Travelogue, day 5
Let the record show that I fully intended to incorporate pictures into this entry. I am now the proud owner of a little black Sony Cyber-shot camera, which I am putting to borderline-abusive use in bringing you the highlights of the 2010 Shanghai Expo. Unfortunately, I'm connected to the internet by a goddamn piece of cable, no joke, and uploading these photos is a strict impossibility.
So you will have to take me at my word that I have become a monstrous machine of audiovisual records. I've now amassed over 250 pictures of what is, flatly put, an infinitesimal part of what there is to show and tell. What you must understand is that a pavilion visit can be a business of upward of two hours, including the line, and that no matter how early or late I begin my day, by the vicinity of six o'clock, the soles of my feet become flesh-forged incarnations of pain, so that I'm not making much headway into exploring this wondermaze. It does, however, mean that I am making new discoveries every day (usually on the subject of my pain threshold). Today's discovery, for example, was that the man who rumored it that the Puxi section (there are two sections to the Expo: Puxi, or East of the River, and Pudong, or West of the River) would be less crowded than the Pudong section was either a drooling moron or personally out to get me.
But the day was good. With the rain transformed overnight into an ambient wetness, every surface covered in tiny tiny diamonds that run on touch, the Puxi section's open, gaping spaces, greenery and bizarre industrial statues all lend it an unexpected freshness. Merely strolling down its neat roads, looking across the river to the Pudong section and the cityscape, was a great pleasure. The huge flying saucer of the Expo Culture Center, the monumental China Pavilion and the indescribable pink sea creature of the Japan Pavilion - not surprised, surely? - give even the most drab of communist-gray Shanghai skyscrapers the looks of something out of the next century.
The Pavilion of the Future, hosted inside a building that was once a power station, is nearly the equal of the Urbanian in its unending selection of marvels. A long corridor of gigantic screens, looping scenes from movies truly made to be seen in such an environment even if their creators didn't know that - Metropolis and Ghost in the Shell being the most memorable examples - leads to a roomful of human-sized books radiant with projected images on the history of literary utopias. I could easily have spent hours there alone, but was rushed along in a torrent of gleeful Chinese children into the display on current endeavors in urban design. The walls are decorated with a stunning mural of city streets, their buildings made of hovering letters in more languages than I care to guess at, and bold English and Chinese writing above them announces that the future is here!, so in source, exclamation mark included. Rabid enthusiasm pours out of every turn and plank and screen, and you are suddenly surrounded by examples of things that have gone and are still going right.
After a stop for a meal in the so-called World Food Court - the lesson of which, children, is that in China, you had damn well better stick to Chinese food - the Urban Footprint Pavilion was found rather less impressive, though it did have its moments. When darkness descended, I acted with supreme courage in the face of adversity - all for you, faithful Expo followers - and steeled myself to taking the ferry across the river to photograph the Pudong section by night. I lasted an hour at it, seeing as at that stage I was literally hobbling, relying on my overlarge umbrella, but it was a very productive hour. Glories untold exist among the European pavilions: the Russian pavilion is a white castle crowned in golden filigree, bursting from within the crowds that flock to it and shining its majesty down upon them. The Netherlands Pavilion is a psychedelic playground, half lifestyle commercial half Doctor Seuss illustration. The UK Pavilion, its exterior a cluster of thousands of tiny glass tubes, defies the staring eye and befuddles the hapless camera. Across the street from this glamorous lot, the Nigeria pavilion stands in childlike, humble beauty, a cube of blue sky with soft neon clouds.
I took no notes today, so many of the quips and anecdotes are lost to time, but there are always more. The flow of input is unceasing. My music player, too, has been very cooperative. Give me technology that we can trust, indeed.
Tomorrow, I rise at 6:30 AM, and go to be Big in Japan.