By Angela Yuan
　　It’s Sunday, and the February weather has finally cleared up. You decide to take a walk to the flower market on Shaanxi Lu. Strolling through the aisles, you breathe in the aroma of fresh cut hydrangeas and day lilies. Rejuvenated, you walk further south down Shanxi and turn left on Shaoxing Lu, Shanghai’s old printing press street where pre-liberation brick buildings line up behind plane trees. A five-minute walk brings you to the old China Hand Reading Room.
　　Pipes are spread out on an opium bed. An old batik spinning sits in another room with fabric samples. Minority clothing and colorful handbags fill one space, while antique beds and furniture are displayed in others. Erh says he collected all these artifacts “by accident”: He started picking up pieces as he traveled throughout China, and 10 years later a whole museum had accumulated.
　　One is thankful after visiting the café and the farmhouse for a glimpse into a country that is barely recognizable today. It is equally comforting to know that Shanghai itself is full of pockets (albeit crammed against high-rises) of culture that push itself up out of the modern world.

《Shanghai Talk》 1997.9