From my Tingzijian

Yesterday I came across these crabs for sale out of the back of a truck:

I grew up near the Chesapeake Bay and as a child used to catch crabs off the end of a pier, with a chicken neck tied on a line. There is nothing I’d rather eat than a pile of steamed crabs dumped out on a newspaper-topped table, ready to be broken open and the succulent wads of lump meat dipped in melted butter. So, the big guys were tempting.

But I didn’t know where they came from and I’m a little concerned about heavy metal pollution in the lakes around Shanghai. So I passed up these crabs.

But I started thinking about eating crabs here in China. There are the famous (and expensive) hairy crabs, sold in neat tied-up bundles. Here’s a girl working on my street Her strings cut out for her and her little bound products are piled in the pink bucket.

I’m not wild about hairy crabs anyhow. The females are especially valued, and not for their meat, but for their crumbly, waxy roe. An acquired taste, I suppose.

*     *     *

Some weeks ago, my husband and I went on a two-week trip and I hadn’t even arrived at Pudong Airport when I realized that I had left my hair brush back at home. Just pick one up at the airport, my husband said.

I couldn’t quite think where. Although it’s a stunning new airport, it lacks shops selling things that people would find useful IMHO—Starbucks coffee, neck pillows, you name it. Once we cleared security, I looked and asked around. Sure enough, I couldn’t find any sign of a hair brush There were the usual souvenirs: miniature Xi’an warriors, snuff bottles painted on the inside, last-minute calligraphy of western names.

And, of course, a counter selling what every air traveler needs:

Hairy crabs. At least they were neatly tied up.

These guys (or gals) won’t be scuttling down the aisles. (Anybody remember  Snakes on a Plane?) But from now on, I’m going to be extra attentive when I reach up into the overhead bin.

Saturday, January 19, when we were out shopping, I decided to buy tickets to see the new ling-ling-qi (007) movie on Monday—the day it was finally going to open here in Shanghai. Monday, after all, was John’s birthday, and he was fired up to see James Bond in a theater.

John sat down with our heavy shopping bags and I plunged ahead. When I turned the corner and saw the long ticket lines, my heart sank.

Nonetheless, like all good lemings, I trotted over to the end of the one next to the wall and waited a while. It didn’t move. I studied the neon sign up ahead as I waited. Bad as my Chinese is, I could read the characters for “in Chinese” after every movie listed and began to worry, as I also overheated, that perhaps Skyfall tickets weren’t even on sale yet.

“Can I buy tickets today for this movie?” I asked a woman who was studying the 007 poster next to both of us.  “I know I can’t see it today, but can I buy tickets today?”

“Oh, no. They’re not on sale,” she replied, shaking her head with certainty.

Well, what did she know, I consoled myself. Just another customer like myself. Still…

After another few sweltering minutes in the crowd with no forward movement, I reluctantly decided to drop out. I felt bad, Monday being John’s birthday and all, since I knew from past experience that I would never be able to figure out any information from home about showtimes, etc. We’d probably skip it.

But on the other side of the hall, another sign caught my eye over a table with a very short line.

Those tiny red letters say “VIP.” (Sorry for the blurry photo.)

In China, I’ve learned always to assume I’m a VIP, or at least to fake it. (Anyone who has read Geiling Yan’s The Banquet Bug, or Yu Hua’s China in Ten Words knows what I am talking about.) So I walked over and watched the man in front of me purchase a ticket and head into the theater. Thus encouraged, I stepped up and said “Monday’s movie, 007, two tickets, please.”

The young woman behind the desk simply asked me “What time?” and turned her monitor to show me times and seats available.

I purchased tickets for 120 RMB each ($US 19.29!!). Maybe that was why nobody else was using the VIP line? No, she answered my question. They cost the same on Monday.

I never did figure out why people were standing in a long, slow-to-the-point-of-standstill line if they could avoid the wait by walking across the room. I didn’t learn who, exactly, is supposed to be served by the VIP lady, or why I qualified. Nor do I understand why so many people will pay that much for a movie ticket! The high price, along with very high prices  for so much else here (like food and housing), reminded me that I don’t get why there’s so much political talk in the US about how the Chinese keep their currency artificially low.

We got to the movie a little early on Monday. Ok, an usher had to unlock the door for us.

But the theater filled up quickly. And when the Skyfall scene shifted from Turkey to Shanghai, the camera zooming around the night sky of the Bund and Lujiazui, the crowd started buzzing with excitement. Here are a couple of my own photos, in case you don’t know where I mean:

Lujiazui at night 2007

Waitan Zhongxin at night -- office is on 36th floor

People all around us flipped on their mobile phones and sent text messages. I wonder what they were writing!

Back in the lane, back in my tingzijian.

And plus ca change, plus c’est la meme chose. The rotten floorboards have been replaced, but the big stink in the powder room is back. And a tad of demolition is going on at the house two doors away, as you can clearly see from my bedroom balcony and hear from anywhere in the house, all day long.

The other night around 9:30 my neighbor texted me: “Can you believe what’s going on out there?”

Apparently a bulldozer had arrived at the entrance of our little lane, intending to roll down and clear away the rubble. Now, just as a reminder, here is what our lane looks like. (The house undergoing demolition is at the end.)Not a lot of room here for a bulldozer.

My neighbor said that her husband and the man next door, as well as the elected head honcho of our lane, were out defending our territory from invasion, especially at night. I was already tucked in with a book, in my pjs, and my own husband was away. I may have had a sexist thought: Bulldozers and all. Let the men handle it.

My neighbor later said that the menfolk were successful, but she was pretty sure the bulldozer would be back soon, “probably at midnight.”

The next day I was walking on the street a block behind our lane, and I came across this. Mind you, I had not seen the bulldozer in our lane, and heavy equipment is a common sight everywhere in town. But I wondered whether this might be our enemy, at the ready for another charge. So I photographed it to show my neighbor.

Taking the picture made me take a closer look. There, where I guess there are foot pedals. (I’m assuming the thing has brakes and an accelerator, maybe a clutch to operate it.) What do you see?You go, girl! But maybe you could find some more comfortable shoes?

If the bulldozer comes back, no matter what time it is, I will definitely go out in the lane and check out the operator’s footwear.