Driving Through Spring's Winter (Part 1)

March 16th, 2025:

One of China's four biggest cities, Shanghai is known for its long history, rich culture, and perhaps most distinctively, its prosperous, open economy.

Pudong, Shanghai was unusually cold and grey for a Spring afternoon. Droplets of rainwater wrinkled a glassy canal, no less shadowed than the looming sky, rippling and sparking forward and forward in a wieldy straight line that seems to never end. I first met him at the hotel curb—a modest establishment in a district born of China’s economic miracle, where the dreams of reform and rapid development pulsed in every brick and beam. I had booked a Didi (Chinese equivalent of Uber) ride to the airport, not knowing that the journey ahead would carry me deep into the story of a man who had spent over two decades navigating the ever-changing streets of Shanghai.

The car pulled away slowly from the hotel against the wind that beated against Pudong—a district that had transformed almost overnight after it emerged as a Special Economic Zone and a beacon of modernity in the 1980s. Pudong’s buildings mirrored the designs of that roaring decade. Unlike Shenzhen, Pudong has too much space for sleek, glass-covered towers to crowd in on themselves in monotonous repetition block after block. Pudong made an impression in my mind as a breathing city, generous to allow air into its avenues, lined with buildings of varied classical designs. But this time, the cloud-covered sky felt choking in its nondescript discipline. Under that heavy cover, my driver began to speak in a low, measured tone. His voice was roughened by years on the road but gentled by a characteristic Shanghai accent.

“I feel sad today. Shanghai’s becoming a dead city,” he started our conversation with an unexpected line. “I’ve been driving in Shanghai for over twenty years,” he said. “I started from when I first took to the streets as a taxi driver, and all this time I’ve seen the city change—so much energy in the early days, then gradually…everything feels quieter now. So much quieter” He paused, as if surveying not only the road ahead but also the long trail of history behind him.

We merged onto a boulevard. “In those first fifteen years, the city was vibrant. I used to see hotels packed with people. ‘The hotel, that one I picked you up from, was always full, you know, the halls teeming with travelers and guests,’ I would say. There were always so many guests—important guests, and they wouldn’t let me in lest I mess with them. Even the streets outside were alive. There was always someone, always movement. But now, it feels like everything has emptied. The hotels aren’t busy anymore—now, both inside and outside, there’s a sense of loneliness, of desolation.”

“Kind of like the weather today.”

His voice grew more animated as he described the clientele he once knew. “Back then, the hotels near the airport and the economic development zones—like here in Jinqiao—were bustling with foreign visitors, air hostesses, and businesspeople. I remember saying, ‘When you open the door, you see people coming in and out; the hotel used to be filled with foreigners staying for work or travel, and even the flight attendants were a common sight.’ But now, most of those foreign faces have disappeared. I even had a conversation with a Taiwanese passenger once, who said, ‘Why does it seem like China no longer welcomes us? They treat us as if we were spies.’ It honestly made me feel bad. And I thought, well, maybe it’s not just the pandemic, not just the zero-Covid policy or the two-month lockdown. Can I tell you that it was also political reasons that have made all these foreigners leave.”

“I used to drive when the hotels were packed—not just with guests, because guests also brought the demand for services. There were bellboys and doormen, people at the front desk; there were times when you could call a guest, tell them, ‘Come, let me open the door, help you with your luggage,’ and there would be people all around. Now there are fewer people on the street, and much fewer guests in the hotel. The bellboys and doormen are gone. The foreign companies have almost all left, and with them, the foreigners too. The airport people—airplane captains and flight attendants for international flights—rarely show up; there’s a lot less people travelling internationally, and foreigners are not coming in anymore. Even if there’re flights, they rest at cheap apartment hotels. The whole atmosphere has become desolate.”

“When I first started driving, some of the people heading from the airport would tell me halfway, ‘You know what, I need you to follow my schedule for a bit, to drive me to this place and then that for the rest of this afternoon, because I’m going to a meeting, a VC conference, or that sort of stuff.’ So I’d drive them to their first destination, wait outside for them to finish whatever business they had, and carry them to their next spot. That was costly. Taxis weren’t cheap. The passengers’ payment had to cover the cost of fuel and, on top of that, keep the driver alive at a reasonable wage rate. The taximeter was on all the time, but the business people were willing to pay. Spending money used to be fine; you can always earn a lot more, with the growing economy, at that time. That sense of continuity was comforting. What about now? Haha, young couples tell me ‘drive us to the closest subway station.’ Because subways are cheap! Nobody has money to spend now.”

We turned to the viaduct, high enough for us to see Pudong’s buildings extending toward the horizon. “Even the parking lots have changed,” he remarked with a hint of ironic amusement. “I remember, before, us taxi drivers, Didi drivers—we couldn't even stay in front of the hotel gate for long. The security chases you out. There were so many cars flooding in and out of the hotel. Not just cars from guests because when big bosses from foreign companies stay, their Chinese counterparts drive to the hotel to greet them. People were flooding in and out too. Taxis dropping off passengers here could expect to pick up another group immediately. Nowadays, ha! Before I picked you up, I parked inside the hotel’s lot for over an hour, and the security never said a word. I parked there and had a nap—why not? I know I get to park for free if you tell the front desk my license plate number. Nobody’s going to care; the whole parking area is empty. You look out and see huge stretches of open space where there should be a crowd of cars. And you see nothing.”

We slided past a large, modern building. He leaned forward as if to confide a secret, “That building we just passed used to house a foreign-owned tech company. Was it biotech or the internet? I don’t remember. It was a huge company, occupying the entire building. They’re gone now, the building virtually empty. It wasn’t because of the pandemic; the political wind changed.”