddenly, I had the feeling that it would be a longer trip than I had imagined. [ + ]
COLD MEAT 3
I got on the train, and began to wander through the train corridors. Suddenly, I had the feeling that it would be a longer trip than I had imagined.
Whole families were filling the gaps between seats. Walking through the train, I discovered three-storey compartments and row after row of bunk beds. I arrived at my seat. The man beside me saw my face (which must have betrayed the fact that my stomach wasn’t quite feeling up to such a long trip, alone), and offered me the window seat. We were seated four face to face with another four passengers, 50 cm away from other eight, and so on. A small fan moved its blades, but no wind seemed to follow its instructions. The train was now in motion, and, as if following an order, everyone took something out from their bags. A piece of… what was it? Now, I understood : dried meat. Dried meat in diverse forms: diced, in ribbons, and in flat rectangles of all sizes.
However the treats didn’t stop there. There were also chicken feet, available in white and black versions. Oh yes! They would eat the meat, gnawing off the flesh until they arrived at the bone, and then the fun would really begin. They would break the bones and suck out the insides in order to extract every last morsel. I was kindly asked, many times, if I wanted to eat some of these bones, probably because of my gaze, which was too inquisitive, and possibly interpreted as linked to a stomach that was craving some of this train food.
I opened the cola, and started forgetting that I had a sense of smell; I just wanted to forget everything. However, I had brought some dried soup with me, and there was a place on the train where you could get hot water. So, the next morning, I would be able to reconstitute the noodles and fit in with my travel companions, by slurping on hot soup.
I was shown that, throughout this long journey, I was never alone, I would be taken care of, and our differences were not categorical differences. Later on, I wondered how a whole culture could derive so much satisfaction from sucking bones and gnawing away at dry meat. The answer made me love this culture even more than I could ever imagine. The answer was the love that parents give to their children.
In the past, Parents would tell their children that the bones were the most delicious part of the animal, in order to justify why they, the parents, were not eating the precious meat, which would be reserved for the children’s plates. In this way, several generations grew up believing that bones were more precious than meat, as they were never given them to eat.
I understood more closely the feeling of “community spirit” and “neighbourliness ” in the lilongs during those unforgettable 18 hours of travel. I became a temporary part of a tight-knit community. Even without trying the bones. Yet they understood that I wouldn’t have the skills to enjoy this food, made for the road, for the transition from one story to another.
GREY Grey is an omnipresent colour in the city. It is the colour of the sky as seen by the citizens of Shanghai. [ + ]
GREY
Grey is an omnipresent colour in the city. It is the colour of the sky as seen by the citizens of Shanghai. It is the background of most pictures, regardless of the weather, the season or the time of day.
[ - ]FEELING SPECIAL 1 Shanghai is different. Shanghai is different from what we are used to, and is always surprising. [ + ]
FEELING SPECIAL 1
Shanghai is different. Shanghai is different from what we are used to, and is always surprising. It’s a city where many have found their home – and for those who haven’t, it is, at the very least, a place that changes their way of how space is perceived and used.
My dad had finally arrived in Shanghai; it would be the first time he saw the city I had fallen in love with. For someone who had travelled for so long (24 hours), he seemed quite fresh; everything was new and an opportunity to take a picture and make a video. He knew he would remember most events; nevertheless, he wanted to keep a record of the moments, figures, colours, textures – everything – in a form that could be printed in order to make recollection easier, as proof that Shanghai exists, that it’s real.
My dad became a real actor, a player on the stage that is the city, where everyone is an actor, albeit with an undefined role. Lots of people would look at him, change places on the bus or the train in order to sit closer to him, and stare at him. In a cemetery, a man even asked him to take a picture with him in front of his grandfather’s grave. He does not look that much different from any other tourist, or any other Shanghainese person, for that matter. He is not blond, tall or blue-eyed. But he has a white mane of hair, eyes that glow with curiosity, and a big smile. It seemed that this was the passport that granted him access to all the doors he encountered. He would be better understood in the grocery store than I would, and without even opening his mouth.