The Bureau

When I used to live here, the varied and unpredictable social life was one of the main appeals of this crazy city. Aside from the fact that everything is cheaper so it's easier to go out five or six nights a week, new places open (and close) at such a phenomenal rate that there is always something new to try, and promoters are always shoving invitations and free treats at you to try and fill space in their new bar, restaurant, theme park, health spa or whatever.

Seems not much has changed in the four years since I left and so last night I found myself accompanying some friends to the opening of the Park Hyatt hotel in Pudong, currently the tallest hotel in the world. We arrived by car and were ushered down to the underground car park. Along the route there must have been twenty or thirty bored-looking parking attendants employed just to stand there holding a placard pointing towards our final destination (utterly pointless when you consider that we were on a sloping, one-way lane that could only have lead to the car park, but a perfect example of how cheap labour is here). When we arrived there were another ten or so parking attendants milling around to tell us which bay to park in. However, they weren't much use in directing us into the parking space, which was so tiny it took us eight attempts to reverse into it, despite the car being a standard-sized BMW. Having finally parked and edged our way out of the tiny space we were ushered upstairs to the lobby, and then mysteriously beckoned outside, where we stood waiting in the chilly evening air with a bunch of Shanghai's finest, all dressed up in mink coats and tuxedos. It turned out that we weren't allowed to just walk to the reception entrance; instead, each group had to wait for a chauffeur-driven merc to pick us up and drive us round the corner of the building so we would arrive at the red carpet in perfect order. Judging by the amount of time we had to wait I reckon they ought to have funnelled some of the parking attendant budget into the chauffeur one, or maybe there was a mercedes drought in the city that night.

So, all of thirty seconds after we got into the car, the chauffeur was opening my door and I was trying to clamber as gracefully out of the car as possible and then walk down the red carpet as nonchalantly as I could, bearing in mind that the only red carpet I've ever walked on was my mum's door mat. There were photographers taking pictures, we had to sign our names in a massive guest book and then we had to shake hands with at least twenty hotel managers with rictus grins. When we finally got inside there was another long wait for the elevator. I wish I'd timed how long it took us to get from the ground to the ninety-first floor, but all I remember is that my ears popped twice on the way up.

On the first level we found ourselves a booth and then sat there for an hour and a half while waiter after waiter brought round trays of delicious free food (of the lobster and foie gras variety) and champagne. There were several hundred guests at this event, which lasted from 7 until long after midnight. During that time no one paid for any of the food or drink. There were five open bars and four open kitchens, plus a free sushi bar with five chefs working non-stop. If you've been watching the TV show The Restaurant with Raymond Blanc you might remember that he recently berated a couple of restaurant owners for giving away too many free canapes at their opening event. I have no way of quantifying how much the event I attended cost the owners (bearing in mind that this was simply the 'soft' opening, and the main opening event hasn't even occurred yet) but I reckon you could run a small UK restaurant for at least six months on the budget for food alone. As for the drink, I hesitate to imagine how much free champagne and wine was consumed. Nothing was too much trouble, and when we got bored of wine they started bringing us free cocktails.

With all the consumption it was several hours before I even thought to go and look out of the window at the view. When I did it completely took my breath away. When I last visited here, merely three years ago, the Shanghai World Financial Centre, as the building that houses the Park Hyatt is called, had nothing beyond a foundation stone. The tallest building at the time was the Jin Mao tower, no dwarf at 370 metres tall. The first thing I saw when I looked out of the window of the 93rd floor bar was the top of the Jin Mao, quite far below my line of sight. The SWFC is apparently the second tallest building in the world, and I'm prepared to believe it, based on the lurch my stomach gave when I pressed my nose against the glass. When you look out over the Shanghai skyline, you can understand why Chinese people are often perplexed by the appeal of cities like London. If you take Canary Wharf and multiply it by 100, you still aren't close to visualising the appearance of this immense city. In terms of the sheer number of skyscrapers, Shanghai is hard to beat. It's as close to Bladerunner as you are going to get.


I was in the one in the middle, just under the big gap.

Surprisingly, I didn't see anyone else looking at the view the whole night. For the urban Shanghainese, being so close to the heavens is nothing new, and I suppose it isn't particularly cool to gawk like a tourist. I retreated to a booth with my friends, sipped another cosmopolitan and reflected on just how different life is here to back home.