Day 12 - poor art, outstanding trains and mediocre breasts.

Day 12 and something bizarre happens. We finally make it to Shanghai's Museum of Contemporary Art... and guess what? It is sorely disappointing. The fairly impressive, angular glass shell, located at the heart of the People's Park we’d previously circumnagivated several times, offers two expansive floors begging to be filled with items of interest. Unfortunately, they are sparsely laced with entirely passable pieces. I don’t purport to be an art critic or the most understanding of not-particularly-knowledgeable observers, but I’d happily go toe to toe with anyone suggesting otherwise…

Stepping out of the realm of the trendy, our next mission came clad in the over-sized spectacles and the ill-fitting anorak of a geek. We were off for our very first dabble in trainspotting. The lustrous target of our interest was the Maglev, a magnetic levitation train linking Longyang Road station with Pudong International Airport. 

For anyone not au fait with this technology, through the power of opposing magnets the train is elevated above the track. It, therefore, requires no rails and zips along entirely unconstrained by the friction they create. The result is engines of potential speeds previously unseen, once the other minor hindrances of human motion sickness and the lack of available infrastructure / sufficient brakes are combated. 

As one of only a few operable Maglev lines in the world, we were desperate to have a try and for 80-Ruan were soon speeding towards an airport from which we had no flights booked, at a peak speed of 431kmp, lapping up every tilt of the train as though we were riding a rollercoaster at Alton Towers.

Wowed by a totally pointless, but enlightening return journey, and eager to continue our voyage into the future, we made for Pudong, using a rather more conventional subway. Exiting the station, we expected to be immediately wowed by a striking array of imposing, glimmering, next-generational monsters looming down at us. Only they were miles away. 

Fuelled by an incredibly good value street pancake, cooked on the spot and filled with a mouth watering, sweet sauce and the satisfying crunch of crispy wonton, we fought against a flow of commuters heading home, briskly striding towards the major landmarks desperate to make it somewhere with a view for sunset.

With the perfectly round orange sun already attempting to conceal itself behind the impressive man-made skyline, we entered the world’s biggest bottle opener, the Shanghai Financial Center. However, as we caught our breath and began to relax, confident we’d be watching the day slide into night from the world’s highest observatory, the attendants had other ideas, guiding us through various scale models and introductory videos to the building at an oppressively slow pace. 

By the time we arrived on the 100^th floor darkness had arrived. This couldn’t mask or detract from a truly magnificent view, however, as we joined a hoard of people snapping and gaping at the well-lit splendour of post-dusk Shanghai. As scores of cruise ships, lit up like Oxford Street in December, made their way down the river, past the most astonishing collection of buildings ever crammed into a central business district, we supped at the lukewarm beers we'd smuggled up from the Family Mart opposite, hearts a flutter, eyes agog.

A stroll down the boardwalk to observe the Bund from across the river, interrupted only those overly elaborately lit river boats, the occasional paradoxical and strangely out of place unlit tanker and the pushing and shoving of those around me, would have wrapped the night up. That is, until the arresting lights of America’s most bohemian of drinking chains, Hooters, loomed into view. A tug on the arm from my companion, desperate to introduce me to this previously unseen nuance of her homeland’s culture and we were in there, taking advantage of the post 9pm happy hour and supping enormous Tsingtaos, positioned next to a predictably obese, single man at the bar. Less predictably, however, he seemed more interested in table-tennis being screened behind the bar, than the tightly clad, not-particularly-voluptuous ladies working it. Only in China. 

A few more drinks and a bit of people watching made for an entertaining end to the evening, as meticulously rehearsed, yet apparently spontaneous dance routines, involving umbrellas, had a myriad of aging, overseas businessmen on their feet, thrusting their cameras as close to the ladies as was legal, in order to take a little piece of their soul home with them for whatever reason. We can all hazard a guess… and I for one assume it wouldn't be to show their wives. A small fortune and a massive plate of chicken wings expended and we were in a taxi heading for base, a little confused as to our location courtesy of the imperialistic force of American sleaze and one too many Chinese lagers...