The Shanghai immigration officer briskly stamps my passport, smiles and presses a button. A panel on the counter lights up, inviting me to rate his service. I press “Very Satisfied” like others did before me. Perhaps he smiles and moves fast only for the sake of the rating; perhaps he is intrinsically grumpy and slow; but perhaps that is the point.
Outside, another smiling Chinese drives me to the city. He is keen to share knowledge about Shanghai and I’m keen to imbibe it, but we make little headway.
“Pledges,” he says, nodding and pointing vaguely to the left, “Hangpu pledge, Nanpu pledge… many pledges.”
I’m thinking pledges are ancient Buddhist teachings by venerable monks. I conjure up an image of a Buddhist temple, with sacred shrines amidst quiet green lawns and shady trees. Closing my eyes, I can almost smell the incense…
“Pledge!” the driver cries.
I look to where he points. A modern structure looms over the river.
“Bridge!” I say.
