May 7

Flew into the shiny new Shanghai airport, across the river from Shanghai proper in what was, until 20 years ago, villages and rice paddies in an area called Pudong. Was met by my friend Nancy's driver, an eager guy named Kevin, who took me to her apartment, also in Pudong but about 45 minutes away. Nancy's a writer, so to have a driver is above her station in life as it would be above mine; but her partner is a high-level exec with an American firm. Many of the ex-pats have drivers, because it's cheaper for their companies to supply them than to deal with an unwritten but iron-clad reality of Shanghai traffic law: in the case of an accident, a foreign driver is always wrong. And this despite the other reality, that cars are wielded as weapons here. Of course, so are motorscooters and bikes.

Nancy lives on a high floor in a building right on the river in Pudong. From the windows you can watch the river traffic on the Wangpu. Boats and barges go upriver in the morning, come back down in the afternoon. Occasionally you can hear a deep horn, though if river traffic is anything like car traffic it's less foghorn and more get-out-of-my-way-ya-damn-ferryboat. My bedroom has an antique Chinese bed, red lacquer with a canopy. Unbelievably comfortable. Tomorrow, with some other friends, a walking tour.