I grew up in a grand old house in the heart of Shanghai's French Concession. No one knows how old the place is, but it was probably built during the period of French occupation and eventually fell into the hands of a rich businessman. After he and his family fled to Hong Kong, the government divided the house into ten separate living spaces and gave them out to various families. This is how my family came to live in this place in 1959.
The house has been crumbling for as long as I can remember - the walls peel, the floors creak and the space under the floors is occupied by all sorts of random animals from wild rats to wild cats. The pipes freeze over in winter and sometimes the water stops. Despite this, it has a real charm to it that perhaps everyone attaches to their childhood home.
The original windows leading out to the deck
Spring is a beautiful season to be in Shanghai. The maple trees in the French Concession somehow escaped the exploding development of metropolitan Shanghai, standing stubbornly by the roadside as they have done for many decades.
Looking down the street near my house.
Alley near the German consulate on my street
I wonder who carved my street name on a tree?
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