Return to China: Day 8: Pudong New Area, Military Exercises, & Entering the Steamy South

Wednesday, March 25

Can you see the 2nd tallest building on Earth?

After just two nights here, it’s time to leave Shanghai.  I spent a week here in December (check previous blog postings!), so  I don’t feel cheated, as my first visit involved heavy tourism.  I’m excited to light out today for Guangzhou in the South, a region I don’t know, a place I’ve never been, and a province unlike any other in China.

But first I have a morning agent meeting in Pudong, the gleaming modern center of Shanghai finance.  I breakfast at the buffet, and I see a lady I used to crack jokes with and teach English to months previous in December.  “Long time no see!” she smiles.  It’s amazing after all the people that she sees pass through that she still remembers me.  I certainly remember her broad grin.

Steven navigates morning Shanghai gridlock to transport us from the old city, under the Pudong River through tunnel that reminds us of the Holland Tunnel, and up into the new city.  We battle for parking and ascend a high-rise.  As it’s Day 6 on my tour I have my presentation down pat.  I keep it tight and concise at 13 minutes, and the dapper young gentlemen listens intently with interest.  I pass him materials, and now the ball is in his court.  Ideally he will now promote and share my school with his clients.  We shall see. . .

The following hours mostly involve me sitting in the back of Steven’s car with luggage stacked tight as he battles Shanghai traffic and I watch the world go by out the window.  

Hongqiao Airport is a gleaming monstrosity with incredibly efficient organization.  We park on the Watermelon floor and take an elevator that deposits us directly at the ticketing desk; it’s the smoothest transfer I’ve ever experienced between the parking garage, which is directly underneath the airport, and the passenger area.

Mark, Clyde, and I hurry to our gate, linger for a bowl of wanton noodle soup, pile into the plane, and then. . . . “The Captain is sorry to inform you that your flight will be delayed due to military exercises.”  Sigh.  We’re crammed into the back row, and thus begins over two hours of ambiguous announcements about our departure time.  Fortunately I’m a happy traveler, so I sit, read, and write, but the situation exasperates.

Finally we lift off.  The early dusk sunlight refracts off of the polluted skies of a megalopolis of 25 million plus, and I visually devour the cityscape below.  I can see Pudong New Area with the Huangpu River curving and cutting a watery snaky swath through the uber-urban density of the city.  I can see one of the tallest buildings in the world (set to bet the world's second tallest when finished) jutting out from the financial district, towering above everyone and everything.  I can see power plants, factories, hills, rivers, lakes, inlets, the Pacific Ocean, Hangzhou, and incomprehensibly endless development.  I savor the view as the sun sinks behind the Plateau of Tibet.  I see mountain ranges, villages, and rice paddies.

Disembarking in Guangzhou, I can feel the tropics.  Steamy, humid air, thick with water; lush, green, jungle forests; rolling foothills building into jagged mountains; the Pearl River Delta and tributaries washing the richest province in China with water for crops, drinking, transportation, energy, and more.  Right away I feel the difference, just as one does when crossing the Mason-Dixon Line.  In China that line is defined by the difference between wheat cultivation in the North and rice cultivation in the South, but it’s especially pronounced down here at the bottom of the country, thousands of miles from Beijing, where the rebellious Cantonese people have always marched to the beat of their own drum.

Mark, Clyde, and I haggle for a taxi, then enjoy the rainy, tropical, 45 minute drive from Baiyun International Airport into Guangzhou.  We disembark at the new train station, and enter the Jingguo Hotel, a swanky, neon, business and leisure hotel with attentive service, an abundant breakfast buffet, and subdued chill house music in the elevators.  I drop my baggage on the 26th floor, and head out for a 9:30 PM dinner at an Australian-run expatriate restaurant.  We share Chinese dishes al fresco, and I enjoy the company of my companions immensely.  Clyde Javois is a classy Carribean-American Director of Admissions at the French-American School of New York City; Mark Rosenblum is an articulate, multilingual, and passionate Principal at the French-American School; and Tomas Simonsson is a charming, athletic, and attentive manager for Educatius -Maui Preparatory Academy’s agency in China- who hails from the West Coast of Sweden.  I will spend a lot of time with this crew in the coming days, and I am always learning about education, China, and boarding schools from these gentlemen.

Our night comes to a close.  As a Southern Californian native now living in Hawai’i, tropical Guangzhou is my kind of city. . . .