Shanghai Memories, Piece I

Shanghai is a rather complicated piece of history. Putting the technicalities aside though, if one were to draw an analogy between east Asia and, say, the greater Europe, one might say that Shanghai is the counterpart of Istanbul. They connect trades, yes, but beyond the cargo containers, they connect ideas. Of course, Istanbul historically was a lot more involved in European matters than Shanghai. My city officially opened its doors to foreigners only in the 18th century. But the point stands still: this is where two civilisation clash and melt. It’s quite a bit of risk, but if one gets lucky, it yields some of the most unique gems eyes can see.

I went for a walk in what used to be the old city of Shanghai. The now demolished city wall was first erected in the 16th century to protect the city from pirates. Later, though, the wall did not protect the city from foreigners - whether or not that was a thing to celebrate is still largely debatable (I think it was). But, what mattered was, in the next two or so centuries, the city went through such drastic changes both in itself and in the world immediately around: expansion, urbanisation, civil and world wars, collapsing empires… and the old city was no exception.

As the foreigners arrived and settled, the old city was now colloquially referred to as the Chinese city 華界. Trade started to flourish, ports emerged and populated the coast of the Whang-phu River 黃浦江, factories, banks, churches… the settlers brought their technologies and lifestyles all the same. Amongst these was the St. Francis Xavier Church 董家渡天主堂. The story was that the very first Catholic church in Shanghai was built in the 16th century, but soon confisticated by the government after Catholism was banned. Later, when the French missionaries arrived again after the Whangphu Treaty 黄埔條約 was signed, they got a piece of land just outside the south gate of the old city 小南門 as compensation, on which they built this church.

This photo was taken when the neighbourhood was going through a modernisation reconstruction. Old houses were mostly demolished and the land rebuilt into office buildings and skyscrapers. The church however, managed to survive this grand scheme citing historical and cultural reasons. However, a renovation was still warranted and perhaps long overdue. During the Cultural Revolution, the church was severaly damaged being used as a factory warehouse.

Inside the old city itself, life was a whole different story. Most of the houses were originally built at least 70-80 years ago, if not more, and certainly not with anything that was meant to last - no concrete, no stones, no precious sturdy woods. Living in the city was perhaps still fashionable back in the days, but surely no more. The living conditions was not at all up to modern standards. The mere fact that most houses did not have a toilet system was enough to put a lot people off.

I grew up half in the village, half in reasonably modern apartment buildings. So I have no personal experience to cite for living in houses like this. But I remembered fondly the name it was referred to with: the South City 南市區. Condensed, packed, crowded, in a while it almost evokes the images of Shanghai Ghetto… small but fully-fledged, life carries on through those tiny lon-daon 弄堂 and alleys: restaurants, convenience stores 煙紙店, barbers 剃頭店, wet markets, schools, and the unnamed vines stretching through the webbed wires and windows.

The old city itself was cut into halves by zo-ka-paon 肇家浜 “river of the Zo Family”, extending all the way from west of Shanghai to Whangpoo 黃浦江. In early 1900s, the east end of the river was filled and reclaimed as baoq-du road 白渡路. Soon the practice expanded to the river section inside the old city, yielding what is known today as east voq-xin road 復興東路. Not far north from this road lies the two central pieces of the old city: the City Temple 城隍廟 and Yu Garden 豫園, as well as the long defunct Port of Sixteen Merchants 十六鋪碼頭. The cross it forms with NS-going south wu-ne road 河南南路 divides the old city into four quarters, though none managed to escape the massive demolishing and renovation movements in the past three decades. In all fairness, these movements probably meant well, and a life without a functioning toilet today is probably violating the Geneva Convention. But watching the old city shed away its last pieces of bricks… kicks hard on my homesick nerves. Half of my villages are already no more, before I grew up and realised what I’ve lost, the luffas and chilis, wells and chives, leeches and the post typhoon sky reflected in the shallow pond over the rock-paved driveway.