I’ve been in Shanghai for 24 hours and have gotten 14 mosquito bites. Yes, fourteen. I counted them. There are three other people in the household and no one else has gotten a single mosquito bite. Must be my sweet, sweet Californian blood. I’m pretty sure it was just 2-3 mosquitoes that feasted on me, one of which was killed in the car by my sister, my blood staining her hands as she made contact.
It was 90 degrees when I arrived last night. The heat was palpable as soon as I stepped off the plane. The worst part is the humidity. Suffocating is too strong a word to describe it though everything else seems too mild.
I left Shanghai in early Spring, with an impression of the bone-chilling winter embedded in my mind. I had forgotten about the sticky summers. I start sweating within seconds of stepping out of the shower. My hair is a wild, wavy mess. I open the windows wide to welcome a cooling breeze and find only the heavy heat, pressing into me.
I should feel drowsy combating both the heat and jet lag, yet I feel restless. I can’t wait to go out and explore, to reconnect with the city.
It’s been 24 hours. I couldn’t be happier.