The so-called English part of Shanghai is a maze of lanes with paving stones and crooked houses all connected to one another. There are overhanging balconies that look medieval. Dingy laundry is strung everywhere, and bikes and carts vie for space on the street. The pavement seems an extension of the home and little old ladies simmer eggs in soy sauce on pavement braziers while children play with firecrackers. I feel like I am walking through a Dickensian China.
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