Memoirs by the Bund
Pudong Shangri-La, East Shanghai
Weaving our way through leafy boulevards and narrow alleyways, we finally arrived at the magnificent Bund. I could not help but feel a little small with its grandiose line-up of art deco buildings, all brimming with history and yearning to be heard. For there by the river, they must have seen a thing or two in their lifetime. And, whilst we wanted to stay a while to soak up the splendour, something else enticed us that evening. Just across the glistening water, amidst the skyscrapers of Pudong, was our hotel, beckoning us back to its warm embrace.
Crystal chandeliers flooded the lobby with warmth, enveloping us the moment we arrived. Intricately sculptured columns of toffee-coloured marble soared three stories high, and an intriguing collection of artwork captivated without arresting the eye. The whole atmosphere was exceptionally pleasant, and awash with the calm one feels in the moments before sleep, we could not think of anywhere else on earth we would rather be.
Clad in a traditional Chinese cheung sam, the woman welcomed us with a heart-warming smile, and I found myself holding her gaze for just that moment longer. There was something about her that comforted me; her face was fresh, as if she was merely in her twenties, but somehow she seemed more mature and infinitely wiser. With a walk so gentle her feet hardly touched the ground, she whisked us up to the Horizon Club Lounge where we were settled in to our favourite suite so seamlessly we could barely recall it happening at all.
That night from our room, I gazed across the river at the buildings on the Bund, each one more magnificent than the next. Their soothing babel comforted me, all of them reciting their narratives at once, telling anyone who would listen, their life story. And listen I did, into the night, to tales of desire and virtue and Shanghai’s infamous love stories until my eyelids became heavy with a deep and slumberous contentment.
That night, with the Bund glittering alluringly across the river, there was something exhilarating in the air at Jade on 36. Every dish was masterminded as if there was a genius at the helm, and so immaculately presented they ought to have appeared in an art gallery rather than a restaurant. Fresh sea bass steamed with Lapsang Souchong tea, red radishes and cauliflower was the first masterpiece to arrive, delighting us all with a deliciousness that unfolded layer by delicate layer.
At Gui Hua Lou, a heavenly piquant and spicy Szechuan sauce lathered over succulent deep fried ribs stole the show with its flavour, so full of zest, it seemed fit for an Emperor. A luminous scattering of red chillis over the dish lured and seduced me with its promise of pleasure — that delightful burn verging on the edge of pain that sent me rushing with euphoria with every bite.
Despite the city at its doorstep, the spa exuded an exquisite tranquility as if one had found themselves in the depths of the Himalayan mountains. An extraordinary stillness in the air was flavoured only with the soft ringing of Tibetan bells, so faint that I was not sure whether I could hear them or I was merely feeling their presence. The calm of the Jade Foot Bath radiated all the way to my head, where every thought that had consumed my mind that day melted away like a lone snowflake at the break of dawn.
The smooth Jade stone kneaded my back with long firm strokes, taking with it a deep muscular ache that had resided there for months. Beyond its dark emerald green, the stone possessed a purity that must have rubbed off on me, literally, for when I left the spa that day, I felt immeasurably different, as if the Jade had brought about a spiritual healing, restoring me in body and soul.
