24th April 2010

As has now become tradition, I rise early and left Sue to enjoy her beauty sleep while I trotted off to the Crowne Plaza for a quiet breakfast and the Shanghai Times. Crossword completed (with only minimal cheating), I return to find Sue mid-toast and deep in conversation with fellow guests.

It was a warm, sunny morning, ideal for a little adventuring, so we caught the shuttle bus to the market, planning to visit the Shanghai Science and Technology Museum afterwards.

The bus was rammed with locals and tourists alike. It stopped approximately every twenty feet to collect more souls, turning a short hop into a scenic crawl. Still, we eventually arrived at the market, which was enormous, teeming, and gloriously chaotic. We wandered among the stalls haggling for presents, employing our tried-and-tested “Good Cop, Tight-Fisted Husband” routine. Sue would ask the price while I loitered nearby, looking disinterested. Upon hearing the quote, I’d loudly declare I wasn’t paying that much and begin to walk off. Cue the vendor halving the price. I’d decline again, and Sue would sigh theatrically and start to walk with me. That’s when the true bargaining began, usually accompanied by a mix of pleading, wailing, and occasional muttering in Mandarin. You know you’ve got the best price when they swear at you after the cash changes hands.

Post-shopping triumphs called for lunch, and we opted for pizza at a charming spot named Mary’s Kitchen. Fuelled and content, we wandered over to the Science and Technology Museum, an impressively futuristic glass structure near Century Park.

As we approached the plaza, a Chinese policeman stopped us. Pointing at me, he insisted I must be over 70 and therefore entitled to free entry. Before I could protest, he marched us to the front of the lengthy queue like a VIP escort. The girl at the kiosk asked my age (again), and when I said 57, she frowned, looked at me sympathetically, and flat-out refused my money, insisting I go in free anyway. I did consider racing her to prove my youthfulness, but thought better of it. The policeman then gallantly offered me his arm and helped me up the steps like I was a fragile porcelain relic from the Qing Dynasty. Sue, of course, was beside herself with laughter.

This confirmed a growing suspicion: Chinese people either think I’m a national treasure or have zero ability to judge the age of European men. What I’d assumed was deference to my diplomatic or film star aura was in fact just… pity. On the plus side, I resolved to shave the beard and buy anti-ageing cream immediately upon return to Britain.

Despite the unintended pensioner perks, I highly recommend a visit to the Science and Technology Museum. It’s enormous and packed with fascinating exhibits; we stayed until they physically threw us out at 5:30 pm. For £5 (or free, if you’re “ancient”), it’s superb value. Sadly, we missed out on the IMAX 4D film, but what we saw more than made up for it.

We caught the 6:20 pm shuttle back to the Ibis. On the way, my phone rang, it was Virgin. We’d been offered a standby flight the next morning at 6:30 am. You’d think we’d be thrilled, but oddly, we were both disappointed. We were rather enjoying our accidental holiday extension and had planned all sorts of adventures.

Later that evening, Virgin called again to say we now had a confirmed flight, departing via Hong Kong, and didn’t need to be at the airport until 7:00 am. That settled it. We couldn’t refuse a guaranteed seat without forfeiting our return entirely, so we reluctantly accepted. We shared the news with our fellow stranded souls in the foyer, then headed out for a melancholy dinner in Pudong. Funny how quickly one goes from frustrated to reluctant-to-leave.

Back at the Ibis, we ended our final night chatting in the foyer. Unfortunately, Mr Loud Scot turned up, previously spotted terrorising the hotel staff with his booming complaints. He was travelling with his perfectly lovely (and noticeably quieter) wife. He proudly told us he’d turned down the same standby offer as us, preferring a confirmed flight on the 30th. Perhaps he just didn’t fancy lugging his tantrums to the airport unnecessarily.

25th April 2010
We woke early, had breakfast, and checked out of the Ibis with heavy hearts. Our taxi arrived promptly, and by 6:30 am, we were at the airport.

It was heaving. Queues snaked everywhere, but within minutes, a Virgin staff member had spotted us, took our details, and told us to go and enjoy a coffee upstairs, promising to call us back by 8:00 am. We obediently followed orders, secretly hoping that we wouldn’t be flying and could sneak back to the hotel for a few more dumplings and museums.

At 7:45 am, we returned, and while I kept an eye on the luggage, a Chinese Virgin staffer approached Sue. She quietly told her that we’d been put on the priority list, because, looking at me, she “didn’t think I could cope with a 9-hour transfer in Hong Kong.” I swear, one more age-related comment and I was going to start handing out copies of my birth certificate.

Still, we were quickly processed, given boarding passes, and even awarded a window seat. An hour later, we were airborne.

And now… we’re home. Somewhat anticlimactic, to be honest.

Afterthought:
It may, in fact, be a great strategic advantage to Britain that the Chinese can’t accurately judge the age of European men. This tiny flaw may one day bring their master plans crashing down. I propose our government fund free package holidays to Shanghai for surplus pensioners, who will be treated with reverence, discounts, and free museum entry, thus saving the British taxpayer millions in care and entertainment.

Now, where’s that anti-wrinkle cream?