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【瑞士留華校友撰文第二輯(五)】我于1985-1986年在上海的經歷

2018-11-13

白岱玉

  Prof. Dr. DariaBerg(白岱玉),圣加侖大學中國文化與社會專業教授。白岱玉教授發表過諸多關于中國文學、媒體和文化歷史等方面的文獻。她最新的專題著作《早期現代中國的女性與文學世界,1580-1700年》在國際亞洲研究學者大會所設的圖書獎項中摘得“2015專家出版榮譽獎。她與Giorgio Strafella共同撰寫的文章網紅的養成韓寒博客評析獲得“2015弗美爾最佳文章獎。目前白岱玉教授正致力于當代中國城市文化的探索,其中涉及新數字媒體、文學、藝術、性別以及視聽文化和網絡文化

  1985年是上海歷史上一個魔幻時刻:一如童話里的睡美人,這座城市似乎也長眠初醒。毛主席卸任和文革結束之后,中國與國際貿易和旅游業重新接軌,無論在商業、旅游還是文化交流方面,上海幾乎已經重返國際大都市的地位。上世紀80年代初期,鄧小平改革開放的初期,上海便不斷努力使自己再次成為潮流引領者和政治、經濟與文化時尚的先鋒。這個城市將作為貿易、文化和消費主義的中心,推動中國成為新興的超級大國,迎接絢麗的明天。

  對于我這樣年輕的歐洲留學生而言,中國神秘而富有挑戰。毛主席去世、文革結束還不到十年,彼時那個極其封閉的中國,如今正向西方敞開大門。我從前對于中國的了解,僅源于小說和博物館。當時在慕尼黑舉辦的幾次中國展,為我打開了一個新世界,這個世界就像是阿里巴巴發現的山洞一般充滿奇珍異寶──精美絕倫的畫作、書法,中國漢字的書寫看上去就像是密碼,帝國的遺產和宏偉的文明,茶香和異國的果香,絲綢和錦緞的誘惑。西方人對中國的印象除此之外,還有天安門廣場上壯觀的游行和紅色旗幟的海洋,黑頭發的人們揮舞著雙手,看起來像是毛主席創造的新人類的縮影。

  在上世紀80年代早期,中國的新舵手鄧小平努力扭轉文化大革命,招引外商貿易和投資,還向西方游客和學生開啟了中國的國門。中國成為一個我們需要學著去解讀的新興全球經貿強國。新一代大學生擔當著引領中西方文化交流的責任──我也是其中一員,我們肩負著開拓性的使命,走向我們熟悉的世界的邊際,走近偉大中華文明的心臟,也就是古代幾千年來被中國人民奉為世界文明中心的地方。在這兒,我們經歷了一次前所未有的大規模的經濟實踐和社會實踐,見證了中國如何開始變成超級大國。

  1983年,由于癡迷于中國文化的神奇,我開始就讀 于慕尼黑大學中文系。阿里巴巴山洞的鑰匙,我想就是閱 讀中文書籍的能力。大學頭兩年的學習,我沉浸于閱讀中 國古文和現代漢語以及三千年的中國文化史。在此之后,我在波恩參加了由中德政府聯合啟動的,很受歡迎的赴華留學獎學金競賽。當取得勝利時,我很激動,也充滿了活力。幾個入選的學生聚集在波恩的德意志學術交流中心 (DAAD)總部,申請去中國各地的大學。不久我們就將體 驗到中國官僚體制的動態。我的首選是北京,卻被派去上 海的復旦大學。

  我對上海的了解來自于有關1930年代的小說──東方明珠、東方妓女,一座聚集各國人口的國際大都市,擁有現代的各種早期標志:摩天大樓、爵士樂俱樂部、咖啡館、賽馬場、餐廳……而當飛機接近上海機場準備著陸的那一刻,我對眼前的景象大失所望。飛機下面看到的都是農田、菜地、小棚屋、土坡路和自行車。機場里有一棟又小又破敗的建筑,沒有空調,沒有霓虹燈或是豪華的設備,地面上也看不到任何大都市的跡象。我們滿懷顧慮地踏上了去往大學校園的汽車。

  當時的復旦大學是中國最頂尖的兩所大學之一。它與北京大學被稱為“中國的牛津與劍橋”,是培養未來中國社會、文化和政治等各領域人才的溫床。公交車從城市中心向北行駛了一個小時,我們來到了主校區,那兒一座巨大的、灰色的毛主席像親切地向我們招手表示歡迎。主校區紅磚屋頂、灰白外墻的宿舍樓里住著中國學生,每間宿舍立著四架雙層床,擠著八個學生,每個床鋪靠墻邊都有一排齊齊整整的學習用書。

  而提供給我們這些外國留學生的,卻是一棟嶄新的宿舍樓,矗立于校園之外、圍著洋灰墻的封閉衛星校區。我們有自己的餐廳,伙食比主校區的中國學生食堂稍優等些。熱水每天限時供應兩次。和其他中國校友以及城里居民相比,我們的住處是十分豪華的。中國人習慣性地將長江視為寒冷的北方和亞熱帶氣候的南方的分界。我們這些外國留學生的宿舍里有暖氣,這在“江南”地區是十分罕見的。我們還可以選擇一個人住或是和一個中國學生一起住。政治和國際關系院系挑了些中國學生和我們這些外國留學生一起住在衛星校區。他們成了我們的第一批中國朋友。

  學生到國外留學是中國一項歷史悠久的傳統。20世紀20年代,鄧小平便被公派到法國留學。然而在毛主席任職的這數十年間,在中國很少見到外國留學生。我們作為在改革開放時期被邀請到中國留學的新一代國際學生,無論是在城市還是鄉村都是十分罕見的。大多數中國人以前從未見過外國人。成百上千的人們把我們圍在大圈里,盯著我們的金頭發、藍眼睛、高鼻子看。無論在公交車上、劇院里或是參加聚會,身后總有人想拔我一根金頭發帶回家當作紀念。

  上海就像是灰舊建筑的海洋。全新的摩天大樓在腐舊的老宅旁邊拔地而起,建筑過程中,它們周圍搭著竹竿制成的腳手架,裹著黃麻布,就像不斷繁衍的蘑菇,幢幢高聳入云。難以想象他們要把這座城市變成什么樣子。

  從上海北城的復旦大學到外灘的街道上,無數雙線、三線行車道在延伸、擴張。白天,路上總有無數的自行車;晚上,街道卻十分空曠。街道上偶爾還能看到豪華的出租車到處載著高級黨政干部和外國人。那時還沒有地鐵,公共交通只有些搖搖欲墜的老式巴士。這些巴士總是被油煙包圍,里面聚集著沙丁魚般擁擠的人群。那些寬闊而空曠的高速公路看得我們眼花繚亂。晚上,外國駐華領事館舉辦的聚會結束后,我們會緊挨著彼此六個一排騎自行車回家。我們邊騎邊聊天,放聲高歌,享受回學校路上空曠的街道。那時,我們沒人能預料到如今上海的街道近乎水泄不通。

  上海的市民看起來就像是一支軍隊,夏天穿著藍白色的服裝,冬天穿著藍色、棕色與綠色的服裝。他們主要的交通方式有自行車、公交和步行。時髦的年輕男子會燙個頭發,女孩子偶爾才會穿帶紅點點的短裙。我們的口紅、妝容和時尚的首飾在他們眼里簡直就是天外來客。

  炎熱的夏天轉眼之間就變成了大霧彌漫的秋天和漫天冰雪的冬天。我們不久就習慣了穿著大衣、蓋著鴨絨毯、坐在枕頭上,在冬天寒冷的教室里抵抗嚴寒。我們開始用周末和假期的時間旅行。從暖和得像天堂般的海南島,到西雙版納湄公河周圍的叢林;從昆明—西南地區的“春城”,到桂林的甘蔗山;從南下酷熱的廣州,到北面的北京和青島,中國的每一個角落我們都探索過。并非所有地區都向外國游客開放。旅行的過程中,我們不僅在漫長的硬座、硬臥列車旅途中學會了中文聊天,更了解到了教室里不可能學到的中國文化。我們抿著茶、磕著瓜子、和我們新結交的中國朋友打著牌。

  作為中國的外國學生,我們持有中國學生證。他們允許我們使用當地的貨幣──人民幣,而其他外國人都必須使用外匯兌換券(FEC),這些鈔票有粉色、黃色、藍色和綠色,看起來就像是“地產大亨”游戲里的道具。外國人做交易都必須用外幣兌換券。有些指定的酒店和友誼商店規定必須使用外幣兌換券,這些場所僅對外國人開放,中國人只能在外國人陪同下進入。

  外灘和平飯店里著名的爵士樂俱樂部也是如此。他們都是從消失已久的國民黨時代幸存下來的八旬老人,專業的爵士樂師。和平飯店的爵士樂酒吧是少數幾個提供舞池、紅酒、啤酒和咖啡的場所,每晚都觀者如堵。

  憑著中國學生證,我們還可以住在對當地游客開放的旅館里,而不是那些僅對外國人開放的酒店。這使我們與當地人更加親近了,我們坐在一起吃飯,分享每天的行程計劃。我到訪過杭州西湖──西湖自古代帝王時期便被士大夫們譽為“人間天堂”,見識過蘇州的運河,也去了南京,看過西安的秦陵兵馬俑。中國古都開封的街頭藝術節,讓我們看到了古代生活的點滴,使我們多少能想象出宋朝中國的樣貌。我祭拜了位于山東省的孔子墓,還攀登了神圣的泰山,在山頂過了一夜,只為能欣賞到旭日東升的美景。在從青島返回上海的船上,我們回答了同行的中國游客提出的成千上萬的問題。

  回到學校后,我們結交了新的朋友,互助交換著語言課和詩歌會;我們看中文的莎士比亞戲劇,聽中國音樂會和西方古典音樂會。一年后,當我們離開上海時,我感到了自己的成長和成熟,上海已然成為我心中的第二故鄉。

  自1985年至今,中國在經濟方面勢如破竹的進步實在是令人驚愕。多年后每當我回到中國時,對原來的地方幾乎無法辨認。致瓏餐廳還在外灘和平飯店八樓這個吉祥的層數上,但原本不透氣的內部裝修已經被超現代的魅力取代。當我還是學生的時候,從致瓏餐廳東邊的窗戶看出去,能看到外灘、黃浦江和平原到海邊之間有不少放牧的動物,還有零星的幾間小棚屋分散在周圍。現在浦江彼岸的浦東,超現代的摩天大樓鋪滿了天際線。那些耀眼的玻璃幕墻的高樓大廈采用了未來主義設計,“東方明珠”成為了上海新紀元的標志物,使曾被殖民統治的外灘一岸黯然失色──外灘見證了上海漫長、多彩而又動蕩的歷史。我十分感激德國和中國政府給我提供了金額最高的一項獎學金,使我有幸目睹了中國對西方開放的十字路口階段。我為這座城市鼓掌,也為上海人鼓掌,是他們的不斷付出,使上海成為世界上最迷人的地方之一。

MY LIFE IN SHANGHAI, 1985 – 1986

Dr. Daria Berg

Prof. Dr. Daria Berg, DPhil (Oxon), is Chair Professor (Ordinaria) of Chinese Culture and Society at the University of St.Gallen. She has published extensively on Chinese literature, media and cultural history. Her latest monograph ‘Women and the Literary World in Early Modern China, 1580-1700’ (2013) won the International Convention of Asia Scholars Book Prize 2015 Specialist Publication Accolade. Her joint article with Giorgio Strafella, ‘The Making of an Online Celebrity: A Critical Analysis of Han Han’s Blog’ (2015) was the 2015 Winner of ‘The Eduard B. Vermeer Prize for the Best Article’. Her current research explores urban culture in contemporary China, including the new digital media, literature, art, gender, audiovisual culture and Internet culture.

1985 in Shanghai seemed to be a magical moment in time: like the Sleeping Beauty, the city had just awakened from a long slumber — or so it seemed. After the Mao years and China’s isolation from international trade and tourism during the years of the Cultural Revolution, Shanghai appeared on the verge of reinventing itself as an international megacity — in terms of business, tourism and cultural exchange. In the early 1980s — during the first years of Deng Xiaoping’s new reform era — Shanghai was busy transforming itself into a trendsetter once again. Spearheading new political, economic and cultural fashions, the city prepared for a glorious future as a centre of trade, culture and consumerism, helping to catapult China into its new role as a rising superpower.

To me, a young undergraduate student from Europe, China was both a mystery and a challenge. Not ten years since the death of Mao and the end of the cultural revolution, China had been largely closed to foreigners and was just beginning to open up to the West. I knew China only from the world of fiction and museums. A few exhibitions in Munich on China opened a world full of treasures to me, like Alibaba’s cave — wonderful paintings and calligraphy, the script of Chinese char- acters that looked like a secret code, the legacy of empire and a grand civilization, the taste of tea and exotic fruits, the allure of silk and brocade. Other images of China in Western minds included mass parades on Tiananmen Square, a sea of red flags, waving black-haired people who seemed to epitomize Mao’s creation of new human beings.

In the early 1980s China’s new helmsman, Deng Xiaoping, was trying to reverse the revolution and invite foreign trade and investment. He opened China’s doors to Western tourists and students. China was rising as the new global player that we needed to learn to understand. A new generation of students should lead the way to cultural exchange between China and the West. I was one of them. We were on a pioneering mission to the frontiers of the familiar world, to the heart of China’s great civilization, the very centre of the civilized world, as Chinese citizens had believed for millennia. We were there to witness the beginning of China’s transformation into a superpower, an economic and social experiment on a scale that had not been seen before.

A couple of years earlier, in 1983, I had enrolled at Munich University to read Chinese Studies because I was enchanted by the wonders of Chinese culture. The key to Alibaba’s cave, I mused, would be the ability to read Chinese books. After the first two years at university, immersed in the study of classical Chinese texts, the modern language and three thou- sand years of China’s cultural history, I competed in Bonn for one of the coveted joint German-Chinese government scholarships to study in China. I felt exuberant when I succeeded. The few chosen students gathered in Bonn at the German Academic Exchange Service (DAAD) headquarters to apply for university places in China. Soon we were to experience first-hand the dynamics of Chinese bureaucracy. My first choice was Beijing. I was allocated Fudan University in Shanghai instead.

I knew Shanghai from novels about the 1930s, pearl of the Orient, whore of the East, a world city with a cosmopolitan pop- ulation that boasted the first symbols of modernity: skyscrap- ers, jazz clubs, cafés, horse racing, restaurants. When the plane approached Shanghai’s airport, my heart sank. Underneath me I could see nothing but agricultural fields, vegetable gardens, small huts, clay paths and bicycles. The airport consisted of one small, run-down building, no air conditioning, no neon lights, no luxuries, no hint of the metropolis that loomed somewhere on the horizon. Full of apprehension we entered the bus to the university campus.

Fudan University was one of China’s top two universities. Alongside Beijing University, it was regarded as the Oxford and Cambridge of China. It provided the breeding ground for Chi- na’s future social, cultural and political elite. A huge grey statue of Mao solemnly greeted us on the main campus, an hour’s bus ride north of the city centre. The Chinese students lived in grey dormitories with traditional red curved roofs on the main cam- pus, eight to a room in bunk beds, each bed with a row of study books lined up neatly against the wall.

When I arrived at Fudan, a brand-new dormitory was opened for foreign students on a separate satellite campus out- side the university compound, a gated community behind con- crete walls. We had our own canteen with slightly more fancy food than the Chinese canteens on the main campus. Running hot water was available twice a day for short periods of time.

We lived in luxury compared to our Chinese fellow students and the rest of the city. Chinese tradition viewed the Yangzi River as the dividing line between the cold north and the subtropical south. We had heating in our foreign students’ dormitory rooms, a rarity in the area ‘south of the river’. We were also able to choose single occupancy or share with one Chinese roommate. The departments of political sciences and international relations selected Chinese students to live with foreign students on our small satellite campus. They became our first Chinese friends.

‘Roaming students’ on a study mission abroad had a long tradition in China. Deng Xiaoping had been one of them when he went to study in France in the 1920s. Yet there had been hardly any foreign students in China for many decades during the Mao years. We — the new generation of international students invited to study in reform-era China — were a rare breed in both cities and countryside. Most Chinese citizens had never seen a foreigner before. They gathered to see us by the hundreds, standing around us in large circles, gaping at our blond hair, blue eyes, and big noses. When I sat down on a bus, in a theatre or at a party, every so often somebody behind me would try to pluck out one of my blond hairs to take home as a souvenir.

Shanghai was like a sea of old, grey buildings. Next to decaying old mansions, brand-new skyscrapers sprouted around us all over the city, multiplying like mushrooms, rising ever higher into the sky, wrapped in bamboo scaffolding and jute covers. We could not imagine how they would transform the city.

The streets from Fudan University in the north of the city to the Bund boasted enormous stretches of new dual or triple carriageways. They teemed with hordes of bicycles in the day-time but were empty at night. The occasional limousine taxi would ferry high-ranking party cadres or foreigners around. There was no underground yet. Public transport consisted of old buses that rattled so much that we feared they might fall apart at any moment, surrounded by clouds of fumes and stacked with people like sardines. The broad empty highways bedazzled us. At night, cycling home from an evening gathering at one of the foreign consulates general, we would cycle home next to each other, six in a row, chatting, singing loudly and enjoying the empty streets on the ride back to the campus. At the time, none of us could have imagined the jam-packed lanes full of the cars that clog up Shanghai today.

Shanghai’s citizens looked like an army of people clad in white and blue in the summer, and blue, brown and green in the winter. They moved around on bicycles, by bus and on foot. Trendy young men sported permed hair and girls would occasionally dare to wear red polka-dotted skirts. We looked like aliens among them with our lipstick, make-up and fashion jewellery.

The tropical heat of summer presently turned into a foggy autumn and an icy winter. We soon settled into a routine of studying in freezing rooms, wearing down jackets and duvets draped around us during class and sitting on pillows to combat the cold. We started travelling during weekends and holidays to explore the Chinese world, sounding out all the corners of the country from the tropical paradise of Hainan island, the jungles around the Mekong river in Xishuangbanna, Kunming, the city of eternal spring in the South-West, to the sugarloaf mountains of Guilin, and the heat of Guangzhou down South, to Beijing and Qingdao in the North. Not all regions were open to foreign travel. During those trips we learned not only Chinese conversation during endless hours spent in hard-seat and hard-sleeper compartments on trains, but also more about Chinese culture than we could ever have imagined in the classroom. We sipped tea, chewed sunflower seeds and played cards with new Chinese friends.

As foreign students in China, we received Chinese student identity cards. They allowed us to pay in the local currency, the Renminbi. All other foreigners had to exchange money for For- eign Exchange Certificates (FEC), bank notes in pink, yellow, blue and green that looked like a game of Monopoly. Foreigners needed this money for all transactions. FEC were mandatory for payments at the designated hotels for foreigners and in the Friendship Stores. These places were open to foreigners only or Chinese people if escorted by a foreigner.

So was the famous jazz club in the Peace Hotel on the Bund. The band was a group of octogenarians, jazz-trained musicians who had survived from the long-gone Republican era. The Peace Hotel jazz bar was one of the few places that offered dancing, wine, beer and coffee. The band played every night to a crowded room.

Chinese student identity cards also allowed us to stay in inns for local travellers, as opposed to the hotels designated for foreigners. It brought us closer to the local population, as we shared their dining halls and daily routines. I visited Hangzhou and the West Lake, paradise on earth for generations of scholar-officials in imperial China, Suzhou with its canals, Nanjing, the terracotta army in Xian, the ancient capital of Kaifeng with a street festival that provided glimpses into the past, enabling us to imagine what China would have looked like in the days of the Song dynasty. I paid homage to the grave of Confucius in Shandong province, climbed the holy mountain of Taishan, stayed overnight on the summit to greet the sun rising above the clouds the next morning, and returned to Shanghai by ship from Qingdao, answering thousands of questions from curious Chinese fellow travellers.

Back on campus, we were busy with newly-forged friendships, we exchanged language lessons and poetry sessions, we watched performances of Shakespeare in Chinese and listened to both Chinese and classical Western music concerts. When we left Shanghai after one year, I felt I had grown up, ‘come of age’ in Shanghai, the city that had become a second home to me in my heart.

China’s formidable progress in economic terms from 1985 to the present has been so staggering that sometimes, when I re- turned to China years later, I could hardly recognize the place. The Dragon Restaurant is still there on the auspicious eighth floor of the Peace Hotel on the Bund, but the stuffy interior has given way to ultra-modern glamour. In my student days the view from its windows to the East opened over the Bund, the Huangpu river and beyond the flat lands stretching as far as the sea with some animals grazing and a few huts scattered around. Now Pudong across the river presents a skyline of ultramodern skyscrapers with dazzling glass facades and futuristic designs, the Pearl Tower is a symbol of a new millennium in Shanghai, dwarfing the colonial side of the Bund that speaks of Shang- hai’s long, colourful and turbulent history. I am grateful to the German and Chinese governments for providing me with one of their much-prized scholarships, enabling me to witness China on the threshold of opening up to the West — and I applaud the city and its people who continue to make Shanghai one of the most fascinating places on earth.

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