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Hong Kong's recent stumbles--recession, deflating land and share prices--don't necessarily advance Shanghai's ambition. The regionwide economic crisis has already had its impact on the twin banks of the Huangpu: investment from South Korea has dried up, and private building projects are being canceled or delayed. More than 50 foreign financial institutions have set up shop in Pudong, but China's maze of regulations still prevents them from doing much business. Many of the city's new structures are half-empty. The official line is that Shanghai has been built for future expansion, as a parent might buy clothes for a growing child a size too large. It's a spurious argument: unlike larger trousers, hundreds of extra skyscrapers are a drag on the pocketbook, and a real estate glut ruins business for everyone in the market, a detail overlooked by the communist planners. (Commercial real estate prices are 62% lower than two years back.) "The Shanghainese are very good at building all the stuff up," says a Western diplomat, "but so far there's not much going on inside."
Tearing things down has also been a compulsion of today's Shanghai: entire neighborhoods have vanished along with countless landmarks from the past. Of the legendary Old Shanghai, only echoes and scattered artifacts survive. The famous 30-m Long Bar at the Shanghai Club, a rendezvous for secret agents and Ladies From Shanghai between the world wars, was reputed to be the lengthiest bar in the world. Mao dismantled it and turned the club into a seamen's hostel; prosperity has failed to bring it back. In the Long Bar's place sprouted a Kentucky Fried Chicken outlet blowing grease into the hostel lobby. The Russian Orthodox Mission Church, a 67-year-old structure with three blue domes, later housed a securities firm on the ground floor and a disco (the St. Peter's Club) under its main dome. One of the quintessential sites of Old Shanghai was The Great World, a kind of funhouse for extremely worldly adults. Hollywood producer Josef von Sternberg visited in the 1930s to find six floors packed with gambling tables, magicians, slot machines, acrobats and midwives. There were call girls on each floor, their dress more daring with each flight you climbed. (There was also a spot on the roof where despondent gamblers could end it all with one final leap.) The Great World is still in business, its staircases tellingly worn, but few visitors pay to see its pale attractions:
a Guinness Book of Records display, a kung fu movie and a rock singer in a silk shirt, receiving excited applause from crewcutted yokels in from the countryside.
Today's Shanghai offers most of the old pleasures, but in new forms. The bawd business is done in night clubs and karaoke bars. Down-and-out gamblers in the real estate market will be able to leap from giant, empty skyscrapers. Shanghai is an experiment altogether grand, risky, on the edge: qualities that have served the city in the past. Whether it succeeds on its own is but the first question. More momentous: Will resurgent China gain what every truly great country needs, an international metropolis? Deng Xiaoping knew how important that could be, and it prompted his public musing of 1992: What if he had started sooner on Shanghai? Only a decade was lost, so Shanghai still has a chance to make its role in China's future as golden as it was in China's past.
With reporting by Jaime A. FlorCruz/Shanghai
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