Visiting the axis of evil, in Shanghai

By The Economist | SHANGHAI

SINCE opening in May, the tremendous success of the Shanghai Expo has been vividly demonstrated by what has also been the source of the greatest number of complaints: endless queues. Visitors, primarily Chinese, arrive as early as 3am and assemble in ever-longer lines in front of national pavilions, with the biggest crowds drawn to the ones packed with technology. These include Germany's, with a giant swinging sphere that responds to the cheers of the viewers; Japan's, with violin-playing robots; and Israel's, with trees that whisper in Chinese and English and Einstein's original manuscript on relativity.

Avoiding queues is not easy. The best-known shortcut is the VIP pass, a piece of cheap plastic that has become one of the great status symbols in China. For non-VIPs, the expedient alternative is to take what could be labelled the "Axis of Evil" tour.

This approach is consistent with what many would say is a core value of any expo: to provide people with a window into places and things that are otherwise beyond their reach. China maintains cordial relationships with any number of countries that are often touchy about tourists. Perhaps not coincidently, none of the pavilions operated by countries of this sort is very busy.

Our trip begins with a visit to the North Korean pavilion. There is a special area for VIP guests to line up, but it is empty. No one is even vaguely tempted to slip into this beckoning channel because the place for ordinary visitors to queue is empty as well. Inside, a vendor sells a souvenir passport with the theme “Paradise for People”, which is undoubtedly true for anyone at the expo with a hatred of crowds.

The pavilion features a small cave with a drawing and a vast wall photograph of a city, presumably Pyongyang. The painting surely has cultural significance, but there is little information and even smaller interest. No one lingers. The photo does, however, allow visitors to be pictured against a backdrop typically available only to a small group of diplomats and to travellers with the ability to secure rare visas. A small concession stand sells postage stamps. Since communication to and within North Korea is almost non-existent, the stamps are presumably intended to reflect advanced communication technology.

Not far away, a guard at the Syrian pavilion is happy to stamp the North Korean souvenir passport with Syria's own expo theme: “The Cradle of Civilisation.” Trinkets are sold, but the main attraction is an autograph signing by the pavilion manager, who starts scribbling and then, when a bit of a line forms, wanders off.

Iran's pavilion, conveniently in the same general neighbourhood, dispenses with the usual expo platitudes. Visitors are greeted with the words of the legendary Persian monarch, Darius, boasting of his conquest of Egypt and his construction of the Suez Canal. The message, perhaps, is that Iran produced cutting-edge technology, 2,500 years ago. Inside the pavilion is a scale model of what appears to be Iran's controversial nuclear power plant, with the message again being a bit murky. Nuclear energy for peaceful purposes is, after all, common. The possibility that Iran could be acquiring nuclear energy for other reasons is, of course, a global pre-occupation and thus the model was receiving some scrutiny from the smattering of visitors.

A second floor had been largely handed over to rug sales, but off to the side there was a canteen reputed to dole out free cups of a delicious tea. On the day of this Gulliver's visit, however, a polite request elicited only questions and a dismissive wave. Nothing was lost, though. If the rumours had been true, and the tea free and delicious, the queue-less era would surely have been over.