I swear it was summer yesterday. That's how quickly the seasons change here as there's no try before you buy mentality about it. It's just summer – and proper hot summer mind you – then winter. Just like that.
By summer's end I'd been wearing shorts daily for three months so naturally there's a real reluctance to start dressing like an adult. However, there's also a reluctancy to go native and roll my T-shirt just above my nipples and my pants above my knees. The look is completed by summer nylon socks but really, aren't these just extremely short pantyhose?
Well, today I had to concede defeat. This is just as well as autumn has had its one day and is almost over anyway.
Shanghai is a place that possesses only two seasons – summer and winter – and all we seem to do in the ones that are left is blink and miss them. No, actually, Autumn is spent worrying about the approaching cold of winter. I've ahh, 'enjoyed' a number of winters here and I don't think I'll ever get used to it.
As I tend to enjoy complaining about the cold I'm often asked what my home town is like in comparison. When I mention that you'd be lucky to get below double figures without fail I receive a look, or is that an eye roll? Either way they never take me seriously again and my cunning disguise as a rugged Marlboro Man is irreparably smashed. The fact I don't possess a horse kind of weakens my case anyway.
But at least it's not typhoon season. According to international news reports it seemed the end really was nigh for good ol' Shangers. So us doomed residents of the soon to be under ten metres of Pacific Ocean city text messaged one another, warning those that live under a rock (yours truly) of the dangers lurking if we decide to poke our heads out of said rock. We were all kind of aware something was up, what with the continuous three days of heavy rain and sudden gusts of wind but as children weren't swept up into air clutching little rainbow coloured umbrellas for dear life, we realised it couldn't have been that major.
In fact, half way through the event (if you can actually call it that) I became tired of it and went out for a coffee. It was kind of like stepping out onto a Melbourne street on our football grand final day. Before it actually happens people scurry along, arms loaded with supplies as they need to be elsewhere; wherever, just not wherever it was they were. Then when it's on you have the place to yourself.
Getting to the point: nothing happened, well nothing I had not seen here before – it's been wetter, it's been windier, and yes, it's been more of both. Apparently 2 million people were evacuated but then again that's the size of a Shanghai city block... a small one.
And let me remind you, when no super typhoon-that-will-kill-you-if-you-set-eyes-on-it comes to devastate, then there's no looting afterwards. Shame as I was all pumped to go. I considered getting the ball rolling and loot the cafe I was sipping my latte in but thought I should at least wait until the electricity gave way first. As I waited for my opportunity I realised that this was yet another typhoon aimed at Taiwan only to limp on to the Chinese mainland.
Personally I think the whole typhoon thing is a weather controlling plot from China aimed at scaring that ungrateful, renegade province of Taiwan back into the waiting, welcoming arms of the motherland. Then the motherland will cook up a pot of her famous chicken soup and everyone will be happy, link arms and sing in the streets.
But like a obstinate child that it is it just won't listen to reason but that's okay, we will wait.
I celebrated my third birthday at a music festival, along with 2,000 other people – who may or may not have had things to celebrate themselves. It was held outside, which I think if I was a multi-fingered amputee I could count on one hand the number that have been held before. But you have to start somewhere. And this just happened to be it.
I must admit though, on paper it didn't really fill me with excitement, as it comprised of six acts of vastly different genres. Perhaps it was more a festival sampler rather than one in its own right but for this city it was a fair effort. The corresponding event in Beijing was stretched over two days and while it was the national week public holiday – or golden week as everyone calls it here, seven days of goldeny good times – our northern neighbours decided to host another music festival for good measure. You know, since all this Olympic business started they're just out of control up there.
Anyway, let me present THE OLD PERSON'S GUIDE TO SURVIVING (no matter how small) SHANGHAI MUSIC FESTIVAL:
First of all, schedule your arrival for about half way through the penultimate act's performance as besides, it's not a genre in the sampler you'd be interested in anyway. By the way, to sweeten the deal, make sure you know someone involved with the event so you don't have to pay for the two hours you'll be there. This would also aid in the cred factor as let's face it, you gotta take whatever you can get.
While held within a city park and host to quite a good turnout, the jaded veteran needs to remark, at least every half an hour, that at so-and-so there were more people. Easy enough if the numbers are small but never let a small things like that stop you and your memories.
When the headline act makes an appearance remember to be standing at an enviable position, the more forward the better. Then, as the performance progresses, lose interest and drift of to the edge, letting the children fight their disorganised arses to the front.
There's always some sort of born-again hippie nearby dancing in the way only they seem to know how, so no matter what don't EVER be tempted to join in. Even after a hundred beers it's just as wrong. All you'll achieve is looking like you only go out in public once every leap year.
Oh, and by the way, if you really must hoist children (I mean real children this time) onto your shoulders remember to squat down so they can climb aboard. As tempting as it sounds, try not to throw them onto your shoulders. Why? Well, you're bound to topple backwards with the kid falling the furthest. I don't know what the rules were (assuming there was perhaps one or two) but I assumed that it wasn't good to have an all ages event and alcohol.
It was also interesting to note that the extremities came in the form of the western concert goers. Not to say the Chinese didn't get into it, they just didn't need to be the most of anything. In many cases it was about being the most annoying.
Another important point to remember is that while only going as far as head bopping to the main act realise half way in that essentially you suspect them of being a one (or at least two) hit wonder. Once realised it's easy to decide to leave pre-encore – Okay, we've finished – No! Please one more! – No sorry, that's the end – No! More! – Oh, well then, if you insist.
It will be easier to leave as soon as you realise that they won't be playing their hit, as they already have; so get a taxi before the swarm descends. And while they're fighting for the limited number of taxis you'll already be home with a good book and a cuppa.
So there you go and unlike this story: it's quick, easy, and relatively painless.
There's another scheduled for this weekend. This is just a little different in the way a mouse is just a little bit different to a 747. Festival number two is focused to a single genre and has a local line up that requires them to play for half an hour over two days – so there's a little more than six acts to worry about. I won't be there as due to the regulations in my survival guide only one festival can be enjoyed per month.
However, the most disconcerting thing about all of this is that it is advertised as a beach festival. That's great. Only problem I foresee is that, well, Shanghai has no beaches. No, actually we have one that's as fake as the Louis Vuitton bags the cleaning ladies clutch on to as they arrive to work. Now who said the Chinese working class are underpaid when they can all have European designer goods?
So the beach has sand dumped in from somewhere else and the water is dyed blue so apparently if you wear white into the surf, you emerge with blue-tinted togs. Actually the Chinese powers that be have nothing to do with it; this is really God's way of telling you that white bathing gear is wrong.
So now, from the beginning of this story to now it's probably winter outside. This is good as I can now stop complaining about it coming but rather about it being here.
