Bear in mind that the scouting trip I am describing here occurred about six months ago. And with the pace of change in Shanghai, everything I write about may well be gone. But it was glorious when we found it. (Just head for the Longhua Pagoda and turn right before you get to it.)

You may have heard of the Lunghwa airfield, and if you saw the 1987 movie EMPIRE OF THE SUN about wartime Shanghai, you may think you saw it in the film. NOT. In fact, EMPIRE was shot elsewhere for all settings except the Bund. (At the beginning of the movie, when the young boy climbs into a downed fighter plane in the suburbs and there are mountains behind it, I figured something was wrong.) For one scene only, and in exchange for probably a gezillion dollars, the Chinese closed the Bund to both vehicular and pedestrian traffic -- for the first time ever, or so they said. It provided a defining scene for the movie, the only one recognizably Shanghai's. The rest was shot in Barcelona, of all places, I guess because it still had architecture that resembled the French Concession's old mansions.

To digress further, I know all this because of a documentary called THE MAKING OF EMPIRE OF THE SUN, perhaps done by the movie's director. It tells the story of how the film was adapted from a novel (of the same name) by a former Shanghai resident, J. G. Ballard. We learn that the film's main character, a young boy, was chosen almost randomly and turned out to be a born actor. It also covers how some of the internment camp scenes - supposedly at the Lunghwa airfield - were shot. I had questioned a scene where Lunghwa'a internees, along with Chinese coolies, are forced to build a new runway and are covered in clouds of swirling dust. When you consider that Shanghai and the surrounding delta are almost under water, all that dust was truly remarkable.

In the documentary we learn that the dust was actually talcum powder, blown onto the extras and the set by a machine that looked a bit like a large reverse vacuum cleaner. Old China Hands also commented to me that the dust was unbelievable. Their main gripe, however, was the scene where the young boy returns to his abandoned home and finds his amah carrying furniture out of it. When he asks what she is doing, she hauls off and slaps his face mightily. My OCH friends screamed at this, maintaining that no amah would ever slap a child she had cared for. (I might add that they all hated the whole movie.)

But back to the airfield. The site served as Shanghai's main airfield before and after the war, and as a Japanese air base (not an internment camp) during it. And it is still there, with it open land and abandoned buildings. (As Nature - and the Chinese - abhors a vacuum, this means that by now it is probably chockablock full of ugly new buildings.) The runway is still visible, although truncated, but the best news is that the original streamline Art Deco (or perhaps Moderne) air terminal, with its sweeping observation deck and its control tower atop it, is (was?) still intact! It is now unused but the detritus of its previous occupants was still lying around: Youth League badges, old communist newspapers, Model Citizen posters, and other office-type stuff. When the occupying units moved out many years ago they just left all their junk behind them (No!). Additionally, on the side of a row of low brick buildings at the back perimeter of the airfield you can still find a series of eight paintings of Mao in various poses, as the center of the sun, Greeting the Workers, etc. - the most complete set I have seen in Shanghai in the last decade. In fact, the whole adventure that day was like walking into a time warp.

The old terminal is in pretty good shape, although the large character "Shang" (of Shanghai) on its roof is missing. The front of the building features an impressive sweeping driveway leading to the second story of the terminal, where in the old days its privileged passengers would have alighted from their chauffeur-driven cars -- and probably been greeted by a uniformed attendant. We were greeted by a uniformed security guard, never a good sign, but we were miraculously able to talk our way in.

The vast curving lobby was echoingly empty, with a flight of stairs at each end disappearing into the floor, once allowing the passengers to descend onto the tarmac to board their planes from two departure gates. Floor-to-ceiling windows filled the lofty space with light, and afforded a view out onto the airport apron and the distant runway. On the entrance side of the building, the afore-mentioned offices were spread along the perimeter, their doors facing onto the lobby. (The only other fan-shaped airport terminal I have ever seen was the 1930's Tempelhof Airport in Berlin, which this one resembles.)

The most entrancing feature was in the terrazzo flooring, pale green and in remarkably good state: at intervals were stylized sienna-colored outlines of propeller-driven planes encircled in red. The combination of the purity of the lines, the soaring windows, the muted colors, and the overall stylish simplicity was stunning - Streamline Deco at its best. We tried to capture it in photographs but they do not do it justice; you really must visit this wonderful relic of an earlier age to fully appreciate it.

Good luck!

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(NOTE: I have photos of the exterior and interior of the building, plus of the terrazzo floor decorations, to accompany the article. I can send it over or whatever¡­ Tess)