Shanghai | turnSTYLE: Francine Martin, Shanghai Savant

turn·stile –noun
1. a structure of four horizontally revolving arms pivoted atop a post and set in a gateway or opening in a fence to allow the controlled passage of people.


turn·STYLE - noun
1. Justina's snapshot profiles of cool people in Shanghai who are creating and defining China style.


Let's just face it. There are some people who are cooler than we can ever dream to be. Those who ooze style and hipness, regardless of age, regardles of what's "in," regardless of what magazines deem beautiful and au currant. Even more impressive are those hipsters who can be chic even while wearing Naots. (Which are kissing cousins of Birkenstocks, yes?)

See, chic?

Meet Francine Martin, woman of many talents beyond being effortlessly cool: editor, model, professional expat, and Shanghai's most savvy savant who knows the ins and outs of what's hot and hopping in our city shops. After making her home in Asia for the last 25 years, she's sharing her vast insider info

with discriminating shoppers via her East of the Sun treasure-finding excursions.

I had to meet the woman herself after reading about Francine in a recent round-up of the Shanghai shopping scene in The New Yorker. As Patty Marx wrote in her article:

"The tailor whipped up a snappy little dress to Mai’s specifications and delivered
it to my hotel three days later. I wore it to an appointment with Francine
Martin, an American who leads shopping tours of Shanghai, to sites recondite and
renowned (www.eastofthesun-asia.com). “Thirty-three dollars?”she said. “Very
nice, but one should never pay more than twenty dollars for a simple custom-made
dress.” (Stall 237 also makes men’s shirts of Egyptian cotton for $15, but Martin probably knows where they can be had for $10.)"

If Chris Buckley (Shanghai turnSTYLE, volume 1, September 12) is right, and we're all collectors of something or another in Shanghai, then Francine's the kind of person I want to collect in my life: she's smart and creative and curious. Full of life. And adventurous. Way adventurous. She's the woman I'd beeline to at a cocktail party simply because of the way she carries herself. In an instant, I'd know: this is a woman who has a story to tell!

Am I right or am I right?

Francine doesn't just live in Shanghai. She lives in the Old Town of Shanghai, calling home one of the historic lilongs. After meeting me at the entrance of her lilong, Francine took me on a quick walking tour of its alleys, pointing out the art deco and traditional features of the buildings. (Families used to have their names carved above their doors.) She simply could not help but share the beauty of her neighborhood.

We took two steps--not even enough time for me to grab my notebook and pen!--before she introduced me to the lifeblood of her neighborhood: the communal sinks (many people don't have running water),


the neighborhood dumpling guy,
the rice vendor outside her door.


And then, welcome to my idea of nirvana: Francine's well-curated abode.




All the details in her home captured her traveling and treasure-spotting spirit--from her collection of delicate teapots to the outdoor courtyard. Where, incidentally, she had set the most charming spread of pastries and tea. I was so touched. And felt so taken care of, which I think must be one of the key reasons why Francine excels at what she does. She makes you feel cherished and assured that you are getting the best of the best.

And that's why (I have to admit) I read her ming pian (business card) and shook my head: "Francine, you aren't a personal shopper. This is just wrong." I can be so rude, can't I? But I felt like I had been catching up with a longtime girlfriend, and we girlfriends are nothing if not honest with each other.

Her eyes gleamed--thankfully in agreement. "I put together creative outings, that's really what I do. I get a vicarious pleasure from giving people an experience or showing them an item they had no idea existed in the world."

Whether you're a knitting aficianado on the lookout for the finest cashmere yarn or an eco-traveler who yearns for a foldable bicycle, Francine is the one to call. (Those people have, in fact, called on Francine.) She's got the research chops from years of being an editor (that's called fact-checking for people not in publishing!). And she's got the connections from living here for decades. And best of all, she's got the negotiating chops. I was so relieved when she eyed my purse, and after I told her what I paid for it, she nodded approvingly: "I'd say you did very well."

What would I say to that? I'd say that I would entrust my own mom and mother-in-law and my best girlfriends with Francine. I would give them time with Francine as a gift. And that is high praise.



Coordinates:
Francine Martin
East of the Sun
http://www.eastofthesun-asia.com/
francine@eastofthesun-asia.com

Shanghai | turnSTYLE: Chris Buckley

turn·stile –noun
1. a structure of four horizontally revolving arms pivoted atop a post and set in a gateway or opening in a fence to allow the controlled passage of people.

turn·STYLE - noun

1. Justina's snapshot profiles of cool people in Shanghai who are creating and defining China style.

Serendipity rules my writing. When I need information, it mysteriously appears. I flip open a book and find the one fact that I am missing. Or I encounter experts with the knowledge that I am missing. (The latter happens more often than I care to admit given my vast ignorance on so many subjects.)

That's why it's so apropos to kick off my new blog column Shanghai turnSTYLE with Chris Buckley, purveyor and designer of Tibetan rugs. The novel I'm writing right now features a weaver. I know nothing about rug weaving, but I needed a crash course. Fast.

Serendipity brought me to Chris, an expat who's made his life here in China since 1995. There I was, browsing the web for information about Tibetan weaving when I happened on Chris's website for his rug boutique, Torana House. His shop happens to be ensconced in my favorite neighborhood within Shanghai. On my favorite street. And featured on his website is the very rug that I had been picturing in my head as I've been writing. Coincidence? Or fate. If you are to believe my new novel, there is no such thing as coincidence.

Chris embodies new design in China: east, reimagined. Rather than slavish replicas of traditional Tibetan designs, Chris' designs pay homage to the old, yet makes them relevant for today's taste.

"All of us in Shanghai are collectors of some sort," Chris told me.

That's true, I think, of the expat community in particular. All these professional expats I've met over the last three weeks go from one international assignment to another. What are they but collectors of experiences. They thrive on the new and different and adventurous.

What I found the most inspiring about Chris is that his mission with Tibetan rugs supercedes merely making a living at something he loves: textiles of all kinds. But that through his passion for collecting, he is using his livelihood to archive culture. To keep it alive. Something like 99% of Tibetan rugs today are actually produced in Nepal or India. By employing an entire village in Tibet and retraining them on the ancient craft that their ancestors pioneered, he is preserving a craft in partnership with them. That includes eschewing synthetic dyes where possible and creating the organic from techiques that are getting lost: developing colors with the raw materials of the land. Madder, Tibetan rhubarb, lichen. Fermenting them for days. Documenting this process in writing so that this craft is not lost forever.

I love that. People helping people. Preserving culture. Moving craft forward. Finding your passion. Embracing the serendipity of one trip to Tibet to change his career from product designer to textile designer.

And I love how one of Chris' favorite rugs is called "FIRE." That perfectly captures the energy that is Shanghai today: this city is alive. Its creativity is on fire.

Directionally Challenged in Shanghai

Every so often, it's wise to take a good hard look at your strengths and weaknesses. To figure out what you know and what you don't. What you need to work on...what you won't.

For me, that statement would look something like this:

Baking, yes; Cooking, no. (There is a difference. One is science; the other, art.)
Yoga, yes; Basketball, no.
Geocaching, yes; Map-reading, no.

It is rather ironic that my next novel is about a mapmaker's daughter, given how directionally challenged I am. So yesterday, I interviewed the wonderful Tibetan rug designer, Chris Buckley of Torana House, over a lovely lunch at Just Grapes. We happened on the four (young, hip, gorgeous) owners having lunch at the same time.

Our conversation didn't stop. Afterwards, I decided, heck, I should attend his lecture tonight at the Royal Asian Society. Riding the subway by myself for the first time without my husband guide-dogging me was actually easy. It was getting OFF the subway that was the problem.


Do I head this way?




Or thataway? (Amazingly, someone from Hong Kong stopped to ask ME for directions. Now, talk about clueless. Ha!) A quick note about directions. In the U.S., we say NORTHwest, SOUTHeast. Here in China, we say WESTnorth. EASTsouth. This does not help me.

The street signs did not help either.
After much meandering and mapreading, I finally made it to the FLOR headquarters where the lecture was being held. I was so excited to recognize the cool FLOR product that I installed in our Seattle home. Chris' lecture was as fantastic and dynamic as tonight's surroundings. The information he shared gave me so many ideas for my new novel. MORE on Chris in a separate blog.

Anyway, my son and daughter experienced the same level of euphoria I did--not about Tibetan textiles. But because we learned that we did not have to have the rabies vaccination for our upcoming trip to Dunhuang.

We celebrated by taking the kiddos out to their first xican (Western) food since we moved to Shanghai: California Pizza Kitchen. This CPK virtually didn't share any resemblance to the CPKs of the U.S.--from its pricier menu to its swanky ambiance to the food itself. (Even the presentation was beautiful!)


As for me, I love getting lost in the French Concession (yes, the area of Shanghai where I wish we lived).

The thing is, when you're traveling around with a friend--as I was with my new buddy, Heather--you're only lost in conversation. Because how can you count yourselves really lost anyway when you find an adorable purse shop like this?

See? Don't you want to live in the French Concession, too? The purse shop, incidentally, is on Ferguson Lane.

And at last! To keep me from feeling lost in the kitchen, I have found a lovely woman to help me out a few days a week. Meet Su (the beloved one being hugged in the middle between me and Lisa, Ms. Connected in Shanghai who called me about Su). I am surrounded by angels who are working overtime to keep me on the right (write?) path.



I'm writing. I really am! I finished another chapter today. And that, folks, is a Big Yes.

EWWW...and YAY: a cacophany of emotions

First, the EWWW.

Over the weekend, one of my friends asked me what surprised me most about living in Shanghai.

The wanton spitting may be right near the top of my list. When you hear that telltale, explosive throat-rattling sound that old guys must have spent the better part of their lives perfecting, Hide Your Bare Toes. (Please notice that I have not taken any pictures of spitting.)

Then there are the toilets. On the evolutionary spectrum of toilet development, Japan ranks at the very top what with their fancy features: seat warmers, automatic lid closers, rear end washers... Let's just say that certain other countries are not quite as developmentally advanced. (Please notice that I have not taken any pictures of squat toilets.)

However. Nothing bums me out more than when I see tourists acting as, well, ugly Americans. You know the type: loud, demanding, intolerant, judgmental. The ones who make rude comments out loud, in public. As if everyone was in agreement. Imagine meeting someone who's lived in Asia for well over a decade who proudly declares that she hasn't yet learned the language. That her ayi--live-in help--"knows her place." That Chinese people aren't clean. (One does wonder if she is the only person in all of Shanghai who hasn't automatically assumed that I have lived here my entire life.)

Please. Everyone, now. Repeat after me: EWWWW.

(Okay, okay, I recognize the glaring irony here since I myself am now being LOUD, demanding, intolerant as well as judgmental about said person. However. EWWW. Right?)

And now for the YAYs!

YAY 1: I rewrote an entire chapter today after my 4-month writing hiatus. Anita Silvey--she of the amazing 100 Best Books for Children and former Horn Book editor--assured me that I'd be able to write again. While the words didn't exactly flow this morning, they at least trickled. And that, let me tell you, is a relief.

To be honest, I needed a break from writing and from the publishing world. Break time is officially over and I'm thrilled.

YAY 2: Chris Buckley, purveyor of Tibetan rugs, is going to let me interview him next week when he swings in from Beijing! I love how writing delivers unexpected, interesting people to me. I love how people have found their passions in areas that are completely foreign to me.

YAY 3: My new friend Yucca just delivered a red bean mooncake to me after I mentioned that I was craving one! Mooncakes are big business here in Shanghai.

From Haagen Dazs to Starbucks to mom and pop stores, everyone seems to be pushing their personal brand of these traditional desserts that are eaten during the Mid-Autumn Festival, celebrating the full, fat moon and reuniting families. (Yo, publishers who rejected my picture book of the Moon Festival years ago, you are missing out on a HUGE market.)

Of course, mooncakes are nothing but bundles of coronaries waiting to implode your body; you don't even want to know what they stuff in these delicacies. Acquired delicacies. One of my old boyfriends gagged on a mooncake that I lovingly gave him (it was a personal sacrifice to give him my beloved mooncakes). And what did he do? He looked at me accusingly: Are you trying to poison me?

Nah, that would have been with these delicacies which give raw food a whole new meaning.