As the weather cools and summer gives way to fall, I’ve resumed my Metro adventures. First up was north terminus of Line 3 in the Land of Orange Taxis.
Along the way, passed some bizarre, Vegas-looking hotel (I think) at Baoyang with neo-classical architecture festooned with vaguely Assyrian gold griffins. Bares future investigation.
Now, some Metro lines end abruptly whereas others just sort of peter out. Line 3 is the latter sort.
I walked east along a tree-lined street. Behind the trees stood mile after mile of 50 foot plexiglass wall.
“They are really trying to keep people out,” David said.
“Or something in,” David replied, ominously.
But, per usual, my SF-saturated imagination had run away with me and the reality was disappointingly prosaic. From the vantage point of a highway overpass, it looks like behind the barrier there are just miles and miles of these warehouses in various shades of blue.
I hate gendered warehouses. I mean, only boys can play with blue warehouses now? Girls are relegated to play “dry clean” with the pink elephant at the Elephant King?
Get your shit together, Shanghai.
Previous terminus adventures can be found here, here, here, here, and here.
Shanghai taxi drivers are ranked on a scale from zero stars to five stars. The vast majority have zero stars.
