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Kristin Bair O'Keeffe is temporarily suspending her Shanghai blog but plans to resume it at a later date.

A few days ago, my landlord's secretary called me.

"Kristin, did you get your mooncakes?" she asked.

"Ooh, mooncakes," I said. "No, no, I didn't."

"I left them downstairs at the desk," J said. "You weren't home when I came by."

"Ah, thank you, thank you," I said, and after I hung up, I ran out to the elevator and punched "Lobby." While the elevator did its thing, I did a mooncake dance, singing, "'Tis the season for the mooncakes, fa la la la la la la la la." Needless to say, I love mooncake season, which arrives every year just before the celebration of the Moon Festival on the 15th day of the eighth lunar month (aka as Mid-Autumn Festival).

Forty-five seconds later (kind of a slow ride from the 23rd floor), I arrived at the desk in our building's lobby where young Chinese women in neat gray-and-white uniforms organize our mail, hand out towels for the gym, coordinate building maintenance, and whatnot.

"I have mooncakes here?" I asked the woman.

She nodded and smiled, then placed a gigantic shopping bag on the counter.

"Good gracious," I said. "That's a lot of mooncake."

When I got upstairs and emptied the shopping bag, I discovered the prettiest, most interesting mooncake box I've ever seen (and believe me, during the past few weeks and the past few years, I've seen a lot of mooncake packaging).

The box was, well, like a spaceship. Silvery and sleek with three orange fish swimming upstream.

"Wow," I said and noted that the mooncakes (yue bing in Pinyin) were from the very upscale Westin Hotel. Inside were eight individually packaged mooncakes.

If you've never been lucky enough to celebrate the Moon Festival, you should try it. It's a Chinese holiday for everyone -- a celebration of the full moon and an opportunity to give mooncakes to friends and family (and obviously, good tenants). Each mooncake has a thin crust and a tasty filling, like lotus seed, sweet bean paste, or jujube. They're beautiful little biscuits with the Chinese characters for harmony stamped on top.

Though traditionally, the mooncake itself is important, here in Shanghai where everyone is scrambling to be sexy, sleek, modern and hip, it's really about the delivery. (Thus, the sleek, spaceship-box...which I love). Heck, even Haagen Dazs makes a mooncake.

So happy Moon Festival to you!

Yep, it's true. A few weeks ago, a couple of terrific women from Pittsburgh -- Viv Spratt and Barb Kocinski -- visited Shanghai. They'd just come from the Olympics in Beijing where they'd had an amazing experience, and we met for dinner at my favorite Shanghai restaurant ... Lost Heaven.

Like all of the Pittsburghers I've met in Shanghai over the past eight months or so, Viv and Barb found me via my writing here at the Post-Gazette. Before they traveled, Viv and I e-mailed back and forth, back and forth, yakking about all things China. They very generously toted some much-needed goods to me from the United States (ibuprofen and cold medicine ... can't live without those), and we all had a great time at dinner.

A shout out to Viv and Barb!

The last two weeks have been wild and wooly weatherwise. Lightning, thunder, whipping winds.

But Monday morning was the worst. It started about 7 or so, and literally, the sky opened up and poured lakefuls of rain onto us here in Shanghai. It was one of the craziest storms I've ever witnessed, and afterward, the streets flooded.

My husband, Andrew, and millions of other folks spent hours and hours on the highway as they tried to get to work. Schools closed. CNN is kaput. And though the streets right around our apartment were clear by mid afternoon, the streets farther out (where Andrew works) were still flooded into the evening. It was nuts, but the sky was just gorgeous.

The buzz ... the buzz ... it's everywhere in China. And in case someone is not aware of how many medals the Chinese athletes have won, this sign in Yu Garden will fill them in. I'm not sure who this person would be, because it seems that every single person in China (all 1.3 billion of them) are watching and loving the 2008 Olympics.

Who isn't after all?

The need?

Thread.

The purpose?

My friend Julie's ayi is making covers for her dining room chairs.

Back home, buying thread would be a simple task. We'd look in the Yellow Pages for "sewing stores," locate a nearby shop, hop in the car and drive to the location. Once inside the store, we would tell the clerk what kind of thread we needed, follow her to the thread area, ask lots of questions about quality and durability, and listen to her answers.

But here in Shanghai, shopping for thread is a wee bit more complicated. At least for us native English speakers.

So a few weeks ago, Julie and I headed out with my driver, Mr. C. Since at the time we were on the receiving end of Typhoon Fung Wong, it was windy, the sky was gray and thick, and at various points in the afternoon, it rained a bit.

Well-prepared, Julie had a slip of paper on which her ayi had written in Chinese exactly the kind of thread we were looking for. She had also done a bit of research so we knew that we wanted to go to the corner of Jinling and Shandong roads. Here, Julie had been assured, we would find a three-story haberdashery full of thread, lace, ribbon, buttons and other bits and pieces.

At the corner of Jinling and Shandong roads, Julie and I hopped out of the minivan. We wandered along one stretch of Shandong Road. We wandered along another stretch of Shandong Road.

No luck.

No thread.

No lace.

But I did manage to get a lovely bruise on my shin when a man decided that blindly backing up his moped on the sidewalk was a good idea. Until, of course, he jammed it into my leg.

I called Mr. C and he quickly retrieved us. As we were driving away, nearly ready to give up on the whole adventure, Julie and I spotted what looked like a haberdashery street. (Streets in Shanghai often specialize. Jinling Road features dozens and dozens of stores that sell musical instruments. Stores on Fuzhou Road sell art supplies and paper. There's even a wedding dress road.)

With some fancy maneuvering (and a number of illegal turns), Mr. C managed to get us to the right place. The thread store was a colorful little spot with hundreds of spools of ribbon, string and thread stuffed onto the shelves. The clerk showed us a book that featured samples of all the available colors. The thread looked fine, but since neither Julie nor I is a seamstress, we needed an expert opinion.

Julie called her ayi and had her chat with the clerk. Then the clerk and I had a brief conversation in Chinese.

"Is the thread made of cotton?" I asked.

Julie's ayi wanted cotton.

"No," the clerk told me, "it's not."

"Do any stores around here sell cotton thread?" I asked.

"No."

"Is this good thread?"

"Why not?" she said.

Then suddenly I was in the middle of one of those moments -- one of those many, many Shanghai moments -- when I am confronted with the inability to go any further in a conversation. New to Shanghai, Julie speaks very little Chinese, and though I wanted to explain the project and ask the clerk a ton of questions, I couldn't. I had exhausted my language skills.

What I wanted to say is this: "This thread is going to be used for making chair covers. The chairs get used a lot and the fabric is heavy so the thread needs to be durable. Is this thread durable? Will it fall apart in the washing machine? Is there a stronger thread that's a better choice for this kind of project?"

Instead I said to Julie, "It'll be fine. Just buy it."

And off we went.

July 25, 2008: Happy Birthday in Chinese

Yesterday, I made a cake and 48 cupcakes for my husband's birthday. Considering it's nearly 100 degrees in Shanghai with 2,000,000 percent humidity, this was quite a feat.

Our kitchen is not air-conditioned. It is a small, stuffy, stifling room, and when I turned on the oven, I was sure I was going to end up with heat prostration. Ovens -- a relatively new appliance in China -- are especially small here (think Easy Bake Oven), so the entire baking process took four hours. Four long, hot, sweaty hours.

Thankfully I survived the baking end of things, and by the time I was ready to mix up the icing (yep, homemade icing), my ayi had arrived. (An ayi is a domestic helper ... someone who works in your home cleaning, cooking, shopping for groceries, etc. Ayis in China are very affordable and such a help.)

Since our ayi cooks for us on the days she works (three days a week), she has come to believe that I cannot cook. That I am incapable of following a recipe. That I have trouble distinguishing between a carrot and an eggplant. Granted, I don't try very hard to dissuade her of this belief because honestly, I'm not a big fan of culinary activities and have more than happily relinquished my kitchen duties.

Needless to say, she was shocked that I could make a cake, cupcakes and icing. So while I mixed up the confectioner's sugar, vanilla, milk and butter, she watched in awe. When I created purple, yellow, and blue icing, she nearly fell over. And then, since she had never iced cupcakes before and I was more than happy for the assistance, we sat together at the dining table (in the air-conditioned dining room) and worked on the project. Finally, in the piece de resistance, I decorated the cake. Normally, I write "Happy Birthday, Andrew!" in English. But yesterday, I wrote it in Chinese!!! Pretty impressive (if I do say so myself) considering how difficult Chinese characters are to write with a pen on paper. Try doing it with an icing gun.

Sweet, huh?

July 15, 2008: Chanting at the Jing'an Temple

This time of year, the heat makes you a little nuts in Shanghai. During the midday hours, the folks who dare to venture out stumble around looking for places to cool off. Malls, restaurants, bars, museums, movie theaters, etc.

A few weekends ago, in a heat-driven haze, my husband and I stumbled into the Jing'an Temple -- the only Buddhist temple, I think, that I hadn't ever visited in Shanghai. I'm not sure why, really, since it is the most conveniently located temple in the city. Sitting on the corner of Nanjing West and Huashan roads, it is right next to a major subway station and one of the newest malls in Shanghai...which features a mammoth-sized Haagen Dazs.

A little meditation...a little ice cream. It's all about balance.

Since the temple is under construction, I didn't have the peaceful, calming experience I usually get at temples. In the inner courtyard, a giant, banging something-or-other was digging in one spot, and another giant, grinding something-or-other was lifting and setting old wooden trusses into place. It was loud and confusing with orange construction netting blocking off various halls.

Thankfully, right at the moment we arrived, the monks were gathering in the main hall to chant. I know everyone who travels to Asian countries goes on and on about monks, but honestly, all that waxing effusive is true. Monks are beautiful and peaceful, and there's just something about the long, golden robes that adds to their mystery.

Soon enough, I was standing in the back of the main hall with my eyes closed, sinking deeply into the chanting. At first, I couldn't figure out what particular event initiated the gathering, but later I discovered that it was a funeral for a lovely woman whose photo was displayed in a smaller hall in the back.

From what I can dig up, this Buddhist temple was built in 247 A.D. and moved to the current location in 1216 A.D. It's the oldest temple in the city and one of the most active. Locals flock here to pray and light incense. Tourists flock here to take photos.

And me. I do a little bit of both.

July 11, 2008: 28 Days and counting ...

How do you know the Olympics are coming to China?

Well, the Fuwa (the five charming Olympic mascots) are everywhere. They wave from billboards, dance on T-shirts and make regular appearances on various TV shows.

Second, there's a daily countdown in the English-language newspaper, The Shanghai Daily, on the news, and at various other strategic locations around the city. (It is impossible to forget how many days it is until the Olympics begin.)

Third, every television station -- local and international -- is running in-depth stories about how the swimming complex was constructed, how much steel it took to build the Nest and what Olympic athletes eat for breakfast.

There's also a buzz. A hum. And whenever Liu Xiang's name is mentioned, a reverent hush (as well there should be).

And finally, images of the athletes are everywhere ... in big, big ways.

It's all kinda cool.

July 3: Communicating can be ticklish at Chinese nail salon

The first time I asked how to say "ticklish" in Chinese while having a pedicure in Shanghai, I was met with a blank stare.

Back in the United States, I used to scoff at manicures and pedicures. I really didn't run in a mani-pedi crowd. But here in Shanghai, where such pampering is much cheaper and where keeping the toenails and fingernails trim and pretty is as popular with expats as it is with China's rapidly expanding middle-class population, the mani-pedi has become a part of my routine.

In early June, my friend Julie and I went to Frangipani, a nail salon on Fuxing Road. There are many nail salons in Shanghai, but because Frangipani is in an old house in which you have to climb a very steep, narrow staircase to get to the "polishing" room, it has a little more charm than most.

Midway through the pedicure, the young woman working on my feet began to buff the bottoms with a rough, sandpapery tool, and as always, I laughed out loud and involuntarily yanked my foot away. (I am rather ticklish.)

Seizing my second opportunity to learn how to say "ticklish" in Mandarin, I leaned toward the young woman and asked, "Zai Zhongwen, zhe shi ticklish?" (This is a clumsy way of asking, "How do you say ticklish in Chinese?")

When the woman didn't respond to my question, I repeated it. This time she glanced up from her work, but from the look on her face, I could tell she didn't understand what I was asking.

She could see that I was ticklish as she rubbed the rough, sandpapery tool across the bottom of my foot, and so I didn't understand how she couldn't make the logical leap to understand my question.

At least it seemed logical in my very Western brain.

To go a step further, if this young woman didn't understand that I was asking specifically about the word ticklish, she had to have understood that I was asking how to say something in Chinese, didn't she? And if so, why didn't she offer up other possible words? Maybe the word for "foot" or "rough," "sandy tool" or "pedicure"? Something. Anything. Why the silence?

While the pedicurist looked at me as if I had three heads, I pondered the possibilities: 1) what seemed logical in my Western brain wasn't at all logical in her Eastern brain; 2) she didn't understand my Chinese; 3) she was shy and hesitant to speak to foreigners, even in her own language; or 4) she just wanted to do her job and get home.

Because I couldn't figure out which of the four was causing the communication rift, I let it go. But half an hour later, when I discovered that the young woman working on my fingernails spoke a bit of English, I tried for a third time to learn how to say "ticklish" in Chinese.

"Zai Zhongwen, zhe shi ticklish?" I asked her.

Much more confident with a bit of English on her side, the manicurist immediately stopped what she was doing and said, "What?"

"Ticklish," I repeated, and to demonstrate I giggled in a high, silly voice and wiggled my foot.

Yet even with my artful pantomime, the young manicurist did not understand what I was asking. To help clear things up, my friend, Julie, leaned over and tickled me under the arm. Then we both giggled in weird, high, silly voices.

"Ticklish," I said to the manicurist, looking deep into her eyes.

I finally pulled one hand away from the manicurist and the other out of a bowl of soapy water, dug deep into my purse, and pulled out my English/Chinese dictionary.

First, I looked up the word for to tickle. "Gezhi," I said, paying close attention to how I pronounced the tones.

The young manicurist shook her head.

Then I found the word for "ticklish." "Payang," I said excitedly. She would have to understand what I was talking about now.

But she didn't. All I got was another blank stare.

Deflated, I surrendered. "Mei wenti," I said. No problem. And the young woman returned to her work.

With my free hand, I tucked my dictionary back into my bag. Learning to speak Mandarin was proving to be a long process, and even though I've been studying since arriving in China and scrambling for any opportunity to learn new words, there are simply days when I can't bridge the gap. On these days, I get frustrated and feel like a little kid on a baseball field who hasn't developed quite enough coordination to hit the ball with the bat. I guess the good news is I keep swinging.

I looked over at Julie and shrugged my shoulders. Ticklish would have to wait for another day, another pedicurist.

July 2, 2008: Shanghai's Fabric Market

A few weeks ago, someone back in the United States asked, "Do you ever go the fabric market?" I guess she'd been reading up on what folks do in Shanghai.

"Do I ever go to the fabric market?" I answered. "Do bears (ahem) in the woods? Does it snow in Massachusetts in the winter? Is Meat Loaf the greatest performer who ever lived?

Of course I go to the fabric market. (And for those of you who don't know, the fabric market is just that -- a three-story market in Shanghai that houses hundreds of tailors and their shops. Each shop is full of fabric -- Chinese silk, wool, linen, cotton, cashmere, knit, etc. You name the fabric, it's at the fabric market.

Blue jean?

Yep, there's blue jean at the fabric market.

Corduroy?

Oh yeah, lots of corduroy.

Rayon?

Yep, if you really want rayon when you can have Chinese silk, you can have rayon.

Just last week, I went with my friend Julie (who is new to Shanghai and who hadn't yet been to the fabric market). Of course, as I was heading in, I said to her, "Now, I'm not buying anything today. I'm just here to support you in your shopping effort," and an hour later, I'd ordered two linen dresses and a silk dress.

How the heck did that happen?

Ooh, the fabric market is a mighty seductive beast. You see all the beautiful Chinese jackets and cashmere coats and soft, linen dresses hanging about and you know (from past experience) that the prices are WAY, WAY cheaper than anything you'll ever find at home and suddenly, your arms are in the air and your chest is being measured by a skinny Chinese tailor.

It happens that fast.

Is it always successful? Does every skirt you order fit perfectly? Drape across your hips just the way you like?

Nope. The average success rate is 50/50, but stuff is so incredibly cheap that you write off the 50 percent that doesn't fit and donate to a charity.

Then you enjoy the 50 percent that does.

June 23, 2008: Standing Ovation for the Pittsburgh Youth Symphony Orchestra in Shanghai!

As predicted, I was barely able to contain my excitement and enthusiasm before, during, and after the PYSO concert in Shanghai last night. From the time I caught sight of the Pittsburghers' tour bus pulling in (see photo), I was happy, and as soon as the parents, chaperones and various other parties began pouring into the Shanghai Concert Hall, I was introducing myself hither and thither.

Though I didn't know a soul on the bus before the concert, I met tons of great folks throughout the evening, including Jane Vranish, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette journalist traveling with the orchestra. There's just something about talking to people from home -- especially when you live as far from home as Shanghai -- that makes you feel content and connected.

The music, of course, was the highlight of the evening. These musicians -- these very young musicians -- are amazingly talented! The lineup of pieces included Rachmaninoff's "Symphonic Dances," Michael Torke's "Javelin" and Chou Tian's "The Palace of Nine Perfections." (There was more, but somehow in the hubbub, I never got a program.) Though the crowd loved every piece, Chou Tian's was clearly the favorite. How could it not be? We were in Shanghai.

Though I played the clarinet for years, the drums have always been my favorite instrument. The timpani to be precise. And last night, the timpani (along with numerous other percussion instruments) rolled and rumbled mightily. Gorgeous.

Much to my husband's relief, I managed (just barely) to keep myself from hollering Pittsburghisms at the musicians during the concert. I did, however, get the opportunity to whistle rather loudly as the crowd stood and cheered for an encore (not a Tom Sawyer-strolling-down-the-lane kind of whistle, but a powerful, high-pitched, call-your-dog kind of whistle). I was hesitant at first (it was a concert, after all), but the crowd's enthusiasm for these young American musicians was so boisterous, I decided to give it a go. It was a success. The Chinese women in front of me loved it! They turned and egged me on. So I whistled and then whistled some more.

Cheers to the musicians -- they're doing Pittsburgh proud.

June 20, 2008: The Pittsburgh Youth Symphony Orchestra Is Coming!

Hang on to your chopsticks! I just bought tickets for the Pittsburgh Youth Symphony Orchestra's concert in Shanghai which is this coming Sunday at the Shanghai Concert Hall. And honestly, I can't wait. In fact, I'm so excited that during the performance, I'll probably have to restrain myself from leaping up and yelling something wildly embarrassing like, "I love Pittsburgh!" or "Go Steelers!" or "Did you bring any hoagies for me?"

Aahh, hoagies. (Don't get me started on how much I miss hoagies.)

Back to the concert.

Now that I know that the PYSO and its entourage arrived in the city today, I've been looking for them on every corner. They're staying in a hotel just six or so blocks from me so it's likely that I'll spot them over the next few days. (How can you miss 150 Pittsburghers in Shanghai?)

According to the itinerary, the PYSO will be visiting seven cities in China and performing in four of them. This is amazing, incredible, and so, so timely…more so even, I think, than folks back home can imagine. With all the suffering that's unfolding because of the recent earthquake, people here are in need of healing…and what's more healing than music? Especially performed by a talented group of young musicians from the best city in the world?

So a special thanks to my new friend M.S. in Mt. Lebanon whose son is traveling with the orchestra and who reached out to let me know about the performance. And a special thanks to the 'Burgh for supporting this important journey

June 16, 2008: Shanghai in 2020 -- A Trip to the Shanghai Urban Planning Exhibition Center

I've lived in Shanghai for more than two years now, but it wasn't until this past Sunday (a gray, drizzly, smoggy Sunday ... perfect for museum-hopping) that I finally made my way to People's Square to visit the Shanghai Urban Planning Exhibition Center.

Like a lot museums I've visited here, this one offers a curious blend of interesting, compelling exhibits and weird, random exhibits that make you say, "Huh?"

The most interesting and compelling?

A scale model of Shanghai circa 2020 that occupies more than 600 square meters of space. Though it could use a good dusting, this model has been meticulously designed to show visitors how Shanghai will look 12 years from now. Every building that exists today -- including the Oriental Pearl Tower, the 88-story Jin Mao Tower in Pudong, and Shimao International Plaza -- is in its correct place in the landscape. And every building that is in the planning or building stages that will be completed by 2020 is in place, too.

It's pretty cool, and it reminded me of the opening sequence of "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood" when the camera steers you through a scale model of the neighborhood. (I know, I know, back to Mr. Rogers.)

On the weird and random end of the spectrum, there's an F1 "racing vehicle simulator," which looks like a ride out of an abandoned amusement park. It's a hollow, blue cement ball (about the size of a pickup truck) with two seats inside facing a large video screen. Unfortunately, the simulator was boarded up and closed for business, but still I was left wondering, Why is there an F1 "racing vehicle simulator" here at all? How does this relate to Shanghai in 2020? Where's the connection?

As I checked the other museum exhibits -- including a wonderful collection of photographs of historic Shanghai -- I tried to make the imaginative leap. No luck.

But this morning, when I sat down to write this piece, the museum's brochure clued me in. "The F1 racing vehicle simulator," it reads, "makes tourists appreciate the charm of fast speed Shanghai."

Aha! There's the leap.

June 12, 2008: The Hongqiao Flower Market on Hong Jing Road

If you enter via the front door of the flower market on Hong Jing Road in Shanghai, the first thing you see is the bonsai. Gorgeous, amazing bonsai that makes me want to take it home and become like that guy in the Karate Kid movies who is always clipping away at his bonsai trees. But I figure I have enough obsessive/compulsive habits; adding bonsai clipping to the mix would be overload. So usually, after admiring it all, I stroll on past.

After that, you get to the trees. The big, green, leafy trees. Some with red buds. Some that grow oranges. Some that are simply the most beautiful big, green, leafy trees you've ever seen.

There's a woman who runs one of the "tree boutiques," and every time she sees me oohing and aahhing over her trees, she races out to greet me…thinking, of course, that I'm going to buy a tree. Which I would love to do…if I had a little yard. Or even a patio. But I don't, so the best I can do is compliment her lovely trees and bid zai jian after I've had my fill of green.

Then come the orchids. Good gracious, the orchids. Purple, white, pink, yellow, and so many combinations of color that just looking at them makes me dizzy. I haven't gotten brave enough for orchids yet. They seem so darn fragile. But I'm working toward them.

And finally, the fresh cut flowers, which are what I can't pass up. The lilies. The roses. The tulips and the anthuriums and the pansies…and all the flowers I can't even name.

This place -- a warehouse really -- is packed full of fresh cut flowers. It smells delicious.

And guess what?

Flowers in Shanghai are cheap. Cheap, cheap, cheap. So much so that a big bouquet of white lilies (ah, the fragrance) costs me about $10. Can't beat that, can you?

June 6, 2008: Back in Shanghai -- The Ubiquitous, Huggable Haibao

Haibao is blue. He's soft. And yes, according to reports from children all over China, he's huggable.

Who is Haibao? (pronounced hi bow-bow as in "take a bow," not as in "she has a bow in her hair")

He is Shanghai's mascot for the 2010 World Expo, and he is everywhere. Even on Nanjing Road (see photo). Designed by two artists -- one from mainland China and one from Taiwan-Haibao is modeled after the Chinese character ren, which means people or person. (And if you look up the character ren, you'll see that it actually looks like a person's legs as she is walking.) This is a very appropriate choice since Shanghai is expecting more than 70 million tourists to visit the city during the 2010 World Expo.

The Expo will run from May 1-Oct. 31, 2010, so if you've been planning to travel to Shanghai but haven't gotten around to it, this may be the time. Though I hear about the Expo a lot, I didn't really know exactly what it's all about.

This morning I did a little digging and am just nuts about the definition at China's official Expo Web site: "World Expositions are galleries of human inspirations and thoughts." (en.expo2010china.com) Cool, huh? Over 200 nations will be setting up here for the cultural, scientific, technological, and economic exchanges. A little something for everyone, it seems.

So anyway, this morning I had to take care of some paperwork at the U.S. Consulate, and since I'm finally feeling less jetlagged and somewhat human again, I walked home instead of hopping a cab. The big statue of Haibao was one of the first things I saw.

I also got a sneak peek at some older women who were doing their morning tai chi in one of the parks...though when I snapped my photo they were taking a little break and chatting it up. All very important parts of a morning routine.

June 4, 2008: Jetlagged in Shanghai

Aaaahhh, home. Nothing like it. My own bed. My own orange water cup. My own journals on the shelves. My own English-Chinese dictionary. My own very reliable (knock on wood) wireless Internet connection. My favorite street: Wulumuqi Road. And so on. You get the picture.

But gggrrrr, grumble, gggrrr, grumble. I'm am SO jetlagged. Awake all night and wanting to snooze all day. I keep trying to write??trying to put just a hundred words together that make sense??but nothing comes.

So here I am, promising to write more by the end of the week AND to take you (via photographs) to the flower market??one of my favorite places in Shanghai.

Now to bed.

10 Ways I Know I'm Ready to Head Home to Shanghai

Andrew and I are heading home to Shanghai. Although I'm not looking forward to the 11.5-hour plane ride, I am looking forward to being in our own digs. How do I know?

1. I want a dumpling!

2. I keep speaking Mandarin to all the folks in Italy ... very confusing.

3. My creative beast is a'rumbling and a'roaring. She's ready to get back to work. (And what she says, goes.)

4. I'm out of clean socks.

5. I miss my pals in Shanghai.

6. Believe it or not, hotel life is getting old.

7. I'm pondering the question: How much gelato can one girl eat? (as I spoon another bite into my mouth)

8. I miss the sounds of Shanghai, especially the recyling guy's bicycle bell as he tools around our neighborhood collecting cardboard and bottles.

9. I looked at the skyline this morning and thought, where is the Oriental Pearl Tower?

10. There's no place like home.

May 27: Visiting Milan -- back to Shanghai on Friday

On Sunday, we head into Milan, and when we come up out of the subway station, the first thing I see is the Duomo, Milan's humongous cathedral. Within seconds, I'm doing what everyone around me is doing -- oohing and aaahhing and bumping into people because I'm not looking where I'm going. I'm only looking up ... at the spires, the statues, the carvings, the everything that is the Duomo.

Want the stats?

1. The roof has 2,245 statues, 135 spires and 96 gargoyles.

2. The interior can hold 40,000 people.

3. Building began in 1386, but the cathedral wasn't completed until 1812.

But the Duomo is just the beginning of Milan. There's the Piazza del Duomo (where the thing to do seems to be getting as many pigeons as possible to roost on your arms and having your photo taken ... too weird for me ... they're PIGEONS, not some exotic species of bird that you can't find elsewhere in the world).

Then there's the Piazza della Scala, which leads us into the Teatro alla Scala, Italy's world-famous opera house. We check out the Teatro's museum and then head into the theater itself, and once again, I'm oohing and aaahhing like a nutball. But I can't help it; the theater is sumptuous. The cushions and walls are covered in red velvet, and anything that is not covered in red velvet is gold. There's even a crystal chandelier that has 365 lamps. And to add icing to the cake, one of the drummers is in the orchestra pit practicing on the timpani drums -- one of my two favorite instruments.

I think about one my favorite books when I was a kid, "From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler," in which two kids run away from home and live for a while in New York City's Metropolitan Museum of Art. And yep, I'm sure that if I were to run away from home now, I'd head straight to the Teatro alla Scala.

For the next few hours, Andrew and I wander from piazza to piazza, from amazingly gorgeous building to amazingly gorgeous building, until we, of course, land in a very charming gelateria next to Piazza Mercanti.

And soon I discover that as much as I love the strawberry tart in Paris, I love the chocolate gelato in Milan. It's that good.

May 26: And Finally ... Milan

(the last leg of my European vacation ... on Friday, it's "home" to Shanghai)

My husband and I arrived in Milan's Malpensa airport on Saturday, rented a car and set out for our hotel in Vimercate, a small town northeast of Milan. It didn't take long to discover that roads -- even major highways -- in Italy are not clearly marked. For this reason, we drove in circles, ovals, rectangles, and figure eights for almost two hours.

Here's an example of our conversation (minus the curse words) as we drove (and drove ... and drove). Please note, Andrew was behind the wheel:

Andrew: "Is this the exit we want? Kristin? Is this it?"

Kristin: (glancing wildly from the map to the signs on the side of the road) "I don't know. It's not marked."

Andrew: (passes the exit) "Can you tell which direction we're heading?"

Kristin: "No, there aren't any signs. But wait, wait. That sign says 'Lecco.' According to the map, Lecco is north of where we are. So yes, yes, we're heading north."

Andrew: "Good. We're going the right direction."

(Time passes.)

Kristin: "This can't be the right road. If it were, we would have been in Vimercate by now."

Andrew: "Really? Are you sure?"

Kristin: "No, but I think so. Take this exit and get back on the highway going the other direction."

(Andrew does this.)

Kristin: "Crap."

Andrew: "What?"

Kristin: "That sign says we're on the way to Lecco."

Andrew: "You said we were heading to Lecco in the other direction."

Kristin: "I was just reporting what the signs said."

Andrew: "So we're heading north now?"

Kristin: "It would seem so."

Moral of the Story: All roads lead to Lecco.

May 22: Live from France ... (a brief break from Shanghai)

Paris in 3 Parts

I. Grandpere / Mister Rogers' Neighborhood

As a kid (and if I'm honest, as an adult), I was a HUGE fan of "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood." I don't know why the show struck such a chord with me, but I suspect it was related to the great amount of imaginative thought that went into the Neighborhood of Make Believe.

Though Daniel Striped Tiger was my favorite, I was a fan of all the puppets ... even Lady Elaine Fairchild who could be such a grumpy wretch sometimes.

But I am in Paris for the first time, so of course I've been thinking about Grandpere -- the French tiger puppet in the show who lived in the Eiffel Tower. As I remember it, he was almost an exact replica of Daniel Striped Tiger EXCEPT that he had a black beret, a black mustache and a lovely accent. He was, after all, French.

Cheers to the late Fred Rogers.

II. Strawberry Tart and the Eiffel Tower

One of the writing exercises I do with my students is this: Go to a place (figuratively, not literally) -- a place you know very well. Be aware of yourself as the narrator or the storyteller in this place (enjoy it ... it's a powerful role). First, focus on the biggest object you can see ... the one that tugs at your attention ... the one that wants to be noticed, begs to be written about. Second, focus on the smallest object you can see ... again the one that pulls at your attention.

Of course, I always have my students write about each object.

Today I gave myself the same assignment.

My biggest object in Paris? The one that has captured my attention? The one I fell asleep thinking about last night?

The Eiffel Tower.

The smallest object? The one I can't stop thinking about? The one I can see, smell, and taste?

The most delicious, most delectable strawberry tart I've ever eaten in my life. Even the color was divine.

III. Cafe Culture

For a writer, the number of cafes and brasseries here in Paris is just too seductive. And though I wouldn't think of missing the opportunity to see the Mona Lisa, the Venus de Milo, the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame and all the other Parisian treasures, truly I'd love to hunker down in one of the cafes with a pot of coffee (and yes, yes, a strawberry tart) and write.

Ah, the muse ...

May 20: (Still in Ireland) Lord Longford's Castle and the Running of the Sheep

Part I: Lord Longford's Castle

On the way from Galway to Andrew's mum's house, we stopped to take a look at Lord Longford's castle, known more formally as Tullynally Castle in the town of Castlepollard. Now unlike most of the castles at which we've stopped so far, this particular castle is occupied -- by none other than Lord Longford himself. It's crazy, really, that someone actually gets to live in a castle, but hey, this is not the United States or China. This is Ireland. People do things like that here. (And if given the opportunity, I would, too.)

Over the past 10 days, I've become rather good at figuring out when we're nearing a castle (besides the obvious sighting of castle-like turrets rising up out of the land). Three sure signs?

1. There is a high stone wall along the road (protection from plunderers and pillagers, of course).

2. There are very big, very beautiful old trees that appear in the middle of meadows.

3. There's a gatehouse.

Lord Longford's castle has all three of these features, except instead of a guard at the gatehouse, there is a barbecue grill leaning up against the back wall. A sign of the times, I suppose.

Anyway, even though Lord Longford lives in the castle, part of it, including the gardens, is open to the public. There's also a teahouse with seating in the part of the castle where I imagine they used to behead plunderers and pillagers. Another sign of the times. Teahouse or guillotine?

I vote for the teahouse.

Part II: The Running of the Sheep

Either before or after we strolled through the grounds of Tullynally Castle, we stopped at Strokestown House in County Roscommon. Things -- houses and castles especially -- are starting to blend in my head, and unless I have Andrew at my side to remind me which we saw first or second or third, I'm simply happy to remember the details of each spot. The order is irrelevant.

Strokestown House is a beautiful stone manor house, and though we could have bought tickets to tour the house and garden, I opted instead to watch the big herd of sheep in the field. Over the past 10 days, I've developed a liking for the sheep in Ireland. They've got personality, and the lambs that frolic in the fields are just too damn cute.

Our timing was perfect. Just as we pulled up and I jumped out of the car with my camera, two young guys on a four-wheeler and their border collie were bringing in the sheep.

Hi'ing and ho'ing and hollering at the dog, the guys drove the sheep directly at me. I knelt on the dirt road and snapped pictures like crazy until for a split second I got scared that those sheep might actually run me down, at which point I stood and leapt back into the car.

Of course, the sheep veered away from me at the last second, bypassing the spot where I'd been kneeling. The guys on the four-wheeler waved, and the lot of them headed off for greener pastures.

May 19: A silent moment for China

Just that, I think. A silent moment for all the victims of the earthquake and hope that the survivors are able to heal and rebuild their lives over time.

May 19: Still on the road in Ireland

Clon Mac What?

Clonmacnoise (pronounced klon-mack-noise) is a place in Ireland on the banks of the River Shannon in County Offaly that served as an important center of learning, trade, religion, politics and craftsmanship. St. Ciaran founded it in 548, and because he's buried there, pilgrims have been making the trip for almost 1,500 years.

Good gracious, my first paragraph sounds like the opening to a seventh-grade history paper written at the last minute by a not-very-interested student who read three brief encyclopedia entries on Clonmacnoise a few minutes before writing the paper, doesn't it?

Let's start again.

Though Clonmacnoise is one of those wildly idyllic spots in Ireland with crumbling churches, an endless graveyard, a cool round tower, a history of plundering and pillaging, beautiful purple flowers sprouting from cracks and splits in the stones, and a small herd of cows chewing grass and mooing on the bank of the river, for me, it's still all about the castle. And this one is a real beauty. Well, what's left of it anyway.

It was built by the Chief Governor of Ireland in 1214, and according to the research I've been able to do (limited while on the road), it was deliberately destroyed -- possibly as early as 1300, which makes little sense since that implies its active lifespan was less than 100 years, but eventually I'll figure it out.

The stones that are left of the castle are perched on a steep bump of land just a few hundred yards from the River Shannon, and the bump is surrounded by a deep ditch ... kind of like a moat without any water. Because the ruins are so precarious, there's a fence all around them on the outside of the moat to keep curious, castle-obsessed gawkers like me from ignoring the rules and climbing up for a better look. But even so, I managed to get close enough to snap a few good pictures without losing my footing and tumbling into the moat.

"Be careful," Andrew said a million times, watching my feet slip to the edge of the ridge.

"I am," I said.

"Are you ready?" he said another million times.

"Just about," I said.

Thankfully, the weather gods have been looking over my camera and me, providing blue sky and sunshine every day so far. Fingers crossed that it continues.

May 14: Taking a break from Shanghai -- in Ireland

Aaaahhh, Ireland...

Is there anyone who doesn't fly into Ireland, look down from the plane at the long stretches of green, and say, "Aaahhh, Ireland"?

Now that I'm here again, I say it all the time. Every morning when I look out the window. Every afternoon as we whip along the narrow roads from wee town to wee town. Every evening when the cows are hungry and grumping for dinner.

"Aaahhh, Ireland," I say.

I'm probably starting to annoy my husband Andrew with it, but it just feels so gosh darn good to be out of the city. After all, I'm a country girl at heart.

Our first resting place in this green land?

The parish of Delvin, a village about 50 miles west of Dublin. My husband's brother, Donal, has a farm here-the same farm on which my husband grew up. Every morning when I wake up in Andrew's mom's house just down the road from the farmhouse, I look out the window to long stretches of fields and pastures, handfuls of cows, and a tractor or two in the distance. I take in the green and the buckets and buckets of fresh air (along with the sweet scent of manure).

"Aaaaahhhh, Ireland," I say.

On Driving in Ireland ...

The roads around the parish of Delvin (and in most of Ireland) are as narrow as needles. They wind around and back on themselves like tangled pieces of yarn and are lined with tall hedgerows that block your line of sight so that you can't see what's around the next bend.

Or the next...

Or the next...

You would think this would cause drivers to take it slow on the roads, but nooooooo ... everyone in Ireland, including my husband, drives like a maniac, whipping around bends like Irish Mario Andrettis and nearly sideswiping every car on the road.

Whenever I shriek, grab the dashboard, and threaten his life, my husband says, "Sweetie, you don't understand. It only SEEMS like I'm driving fast. But really the hedgerows simply change your perception."

This is not true. My husband is fibbing. He is, like everyone else on the road, driving way too fast.

When I push the issue, he tries a different tactic. "Sweetie, I grew up on these roads. I've been driving on them forever."

"Yes, on a tractor!" I think this, but I don't say it. After all, Andrew is still in the driver's seat, and I'm just hanging on by my fingernails.

En Route to Multyfarnham ...

Like a lot of folks who travel to Ireland, I'm a little obsessed with falling-down castles and beautiful old churches. The landscape here has a beautiful rhythm-rolling hill, rolling hill, castle ruin, rolling hill, cow, sheep, rolling hill, sheep, 15th century church, rolling hill, cow, castle ruin, church. It's like a meandering poem that curls and coils.

Yesterday Andrew, his mum, and I headed for Multyfarnham Franciscan Friary, a gorgeous spot of green with a Franciscan church, of which the tower and nave (see photo) are part of the original 15th century structure.

Andrew's mum took us inside the church, which is stunningly beautiful with dark, wooden pews and some of the most artistic stained glass windows I've ever seen. Because Multyfarnham is the place where the Children of Lir are supposed to have been made human again after spending 300 years as swans on Lough Derravaragh, the story is depicted in the stained glass.

On the way to Multyfarnham, we stopped at Taghmon Church, one of those gorgeous stone churches of which I can't stop taking photos. The monastery was founded here in the 6th century, but the present building was built in the 15th century. Though the church isn't operating or open to the public, it did have an informational sign at the gate, and I learned that the massive tower was built as a security measure for the priest living in the church. The tower is four stories high; the priest lived on the second floor, which helped to keep him out of the hands of the bad guys. Makes perfect sense.

Now off to Galway.

May 8: 10 ways I know I'm ready for a vacation away from China

My husband and I are heading for Europe tomorrow, so my posts for the next three weeks will take you through Ireland, Paris, and yes, even Milan, Italy.

After living in Shanghai for more than two years now and loving it 90 percent of the time, I've gotten pretty good at knowing when I need a break. Here's what I notice when it's time for me to hit the road:

1. I yell at Shanghai drivers who drive through red lights, ignore pedestrians, and yes, even use the sidewalks as detours. Usually my tolerance for these unique Chinese driving patterns is fairly high, but when I've been in the city too long without a vacation, my temper flares. (Not pretty, I know.)

2. When the drivers mentioned in No. 1 continue to drive at me even when I'm yelling at them, I smack the hoods of their cars. (Even less pretty, huh?)

3. OK, OK, I'm coming clean. When it's time for a break, I also find myself yelling at the bicyclists who clearly believe that the road is theirs and theirs alone. (Please note, the last time I checked, there were more than 9 million registered bicycles in Shanghai. Nine million! That statistic doesn't even include the unregistered bicycles on the road. This is great for our environment, and for this reason, I support all cyclists in China ... except the ones that crash into me when I'm walking!)

4. I accidentally drink water from the tap, which is a no-no in China. But I miss it ... drinking from the tap ... or the backyard hose ... or even taking a sip during a shower if I happen to get thirsty while washing up.

5. My Mandarin gets jumbled, and when I try to ask, "Do you have any milk?" at the grocery store, instead I ask, "Do you have any cows?"

6. I miss family and boo-hoo a lot.

7. I, the woman who loves dumplings almost as much as my nephews do, get tired of eating dumplings. Tired of eating dumplings? Yes, this is a sure sign it's time for a break.

8. I set down my chopsticks and pick up a fork.

9. I talk to myself in elevators and other enclosed spaces.

10. I talk in accents -- Irish, Scottish, English, French, Italian, and much to my husband's surprise, a unique blend of all five. "Do you need a vacation?" he always says when I start this. "But of course," I say in an English accent. Or is it French?

So we're off! See you in Dublin!

May 6: Connecting through the camera lens

Every week during my first months in Shanghai, I wandered through one wet market or another, taking photographs and investigating foods I'd never seen before: giant white radishes, spotted eggs, thick ropes of fresh noodles, pigs' tongues, lotus roots, live eels in buckets of water. Even the skinned head of a goat (at least I think it was a goat).

But I also loved yakking with the vendors whose rusty, lined faces were so different from my pale, mostly unlined one.

"Nihao," a woman would call from behind her baskets of dried beans, looking a little shocked to see a Western face in the mostly local crowd.

"Nihao," I'd answer, zooming in to take a photo.

At the time, I didn't speak much Chinese. I could say hello (nihao), goodbye (zai jian), and a few common nouns. I could also explain that I was from the United States (Wo shi Meiguoren). But even so, that little bit was enough. While I took photos, the vendors asked me questions. I did my best to guess what they were asking and answered in a humorous combination of Chinese, English, and pantomime. Pleased with my efforts (and probably my willingness to look a little foolish), almost all the vendors smiled and offered a small orange or a slice of watermelon.

But though these exchanges provided a certain level of comfort, things really changed for me one afternoon when I saw a man sitting among all these enormous boxes of deep red chili peppers.

As always, I raised my camera and looked through the lens. To my surprise, in the same moment, he had raised his cell phone camera to his eye to take a photo of me -- the lone foreigner. We stood there and looked at each other through our respective lenses, and then suddenly, both started laughing.

After a good chuckle, the man lowered his camera phone from his eye and gestured for me to go first. I snapped my photo, lowered my camera, and smiled. Then he framed my face and snapped his photo of me.

"Xie xie," I said. Thank you.

"Bu ke qi," he answered. You're welcome.

And off I went, my loneliness momentarily relieved and the strong itch I'd been suffering satisfactorily scratched.

May 4: Shanghai muse -- where I write

Here's my dilemma: It's 12:30 on Friday afternoon. I've been working at my desk in my office since 6:30 this morning. I'm far from completing all the work I have to complete today, but the sun is high and bright, the sky is blue, and there's a nice breeze. Somehow summer snuck into Shanghai in the past 10 days and the lure of it is making me stir crazy.

My solution?

Pack up my Mac and my camera and head for one of my other "offices": Jamaica Blue or Amokka.

I take the elevator from my 23rd floor apartment to the lobby. Outside, I greet the guards, who chuckle at my hair because today I slightly resemble a woolly sheep (albeit a rather lovely woolly sheep). Along with summer in Shanghai comes a great deal of humidity so I won't have to work too hard to maintain this look for the next five months or so. Woolly sheep, it is.

Usually, when I have a lot of serious work to do, I go to Jamaica Blue, a coffee shop just around the corner from my apartment on Wulumuqi Road that has a fairly quiet second floor, lots of electronic outlets, and friendly staff. But it's a little boring, so today I cross Anfu Road and head into Amokka, a caf?? with a bit of charm.

Like a lot of the hip cafes opening all over Shanghai, Amokka is in a renovated house. It has a wee first floor with a few tables and a spacious second floor complete with funky light fixtures, a faux fireplace, wooden ceiling beams, fresh flowers in big glass vases, and lots of candles. Windows line both the front and back walls of the room, and all are thrown open to let in the warmth and the breeze. The Plane trees along Anfu Road (planted by the French at the turn of the 20th century) are in full leaf, and their bright, happy greenness reflects the sun.

Once I order my green tea with honey and slice of carrot cake -- which like most carrot cakes has way too many nuts in it! -- I'm happy, and yes, able to kick off my shoes, curl up on a cushioned chair, and get to work.

May 1: What to Do in Shanghai on the May 1 Holiday? Lunch at El Willy, Of Course ...

It's Labor Day in Shanghai...a national holiday during which banks, offices, and many restaurants are closed. The streets are quiet, and lots of locals and expats have hightailed it to greener pastures...at least until Sunday when everyone in the city has to go back to work.

Thankfully, as Andrew and I roamed the French Concession, we discovered that the hot, new Spanish restaurant, El Willy, was open for lunch, and since we'd heard so many rave reviews about the juicy paellas and tasty tapas, we opted to head on in.

As everyone reports, El Willy does its hip, warm, rosy atmosphere pretty well, and because it's set back from the urban jungle of Donghu Road, it actually makes you feel like you're in a little oasis...lets you breathe a little easier, let down your hair.

Like all hip restaurants in Shanghai, the lunch crowd at El Willy's was world culture all the way. We had Frenchies to the left and right of us, Italians two tables down, a Chinese family across the way, and a few Germans scattered about. (Andrew and I represented the Irish and American coalitions respectively.)

We ordered, ate, raved, drooled a little over the tapas ordered by the Frenchies, made reservations to return on Saturday evening with friends, and then, of course, said a quick prayer that El Willy would not follow in the footsteps of most new restaurants that open in Shanghai. Which are? Open big, make a rousing splash, offer great food and service, then rather quickly drift into mediocrity until doors officially close and signs are taken down.

The truth is, Andrew and I like paella. We like tapas. And we now know that we like El Willy's Madrid burger with Manchego cheese and sauteed mushrooms. So we would like El Willy to thrive (at least until we finish our dinner on Saturday).

Salud!

April 26: Art Saturday in Shanghai -- From Ming Dynasty to New Millennium

It's a beautiful, gorgeous, sandal-wearing Saturday in Shanghai. Sunshiny all over the place. My friend Natasha calls. She's in her car. "Do you want me to come get you?" she says.

"Please," I say. I've been buried in deadlines and book proposals and whatnot all week. I need a break.

Natasha's a painter, and she's a great one for hunting down art shows in Shanghai. Today is no exception.

First stop?

"The First Shanghai, China Antique and Artwork Exhibition" at the Shanghai East Asia Exhibition Center on Tianyaoqiao Road. Lots of stuff from the Ming and Qing dynasties (1368-1644, 1644-1911 respectively). I buy a ticket from a guy in the parking lot for RMB 20 (a little less than $3). Back home it would be called "scalping"; here it's just called "buying a ticket from a guy in the parking lot."

We head in. There are dozens of booths set up with antiques and antique art, and right off, I get the feeling that this stuff is the real thing, not the copies you find in the markets around Shanghai. My instinct is confirmed when a barefoot man sitting cross-legged on the floor in a booth tells me that the price of the Tibetan Thangka painting that I fall madly in love with is RMB 5,000 (a little over $700).

Yikes.

As I understand it, Thangka paintings are meant to serve as records and guides for meditative and contemplative experiences, and as busy as I am right now in my writing life, I think a Thangka painting might be a good thing for me. I could use a little meditation and contemplation. But after learning the price, I decide that perhaps a fake -- which might cost RMB 100 ($14) -- might work just as well. After all, it's about the experience, not the object, right?

Natasha and I ooh and ahh at various paintings and at one unique blue Buddha that we believe is carved from lapis lazuli ... a hunch we can't confirm because neither of us knows how to say lapis lazuli in Mandarin. Damn language barrier.

Just before we head to the exit, we see the highlight of the show: a scroll of painting by Badashanren, a monk and Taoist priest whose life straddled the Ming and Qing dynasties. Unfortunately, we have to pass on this one, too. It's expected to be auctioned off for at least RMB 20 million ($2.9 million).

Next stop?

The Shanghai Art Museum on Nanjing Road for the opening of the "Art with Heart" exhibition by Shanghai-born painter Ann Yen (who also happens to be married to the U.S. Consul General in Shanghai, Ken Jarrett).

This is a fabulous building with an impressively massive clock tower ... a heritage site that used to be the 1934 British Racing Club building. And yep, as Natasha promised, the exhibition is fabulous, too.

As we walk around, checking out the 100 or so paintings, I realize that this very charming Ann Yen -- who is at this moment having flowers, camera lights and loads of attention foisted upon her by a huge, supportive crowd -- can really, really paint. Some of her works are colorful and make me laugh (like the naked woman on a swing who looks like she's having the time of her life), and others are stark and quite serious.

"From Ming to new millennium," I think as Natasha and I head back into the sunshine.

April 23: A good old American breakfast on trendy Taikang Road

"I want eggs," I say to my husband on Sunday morning. "Not scrambled in rice or hard boiled in green tea, but fried -- with a nice warm yolk and a side of sausage, hash browns, and a couple of slices of toast."

Andrew smiles. If the man can't have an Irish breakfast, his appetite can often be satiated with a good old American one. And even though we both acknowledge that here in Shanghai no good old American breakfast even comes close to the one we would get at Angie's in Newburyport, Mass., or Eat'n Park in Pittsburgh, we both admit that Kommune cooks up a pretty good one.

So we head straight to Taikang Road, which in the last five years or so has become Shanghai's answer to Soho. The intricate maze of narrow lanes is lined with traditional shikumen (stone-gate) houses that were built in the 1920s and that are being converted into art and commercial spaces faster than you can figure out how to say, "What's for breakfast?" in Mandarin.

We swing down Lane 210 and wend our way through the crowds, bypassing the trendy boutiques, Deke Erh's photography gallery, a couple of tea shops, and a yoga studio. We wander in circles, amazed at how many studios and shops have opened in the past few months, until we happen upon Kommune, the uber-hip cafe where on weekend mornings, the cooks actually prepare Western breakfasts on a grill.

A grill! In a Shanghai cafe! Sweet!

It's windy, so we head inside. As always, Kommune is packed with Shanghai's hippest -- Chinese and Western. The women are draped in long scarves and hide behind giant sunglasses; the men are frowsy and rumpled. Andrew and I take a corner table and place our order. From my seat, I watch the cook throw eggs and sausages on the sizzling-hot grill.

"Yee ha!" I say, knowing that my craving for Western fare is about to be satisfied.

Andrew laughs. "Drink your coffee," he says.

I put on my dark, bug-eye sunglasses, toss my silk scarf around my neck, lean back, and sip my mocha latte.

April 20: How the heck I ended up in China ...

In September 2005, a good-looking Irishman named Andrew O'Keeffe surged into my life and swept me off my feet. Three months later, he said, "Let's get married and move to Shanghai, China."

"Shanghai, China?" I said. I'd never really thought about living in China. Italy would be nice, I thought. Or Spain. But China?

Andrew nodded vigorously. The international telecommunications company he worked for had just offered him a two-year post in Shanghai.

Lovestruck and wanderlusty, I said yes ... to marriage and to China.

Over the next few months, I quit my teaching gigs, found a good home for my dog, sold my Jeep and said a lot of tearful goodbyes.

In February 2006, during the season's worst snowstorm, Andrew and I got married. (Think gorgeous gown, snow boots, and black garbage bags wrapped around my head to protect my hair and makeup.)

Six weeks later, we moved from Newburyport, Mass., to Shanghai.

Throughout that time, a number of people yanked me aside to warn me of the dangers of making too many major life changes too quickly, but to that, I said, "Hogwash. Life changes all the time anyway ... might as well make it big."

I've been calling Shanghai home ever since.

Cultural lessons

Flashback: It's April 3 or 4, 2006. Andrew and I have just moved into our apartment in Shanghai. The refrigerator is empty. Our stomachs are growling. We need food.

"Carrefour," I tell the taxi driver, forgetting, of course, that Carrefour is the English word for the enormous, well-stocked grocery store that will provide sustenance for us. (In Mandarin, it is pronounced Jialefu, but at this point, we do not speak any Mandarin.)

After an animated exchange, the taxi driver insists he understands. He nods, revs the engine and takes off. Within seconds we are flying down the highway.

The highway?

We don't need the highway to get to Carrefour. This much I know. It is just a mile or two down the road.

As we whiz along, passing exit after exit, I tap on the plastic barrier that separates Andrew and I from the driver. The driver turns his head and looks at me.

"Where are you taking us?" I yell (again, in English).

The driver continues to look at me and yells back in Chinese. (Note to Future Travelers: Taxi drivers in China do not speak English, and if you talk to them while they drive, they will look at you for prolonged periods of time instead of looking at the road.)

"No, no," I say. "This is not the way to Carrefour."

As our English/Chinese exchange continues, I realize that the taxi is slowing ... and slowing ... and slowing ... until we are at a dead stop on the highway with hundreds of cars whipping past us at the speed of light.

"What are you doing?" Andrew and I both yell, waving our hands in the air. "Go, go!"

Adrenaline charges through me as I consider being smashed to a million bits on the highway just three days after moving to China, and I envision my family back home in Bethel Park eating hoagies from Danny's without me.

Sensing our panic, the taxi driver begins to drive ...

BACKWARD!!!!

Yep, reversing on the highway when you've missed your exit or are simply confused is a common occurrence in Shanghai.

Needless to say, since I'm writing this article today, we survived, We also eventually got some food.

The yin and the yang of it

During our first weeks in Shanghai, I experienced two significant moments.

The first occurred when I saw the Oriental Pearl Tower rising up on the far side of the Huangpu River like a futuristic Lady Liberty and thought, wow, Shanghai really is THE modern city of the future.

The second occurred when I realized that many of the Chinese folks who live in the old lane houses still use chamber pots at night when they're too tired to head down their very, VERY steep staircases to the communal john because they don't have indoor plumbing.

Huh?

After living in Shanghai for two years and now embarking on a third, the fact that Shanghai is a city of contrasts doesn't catch me off guard as often as it used to.

After all, within a one-block radius of my apartment in the French Concession area are a French restaurant, a hip wine bar, a market where you can get a live chicken killed on the spot or have your toads -- live again -- skinned for dinner, two or three chic dress boutiques, a store where you can buy fake sportswear (with brand names we all know and wear), an imported foods shop, a stand selling pirated DVDs, and at any given moment, a man with a bicycle cart hawking live chicks or ducks, paperback books, roasted chestnuts or flowers.

On the streets, Mercedes vie for room on the road with bicycle carts stacked sky-high with Styrofoam, wooden planks, water bottles and whatnot.

And at dawn, across the street from the tres posh Portman Ritz-Carlton hotel on Nanjing Road, older Chinese folks waltz on the sidewalk to music playing on a small boombox.

But that's the yin and yang of China, and on days when I try too hard to make sense of it all, I find myself standing dumbfounded on a street corner. It's better, I've found, simply to witness it. So on I go ... exploring the old lanes and wet markets with my camera, yakking with locals in my mediocre-but-hopefully-always-improving Mandarin, and when I'm feeling especially brave, trying to figure out how I fit into this crazy place.

Depending on how that goes, you might hear me saying one of two things to that good-looking Irishman of mine: "Geesh ... aren't we the luckiest people in the world?" or "Have we lost our bloody minds?"