The French Concession Ripple Effect

by Anna Lehmann (Australia)

I didn't expect to find China

“Do you want your mojito at the bar or on the swing?” the bartender asks. He motions my eyes to look right and I turn to see two swings hanging from the roof. It was 9pm on Thursday night, and I had found myself at a Brazilian Rum Bar in the French Concession in Shanghai. As I settled into my swing, the man next to me was struggling. He was trying to light his menthol cigarette, swing and hold his mojito at the same time. I leant in and gently asked if he’d like some assistance. I felt he was moments away from disaster and any second my jeans would be decorated with sticky mint leaves and a cocktail umbrella. He picked up on my Australian accent and asked with confusion and intrigue “out of all the places in Shanghai, why are you here?” It was surprising that out of the entire bustling metropolis of Shanghai I was far from the usual tourist hubs of The Bund or neon lights of Nanjing Road. Here I was, perched on a swing, drinking a mojito - whilst holding a mojito, talking to a stranger who was smoking a minty cigarette. I arrived in Shanghai days earlier and was booked to stay in a traditional French Concession Shikumen house. I creaked my neck vertically and watched my host climb the dimly lit wooden stairs. “Excuse me, I am just wondering if I should bring my suitcase up as I’m worried I’m going to topple backwards?” (Or break the stairs I thought) I imagined the news that evening, splashed on tv screens throughout Shanghai, “Australian lady breaks heritage listed house in French Concession when pulling overpacked suitcase up stairs causing house to collapse. Witnesses say 13 pairs of shoes burst from suitcase during fall. Local council called to assist with clean up.” My host didn’t understand my concern, she smiled and beckoned me to follow her. I made my way up the stairs like a broken down roller coaster clanking and jerking along each rung to the top. My host opened the apartment door and warmly welcomed me inside. She buzzed around and was delighted to show me my house slippers, teapot, maps and spare blankets and spare slippers. I had decided to stay in the French Concession due to its alluring aesthetics and European infusions, slightly mismatched to the rest of Shanghai. The French Concession was an area under French control from late 1800’s til the Chinese government regained it back in 1946. Today, it’s a charming intimate neighbourhood reminiscent of old Shanghai, its roots exposed like an old fig tree. Narrow laneways twist and turn, boutiques and hip cafes are dotted about, traditional street vendors sell hot steaming snacks and the streets are lined with leafy green trees. Occasionally above the branches and rooftops you see a peep of a futuristic skyscraper, beaming into the sky. Each morning I walked down the laneway to the Main Street. The local elders would watch as I walked towards their cluster of chairs, cats and chess tables - faces beaming widely as I approached, “Nǐ hǎo”! they would chime. I soon pieced more of the neighbourhood together. The lady that made hot eggy snacks with her husband, the young couple who had a coffee shop that only sold lattes, the man who was there each morning having his latte trying to convince me everyday to ride his bike. The family that owned the restaurant on the corner that relished when I was there so the children could practice English - grandma and grandpa close by watching on with great delight. Something I didn’t expect to feel was the warmth of community and familiarity in a city of 23 million people. I may have had three mojitos, I was still swinging - or was the room swinging?! I couldn’t be sure. After following my trail of crumbs each day, it lead me somewhere new. Today, it lead me from the restaurant on the corner, to the man who sold bananas til 10pm at night to the light that was on next door which lead me inside to the Brazilian Rum Bar.