wet.

When it isn't stickily, drippingly, mind-meltingly humid (which is about 90 per cent of the time), chances are it's pissing rain--torrential, sheet-like, enormous raindrop-laden storms.

Shanghainese don clingy, plastic rain capes they drape over bicycles to keep themselves and their basket-bound belongings dry. Some bike with an umbrella in one hand, which amazes me.


The first time I was caught in one of these out-of-the-blue downpours, I was in an off-putting, touristy part of downtown. I wandered until I looked and felt like drowned rat, then ducked into the first convenience store I could find.

I didn't even need to awkwardly attempt to pronounce "yusan" through the wet hair that was plastered to my face. The woman at the counter took one look at me and wordlessly handed over an umbrella.