杭 HANGZHOU
Sunday 8 November 2015
Earlier in the morning, we walked through an old part of Hangzhou and saw the tourist shops and tourist park surrounding the Drum Tower, whose site has one of those 2000-year-old histories attached to it. That history includes the magnificent days enjoyed by Hangzhou under the name of Lin’an as the capital of the Southern Song dynasty (1127-1279) with a population of over two million; it was at that time the largest city in the world. The Drum Tower is, naturally enough, a reconstruction, but the Drum Tower Church, just across from the Tower, is its original self and was built in 1897 by the Presbyterians. As we walked around on this Sunday, we were listening to traditional Presbyterian hymns sung in a high very Chinese soprano voice. This particular Chinese church is permitted only for foreigners, but apparently the Chinese nationals are permitted to hear the Christian hymns.
When we returned to the hotel, we asked the hotel manager to write down the kanji for the Long Distance Bus Station, and then began one of those travel days about which Travel can too often be all about, Apparently, the good man – and he was so helpful during our stay at his hotel – wrote down the kanji for the local bus station – and so there we were, at the Local Bus Station, without the kanji for the Long Distance Bus Station to show to any taxi driver and in the wrong side of town and, of course, nobody speaks English. Finally, Tsutae did find someone who knew some English, and so the next taxi driver took us for a ride – literally and metaphorically – for far (that is a pun) too many hours (or maybe he did not), but only much later did we arrive at the Long Distance Bus Station Ticket Counter, and, thank goodness, just in time to catch a bus and be on our way to Shanghai.
Once in Shanghai, we took another shuttle to the hotel where Tsutae had stored her luggage, and, once there, attempted to communicate without knowing Mandarin. It was a bit complicated, because the clerk at the desk had a translation program on her smart phone that said very peculiar things. All this kept us way into the night, and now we needed a private car to take us into Shanghai and to the Astor House Hotel,which i had been so excited to see, because we knew that the Gambles had stayed in the Astor House Hotel during their first days in China, and this would be history in real life and upscale and elegant (and expensive) as well,
We had the kanji with us this time. We were prepared, but still the driver took us to number “106” on another street even though we had written and spoken (in good Mandarin) number 15 and had, with us, written in kanji the number and the name of the street as well as the name of the hotel, again, in kanji, just as we had been instructed. Throughout this endless day, I am pleased to say, I kept my cool. I have finally learned that such is just a part of the travel experience. But on arriving – finally – at the famed Astor House Hotel, we were met with such a lack of hospitality – one expects a tad of class at a first-class hotel – at least in a 5-Star hotel – but then maybe not in Shanghai. After all, Shanghai is all about money, and Shanghai is about new money, and new money seldom has class. Certainly, the Astor House Hotel does not have class. And then we were told, no, we were booked for only one night.
Somewhere, I have the confirmation that says two nights, but just to make matters more interesting, my phone – my brand new I phone 6 that I am – no, was – so proud of has been without service for three days. Who knows why, but I cannot make phone calls on my Six- Hundred -Dollar phone, and I have been unable to get any internet connections on the computer. Why do I carry these expensive gadgets around?
The Astor House Hotel has not changed since at least 1908. Indeed, it is living history but with a drab life. The Gambles would surely recognize it if they walked in this minute. The Astor House Hotel is a museum. This museum has state-of-the-art showers and toilets and new elevators, but it is a museum, with early twentieth-century dark halls and dark doors, potted palms, exquisite glass windows and doors, and creaky dark wooden floors. The halls are lined with photos dating back to its founding in 1846 by the Scotsman Peter Felix Richards, but the staff, I don’t think, much care, and no one of their staff, according to the front desk, handles questions dealing with its history. it is intresting to see, this museum piece, but not exactly engaging for an overnight stay.
Oh, yes, the Astor has vintage; this includes its internet connection. We were more than happy to get out of the hotel the next morning. Things always do work out for the best. I just have to keep coming up with work-arounds. Fortunately, my matter is not time-sensitive; it can be emailed at a later date. And there are plenty of hotels in Shanghai
And oh! what a city. What a spectacle at night. The lights, the space, the lights, the lights, the lights! The entire side of a skyscraper one forty-story computer monitor flickering relentlessly with new eye-boggling images. So much glitter and hubbub and the endless, tall, fancy, imposing, overwhelming frontage that smacks of money and money and money. It is something indeed to be seen, Shanghai. Shanghai at night.
