Shanghai: A tale of two cities on three wheels

Donning his goggles and driving-cap, Guy Wilkinson experiences the changing face of Shanghai from the bumpy confines of a vintage motorcycle sidecar.

I’m wandering the narrow, cluttered backstreets of Shanghai when an unexpected obstacle blocks my path. A fridge. Well, two-dozen fridges in fact, stacked precariously one on top of the other.

Surrounding them, makeshift stalls sell pretty much any conceivable item.

Unidentifiable fish languish in plastic tubs filled with just enough water to keep them alive, cooked snails float in a tray of fiery chilli broth, there are deep fried insects, battered computer monitors; a man even badgers me to buy a power tool from a mobile hardware stand.

Though vaguely overwhelming, this is the side of Shanghai I wanted to see.

It’s a side that’s rapidly disappearing. Through the tangled power lines overhead, the skyscrapers loom with ominous proximity.

As recently as the mid-1990s, the area where they stood was little more than farmland or scrub. Now the landscape resembles a prophetic vision from Philip K. Dick.

I’m in the Old Town, some five kilometres north-east of the trendy Xintiandi district, near Yu Gardens. Among locals it’s still referred to as ‘Chinatown’, an irony that’s hard to escape given that Shanghai is the most populated city in China.

Pirates save the day

A wall was erected here in the 16th century to fend off Japanese pirates, leaving it relatively untouched by croissant-waving French imperialists during the 19th century concession era. Consequently, the traditional architecture, street markets and inherently Chinese way of life continues to some degree, even as the rest of the city strives to embrace modernity.

Leading me through the labyrinth is Shane Ullman, a tour guide for a company with a difference; excursions take place on restored vintage motorbikes and sidecars. Not only is this a unique way to explore the city, it’s also flexible, allowing us to hop off periodically to discover certain areas by foot.

We stop outside a linong – a multi-storey yard house once common in enclosed neighbourhoods – where a family busies itself with domestic chores in the tiny front courtyard. Just 20 years ago, around 90 per cent of Shanghai’s residential architecture was like this thanks to a building boom in the 1870s, but most have now been demolished in favour of slick high-rises.

As Ullman explains, shared family set-ups like this are increasingly rare; many of the younger generation are happy to be relocated to new air-conditioned apartments but the transition will mean a loss of community that’s unlikely to ever be replaced.

Clambering back into the sidecar, I don a faintly ludicrous leather Biggles cap and goggles as Ullman cranks the throttle and within minutes the jumbled stalls and back lanes are replaced by the wide, leafy avenues of the French Concession area.

Paris – well, sort of

Packed with up-market restaurants and cafés, it’s vaguely reminiscent of Paris with tables and chairs spilling from restaurants between glass-fronted, boutique stores.

Travelling at high speed just a few inches off the tarmac is strangely exhilarating. Sure, it’s cramped, there’s the rumble of the engine and faint smell of petrol to endure but from this low vantage point, the city feels more accessible than it otherwise would from an air-conditioned cab.

Smells waft from restaurant doors; cars and cyclists are close enough to touch; and the humid breeze feels good against my skin as we pick up revs.

A few kilometres further, we pass through The Bund, the iconic waterfront strip on the west bank of the Huangpu River.

Once the jostling epicentre of Shanghai’s financial markets, it has since become a popular hub thanks to a combination of eye-catching architecture, swank bars, restaurants and shopping opportunities that could entertain even Kim Kardashian for a solid half-hour.

A shred of old China remains here though. At dawn, locals practice Tai Chi along the waterfront promenade, a scene strangely juxtaposed by the futuristic skyline of Pudong across the water.

At night, the outlook is particularly striking when a blaze of neon to rival the Vegas strip kicks in.

As I’m keen to focus more on the unusual, we take this in on the fly. A few kilometres away, something curious catches my attention. I ask Ullman to pull over.

On a street corner a group has formed around a table.

Group puke

Hopping off the bike, I discover a game of ‘puke’ in full swing. While the name might sound like an eating contest gone wrong, it’s actually a popular card game, basically a Chinese version of poker.

Dressed in a white vest and gold neck chain, a middle-aged man stares down a guy in a fetching turquoise tracksuit.

Between them, a wad of banknotes is stuffed under a pack of cigarettes. A woman beside them acts as the bank, a black duffle bag slung around her neck.

Surprisingly perhaps, my curiosity is greeted with smiles and good humour and it occurs to me such impromptu glimpses of local culture would probably be impossible on any other tour.

Our final visit is 1933, a former abattoir turned cultural precinct in the Hongkou district.

Originally designed by British architects, it was constructed in 1933 (funnily enough) by Chinese developers and used as a slaughterhouse, pharmaceutical company and storage facility before eventually falling into disrepair.

Renovations began in 2008, and although only a handful of shops have so far moved in it’s fast becoming a major attraction thanks to its Art Deco styling.

Most striking is the central atrium where 26 solid concrete ‘air bridges’ of varying size and shape criss-cross beneath a glass-domed ceiling. The whole place has a vaguely haunting, industrial feel that’s quite unlike any other building.

Shanghai’s unprecedented rate of development has become abundantly clear even in the space of a few hours.

But something about travelling on a vintage motorbike evokes a pleasurable sense of nostalgia in a city hell-bent on discarding the past and embracing the future.

And as we’re swallowed by the madness of peak-hour traffic, I can’t help but wonder what all the rush is for.

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The details

The tour: Insiders Experience +86 138 176 169 75

When to go: March and April or September and October are the best times to travel to Shanghai, as the weather is not too wet nor hot and clammy.

Best thing about the tour: The flexibility to experience any aspect of the city that appeals to you. The mode of transport is also original and fun.

Worst thing about the tour: A sidecar may not suit those who value comfort over adventure.

Notes: Shanghai tours start from $68 per person based on two passengers (one on back of bike, one in sidecar) for an hour excursion.

After youth-led protests in 2025, this year Nepal elected a 35-year-old former rapper as Prime Minister. In a country where tourism is its biggest industry, what’s next for travellers?

In 1986, Nepal changed its clock. It had used India Standard Time since 1920 so, to differentiate, it wound its clock 15 minutes ahead of, not behind, its big-brother neighbour. Boss move. “Nepal is strongly opposed to the idea that our identity is connected to India,” says Community Homestay Network (CHN) guide Bikal Khanal.

Tharu dance is traditionally set to hand drums. (Credit: Kate Lewis)

Today, Nepal is the only independent country with a 45-minute deviation to universal time; an oddity that’s become a symbol of national pride. The quirk is nearly as endearing as Kathmandu’s Tribhuvan airport where carved varnished wood and shiny red bricks rule. One sign points to a ‘Travelator’ and another to a ‘Grievance Handling Desk’ while visas are noisily stamped at customs for US dollars, cash only. When am I?

Spot the endemic Nepal gray langur. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

The 15 or 45 minute anomaly sees me tap out completely on timezone calculations. Why bend my brain calculating if it’s quarter to or quarter past elsewhere when I’m in the honking here and now of Kathmandu where the air is high-altitude crisp, the prayer flags flutter and the street dogs howl?

How tourism is changing in Nepal

Bardiya National Park is rich with wildlife. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

India is not the only association many Nepalis would like to shake. With eight of the world’s 10 tallest mountains, including Mount Everest and Annapurna, Nepal has long attracted mountaineers and trekkers, and expedition numbers are continuing to rise.

Tourism is one of the country’s biggest sources of foreign currency, so this growth is not negative, per se. But according to Ang Tshering Lama, who co-founded Phaplu Mountain Bike Club, being reduced to a mere trekking destination is limiting.

“Trekking is just one layer of our identity,” says Ang. “When it becomes the dominant narrative, it limits how we’re seen and how we see ourselves.” Nepal’s recent success, however, in diverting trekkers to less-trafficked areas such as Manaslu mofuntain, where visitor numbers rose by 117 per cent last year, offers hope that tourism can diversify even more radically.

Local men in Bhada village. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

The founder of CHN, Shiva Dhakal, wants that change. “The whole idea of the Community Homestay Network is to promote experiences outside of trekking,” he says. “Community tourism changes lives and helps kids stay home instead of coming to the city or migrating to the Middle East.”

Ang grew up seeing people leave, “not because they wanted to but because there weren’t enough opportunities to stay”, he states. Yet from remote villages to living traditions; food, art, music and emerging subcultures, “there’s so much that’s not being seen.”

CHN is opening some of those doors. It doesn’t own, or fund, any homes. Rather, it promotes homestays to travellers on a single, slick platform, while fostering entrepreneurship in places where women, marginalised castes, Indigenous people and the youth stand to benefit the most.

A new generation demanding more

Dalla Town Hall, where volunteers discuss anti-poaching tactics. (Credit: Bheem Thapa)

The future prospects of next-gen Nepalis can no longer be ignored. On a Kathmandu tour with 33-year-old guide Monica K.C, we pass buildings torched in the September 2025 ‘Gen Z protests’, including the Supreme Court and Parliament House. Seventy-two people died. “They were anti-corruption protests,” says Monica. “Politicians’ children are living a lavish life but the airports are crowded with youngsters leaving to find work.”

We stop in ‘little Tibet’ at the wondrous sixth-century Boudha Stupa. “The wheel of life is Buddhism in a nutshell,” says Monica. “Things such as hate, ignorance and anger keep you rotating around the wheel, so you must follow the principles of Buddhism to detach. If you can’t, there’s no nirvana for you.”

Boudha Stupa's prayer wheels — Boudha Stupa’s prayer wheels are used to recite Buddhist prayers. (Credit: Kate Lewis)

In a sun-drenched twist to the usual temple visit, we ascend the stupa’s sloping plinth and roam its whitewashed dome. Tendrils of diaphanous prayer flags stream from a steeple-like structure where the Buddha’s unblinking eyes stare out. No nirvana for you…

bouda stupa prayer flags — Tibetan-style prayer flags embellish the whitewashed dome of Bouda Stupa, a Buddhist temple. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

The dome is delightfully free of guard rails or chiding from security. There is, however, a stern ‘No TikTok’ sign, perhaps in response to the youth’s newly flexed power. The booted-out Prime Minister, K.P. Sharma Oli, was replaced in a resounding election victory in March by 35-year-old Balendra Shah of the Rastriya Swatantra Party (RSP) – a former rapper and mayor of Kathmandu. The RSP’s manifesto indicates tourism is a priority, and that Nepal’s cultural identity in areas such as gastronomy will be strengthened.

Boudha Stupa vendors — Vibrant souvenir shops and cafes around Boudha Stupa. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

A more confronting stop awaits at Pashupatinath Temple. Today is Bala Chaturdashi, a Hindu festival where thousands of devotees gather to honour their dead ancestors. Vendors hauling foam mattresses do a lucrative trade as people set up for a night of vigil. This includes burning the bodies of recently deceased relatives on bamboo pyres in the Bagmati River, which flows into the sacred Ganges.

A woman at annual Hindu festival Bala Chaturdashi, in Kathmandu. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

Wrapped in a shroud, the bodies are positioned with their heads facing north to the Himalayas where Lord Shiva resides. They’re covered with flowers and straw and set alight by male family members.

Hours later, the ashes are swept into the river where devotees will take a holy dip the next day. As much as Monica assures us it’s not voyeuristic to watch, I struggle to do so. “Here you see the reality of life because everyone ends up there,” she says, gesturing to the river.

Life unfiltered in the Terai region

tharu woman — Tharu woman and master weaver Parbati Chaudhary in Bhada Village. (Credit: Bheem Thapa)

The reality of life needs processing time, which the western Terai region delivers in spades. The Terai is largely separated from India by the Karnali River and Bardiya National Park, where elephants, rhinos and the elusive Bengal tiger roam.

Once a nomadic tribe, the Indigenous Tharu people are now the largest ethnic group here. “They didn’t know their daily life was interesting for international travellers but they’re starting to understand now,” says CHN founder Shiva.

Take a Jeep safari through Bardiya National Park. (Credit: Bheem Thapa)

We fly Buddha Air to Dhangadhi airport and drive five hours to stay in Tharu homes. The journey to Bhada village is a blur of roadside fruit stalls, traffic-stopping sacred cows and fields sown with wheat, rice, mustard, spinach, cauliflower and potatoes. Nepal’s agriculture feeds only Nepal.

Marigolds are an important part of Hindu rituals. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

“The only thing we export is young people,” says our guide Bikal. As the light dims and we plunge evermore rural, mysterious mounds of compacted hay – some house-sized – loom like the creatures from Where The Wild Things Are. Even our trusty driver gets flummoxed by a dirt road that abruptly ends and we find ourselves hurtling across a paddock.

On arrival, some are ferried to mud-walled cottages greened by gourd creepers, with thatched roofs and rustic-chic mosquito nets. Myself and two others are ushered to the home of corner store owner, mechanic and mushroom farmer Man Kumar Chilaruwa and his wife Rajkumari.

community homestay entrance — A warm welcome at a community homestay. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

They escort us to a bunker-esque back building with steel doors and a folding security gate, behind which is gleaming linoleum, dolphin-printed tiles and a shower cavity that must be gingerly stepped through to reach the toilet.

The ceiling lights emit a rainbow of colours (the bathroom light gets stuck in, frankly, a quite frightening red). We’re nevertheless touched that our hosts invested in all this bling when the average salary is around $275 a month.

In the coming days, we participate in Tharu traditions such as making moonshine, dancing, weaving straw handicrafts and gold-panning. We’re fed well with staples of rice, mustard greens, lentil pancakes, daal, curried chicken and tomato chutney served on antibacterial saal leaves.

food at community homestay — Dig in. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

Sonara community homestay president Indradevi Tharu tells us river snails are often served, and the boiled and pickled flesh of rats hunted in the rice fields. “Perhaps next time?” we say and all have a laugh.

The power of community homestays

community homestay owners in Nepal — Barda community homestay owners Parbati Chaudhary and Ram Krishni Devi Chaudhary. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

Immersing Western visitors in foreign cultural practices is not new. But with the Tharu, I never get that uneasy sensation that I’m being performed for. Despite being the only tourists, there’s no ‘othering’; just warm, composed and ultra-dignified welcomes. Like we’ve always been here.

“I love to have travellers in my village so I can see the world,” says local woman Parbati Chaudhary. “Why would I travel the world when the world comes to me?”

The graceful acceptance the Tharu offer, as well as the slow pace, works miracles on my frazzled nervous system. One day I even take a nap on a vacant homestay bed.

Sonara community room — An authentic stay in the Sonara community. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

Roosters strut and goats bray as we sit on the ground in al fresco kitchens, rolling rice flour into cylinders steamed to make dhikri (dumplings). When water is needed, we fetch it using a hand-operated pump as a family of ducks strolls by, side-eying us like curious neighbours.

Animal lovers will delight in Tharu villages. Kind and resourceful inventions are everywhere, such as snacking stations where two posts lean together, with leafy boughs dangling on rope for baby goats to forage from.

CHN’s CEO, Aayusha Prasain, nods knowingly when one in our group says she cried when she left her host, Shayam Chaudhary, in Bhada. Shayam’s 17-year-old son, Prashant, had translated, which deepened the connection.

“Community tourism turns travel into a relationship, not a transaction,” says Aayusha. “It places decision-making power in the hands of local communities, especially women and youth.” Since 2018, CHN has hosted more than 4000 travellers from 52 countries in 408 households, and estimates women’s participation has increased by 381 per cent.

In the Bardiya community, where vexing human-animal conflict has been a balancing act for decades due to elephants raiding crops, long-time homestay operator Salik Ram Chaudhary says young people keep the older ones on their toes.

“We can’t keep homestays stagnant,” he says. “We have to upgrade our service and redefine our product or young people won’t see it as an attractive business. If we can keep evolving with this travelling trend we’re confident the youths will stay and continue it.”

Back in Kathmandu, Monica explains that after the deaths of young protestors in September, a determination had spread to not let their sacrifice be in vain. “We want to keep holding the government accountable,” she says. “We don’t know what situation we’re facing, but we’re ready to face it.”

Interested in Nepal but prefer to experience it in total comfort? Read our guide to luxury travel in Nepal.

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Group puke

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