Visit the Wenmiao Ghost Market in Shanghai, as it opens at 3am (Chris & Beth Meyers)

I left for Shanghai on June 2nd and was SO excited to take a Mandarin language class in the morning and check out the city. The trip itself was a mini personal dare, an idea to push my limits - new people, new food, new experiences, etc. Beth and Chris nudged me a little further to check out Wenmiao Ghost market at 3am and I couldn't wait.

I had never heard of this market, but with Google on my side... I found out a little more:

Ghost market, the literal translation of ‘Gui shi’ is a secondhand book sale held on Sundays. It’s located on Wenmiao Lu in the Confucius Temple, kicking off at 3am and shutting up shop at 5am. The name is partly due, of course, down to the spooky opening hours, but also because of the allegedly clandestine methods with which some of the books find their way into the stalls. Rumor has it that some of the rarer finds are stolen from libraries or even nicked from the collections of famous writers.

Thanks for finding this guys!

Well, I had every intention on fulfilling this dare, but even with the best intentions things do not always turn out as expected. And... here's the story...

Channeling the mindset of a twenty year old, I thought it would be easiest to go out dancing Saturday night until the market would open, and then cab it there. After some book browsing, I would return to the hotel to sleep and wake up for an early morning bus ride to Zhujiajiao.

With my fellow travelers in tow, we hit up a couple clubs - Shelter and Muse. It was a pretty regular type dance club night - dancing, chatting, sweating, drinking, repeat. Shelter was an amazing, cozy and hip converted bomb shelter with the cheapest drinks we could find in the French Concession.

We decided to move on to a more mainstream club, Muse. It was packed, and the smoke was so thick that I started crying within 5 minutes on walking in the door. I met an extremely inebriated local named Alan and few foreigners and got a good groove on.

I had been befriended by two Nigerian communications business men. Although Hennessy is one of my least favorite drinks, it was also free, which always bumps any drink to a very drinkable status. We chatted about some Nigerian music I like (Fela Kuti and Femi Kuti), but quickly my new friend changed the conversation to Beyonce. Apparently, he is a huge fan, because she is so hard working, as he repeated the fact that she works extremely hard several times. My fellow travelers decided to leave. I decided to stay and chat with the Nigerians until it was late enough to go to the Ghost Market. And then it got awkward...

One of my new friends asked about one of the girls. When I told him she had left and I had no way to contact her, he responded that he needed to go find a girl to "enjoy" tonight. Hmm...  I hoped something wholesome was being lost in translation, but I had a feeling that I need to clarify something. I turned back to the remaining friend. After a short awkward exchange, our misunderstanding was made clear. The free drinks ended, we shook hands, and I passed Alan, still inebriated, on the way out. Finding a cab at 3am never felt so good... and wholesome...

In the cab, I could not help but laugh at the way the night went and started to get excited about browsing the book market with a slight Hennessy buzz and hot clubbing outfit. Watch out Shanghai! Or is it watch out Courtney? 

My cab twisted through tiny city streets that became more and more desolate. I noticed that I was not seeing other traffic and started to wonder where I would end up. I became a little concerned about how to find a cab to take home after I was done. I became VERY concerned when my driver backed down the street. I can only assume from my cultural reference of Dorchester that when a cab driver backs down a street, this is not a place I need to be, particularly in the middle of the night. We backed up to the spot... and there was no book market. There was nothing, just the closed temple! A few people were straggling down the street, but they did not look like the literary type to me.

Where were the books!?  

How do I tell the cabbie, "abort, abort, take me home!"?

If you ever find yourself in this situation and unable to speak the language, here is my advice:

1. Put a look of concern on your face with an accentuated frown.
2. Look left to right with your eyes only, no neck movement.
3. Start a make low, uneasy, rumbling moan.
4. Repeat steps 1 through 3 while finding the written address to another location to show the driver.

Beth and Chris, I failed, but I tried. In my attempt to accomplish your dare, I found an appreciation for traveling in numbers. I can be independent, but do not have to go it alone (and probably shouldn't).

You are welcome to give me back up dare.

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