While everyone's focus is fixed on Iraq, the Western world appears to be staging a silent takeover of Shanghai. I don't have any concrete data to support this claim, but the population of pale faces looks to be on the rise. There are sections of the city where such sightings are to be expected, but such sightings seem to be more frequent now than even last fall. I sense that I'm getting stared at less and less — or maybe my skin is getting thicker and thicker. I sense that what I'm doing is not so novel anymore.

I'm a bit befuddled by the emotion all of this stirs in me. It's one of resentment. Just the other day, here on Yanchang Rd, I was chowing down on some chao fan at a local greasy spoon. Something happened that made my wide eyes open even wider. Some red-haired guy whom I had never seen before walked past the window. I put my chopsticks down in disgust. What was that guy doing in my neighborhood?

This is silly and sophomoric, I know. But that's usually my gut reaction. And I'm pretty sure I'm not alone. If two foreigners happen upon each other on the sidewalk here, they'll usually use what I have taken to calling "the lao wai lookaway." No eye contact. No nod. No nothing. Every other foreigner a foreigner sees is a sign that his or her secret Shanghai is slipping away. There is no pioneer pride if every other person you see looks like you.

But sometimes it's fun to wade into Shanghai's weird Westerness. Sometimes it's just what you need to put an end to the small pangs of homesickness that pop up now and again. A friend and I went Western for an evening last week.

We met at the Starbucks which is right next to the Ritz-Carlton which is where I bought a copy of USA Today. ESPN was playing on the television at the restaurant where I ate a bright green garden salad, a big red bowl of pasta and a fruit smoothie called Strawberry Blonde.

After dinner, we wandered over to the City Supermarket. Those of us who live in parts of Shanghai where it's hard to find a simple loaf of bread go to places like this to window shop, wander the aisles...and we call it fun. It's Shanghai, but it could be Charlotte or Chicago just as easily. The place is like a museum of meals past. Stacked on the shelves are foods I have fond memories of. Foods I recognize. Labels I can read. And, unfortunately, prices I can't afford.

A box of Golden Grahams will cost you US $8.50, which will buy you lunch for a week near Shanghai University. No, I didn't buy anything at the City Supermarket, but I strolled every square foot, staring and smiling at foods I had forgotten. I was happy to see some Fruity Pebbles with Chipper Jones and Sammy Sosa — not Yao Ming and David Beckham — on the box. I was happy to see Gatorade, Tootsie Rolls, Toaster Strudels, root beer, frozen pancakes and waffles. Hell, I was even happy to see a can of Spam.

Perhaps, after six months, findings like this shouldn't surprise me anymore. But, they do. You see, before I shipped off to Shanghai, I was warned of all the Western amenities I would be leaving behind, all of the items "communist" China wouldn't offer. Well, you know what? Everyone was wrong. Everyone. If you're willing to do the legwork, if you're willing to open your pocketbook, anything can be had in Shanghai. Anything ... save for maybe underarm deodorant and Yuengling Lager.

I left the City Supermarket arms empty and spirit full. It was kind of like going home in a way. I saw more white people outside the store. And I started to wonder: "Is this really China?"

Then some firecrackers went off near my feet. I had my answer — and a ringing in my ears.

I still hate firecrackers. But I am starting to slurp a little when I eat my noodles.

Visit Dan Washburn at his site for more Shanghai Diaries.