Flying into China feels like flying into a black box – not knowing what to expect. It’s been 5.5 years since I left Beijing with a carry-on to visit John for three weeks. Only days after I left, an epidemic spread and became a global pandemic that lasted several years.
So much has changed: the world is a different one now.
The China Eastern flight was uneventful; not surprisingly, given this time of year, only a handful of Caucasians were on board. Arriving at Shanghai Pudong didn’t feel like a modern airport: chaotic signage, confusing directions, and staff that didn’t know how to guide people.
Departing from Shanghai: many huge tankers and container ships, one after the other like pearls on a necklace, only missing the prettiness, waiting to load up and start a journey to who knows where—a world in grey and brown, layers of dirty air and haze. I immediately miss Aotearoa. I see skyscrapers below me, and I try to imagine what it must be like to live in these buildings and work in one of these many factories with smoking chimneys or at the ports. I can’t, but these jobs are probably more crucial than mine. I cannot stop thinking about how there are too many people on our planet, and we’re consuming too many things, causing this brown and grey, polluted world. But maybe it’s only a hazy November morning?!
Many things look familiar: street signs, haziness over concrete waterways, neutral-looking people. How did I manage to live here?
Arriving at Beijing Capital Airport felt like a breeze: since I had already gone through immigration at the airport in Shanghai, I only grabbed my North Face duffel bag and made my way to the Capital Airport Express. I failed to buy a ticket with WeChat Pay, but fortunately, my visa credit card worked just fine. 25 RMB for all the way to the terminus station of line 13 in DingXiMen. From there, I took the subway north and then west. My station was QinHe Railway Station. All looked very familiar. I decided to take a taxi instead of walking. In front of the massive railway station was a long line of taxis, but I was the only one who wanted to take a taxi. 13 RMB – my WeChat Pay app failed to work again. I didn’t have RMB cash, and the driver couldn’t process Western visa cards. I was quite frustrated, but I was able to give him 3 USD. The look in his face was something between anger and pity.
The hotel was better than expected, and I only rested briefly because I wanted to get a SIM card so I could pay with WeChat while in Beijing and eventually take care of my account.
I ended up in the very same China Mobile store I got my SIM card 6 years ago after moving to Beijing. The process of registering with a SIM took much longer than I expected and involved three people: they had to scan my passport, take multiple photos of me, and enter my hotel address several times. It felt extremely weird to be back at where it all started six years ago. All the electronics they used (camera, scan board) felt a bit flimsy, and additionally, they wrote numbers on paper and handed out papers with red stamps to other people. Even though the process seemed highly technologically advanced, several people were involved. There are quite a few processes to deal with because the government wants it that way.
Staffed with a Chinese phone number, I excitedly made my way to CITIC Bank to close down my bank account. The branch looked newly renovated, and a „Welcome“ lady scanned my card, handed me a number, and asked me to sit down and wait for it to be announced. Finally, my number: in hindsight, it took maybe 30 minutes to close my account and get my money. The clerk spoke good English and knew what she was doing. She had to update my personal details (after my visa expired), and when she was done, she handed me 7456 RMB in cash and my bank card as a souvenir. It felt almost uneventful!
But when I stepped out of the branch, seeing the hazy fall light of the late-ish afternoon, leaves rustling, and a bit of the sun getting through the smog, I was sincerely happy. A heavy weight fell off my shoulders, and it felt almost as many different full circle moments, and first and foremost, as a chapter of my life came to an end.
I decided to walk south towards the campus of Beijing Sports University and look for the little restaurant I used to have lunch or dinner many times. On the way along the sidewalk, it almost hit me: the regional meeting of the DAAD lecturers is over (and it was a huge success). The weight of the last several months was lifted from my shoulders, the semester was finished, and I eventually closed my account. Tears were rolling down my face: because of nostalgia for being back to where I lived many months but never could properly say goodbye to, because of melancholy (yes, I love being melancholy), because of sentimental reminders of the regional meeting, and because of the bad air in Beijing. Again, I was really wondering how I could live here and really enjoy myself.
I reached the southern end of the campus and passed the little sports stores that sell badminton rackets, swim goggles, and more. A Chinese guy laughed at me, and I stopped to ask him for the little restaurant. He didn’t know what I was talking about (well, I used DeepL for translating), but I had to share how emotional I am to be back after almost six years). I kept on walking and found the little restaurant. I recognized the owner and his wife. I ordered food (pak choi, eggs and tomato). I walked all the way back to the hotel, the sun set as a dark orange ball on the horizon. I couldn’t stop saying „crazy“… it was the weirdest feeling to be back.
I had to get used to not having access to the internet I am used to. But at the same time, there is also less distraction.
Wednesday morning: I was awake at 4:20 am, got ready to go somewhere at 8ish. Walking to the subway station at QinHe Railway station, which was not to be missed, as a constant stream of people was walking towards me. I hit rush hour. As empty as everything felt yesterday, as busy as it seems now. Beijing does seem to have very homogeneous work hours: morning and afternoon rush hours; in between, you barely see anyone as everyone is in their offices. People do not have flexible work hours as streets are relatively empty during the day.
In addition to the persistent grey and brown tones, public life appears relatively subdued. Many people appear reserved in public spaces, with limited visible emotional expression. But that’s also the case when you walk to work on a grey November morning somewhere in Europe.
The subway was packed with people, and from what I could see, everyone was on their phones, watching reels and playing colorful games.
The environment is full of cameras and signs telling you what to do and what not to do; police and security personnel are very present. At the subway, I noticed security personnel with equipment to deal with many people physically attacking others: steel poles with a bent steel bar to push people apart. The security guy in the subway is carrying „bear spray“. In the subway, videos that tell people how to behave.
In a country with 1.4 billion people, they apparently need these guidelines to keep everything orderly. I doubt that China could do well with a highly individualized society where everyone is closest to themselves.
I had breakfast in Maan Coffee in a small hutong. It felt quite western, with a familiar environment and people who could speak some English. I felt very comfortable sitting there and also writing for a while. I ordered two servings of berry waffle.
After that, I headed towards Tian’anmen Square, but it was impossible to get even close: police checkpoints and barriers. My passport was checked twice, and I was told I could not walk towards the Forbidden City. There was quite a bit of police around. Later, it occurred to me that this time of the year, the Chinese National Committee is convening its session. That is also the reason why my VPN does not work.
I am almost disappointed by how underdeveloped Beijing seems, given how digitally and technologically advanced I remember it from six years ago. There is still a lot of plastic wrapped around things. I expected more development since the pandemic. But the only thing that has developed is the technological surveillance of life. But most traffic seems to be electrified; however, many men are smoking. I have barely seen any other foreigners: only at the Heavenly temple, where there were a bunch of Westerners. I overheard two women in their early thirties with babies speaking German. Probably the spouses of diplomats or businesspeople. Speaking of business: the closer to the Forbidden City, the more big German-brand cars.
Among other visitors, I heard Russian and Polish spoken. I also had the impression that male foreign visitors were more present, although this is a subjective observation.
Life in Beijing feels so different from life in New Zealand: everything seems to be delivered, and everyone seems to have a „destination „they are hustling towards. The way things are done is very different here than in NZ: ordering a coffee, I would have to go through an app even though I am standing right in front of the clerk and can point to what I want.
Walking through the back streets towards the Temple of Heaven, few people look at me. I feel more anonymous than I did six years ago, and even then, I was less noticeable than during my stay in Guangzhou in 2008. Compared to earlier visits, Beijing seems more accustomed to foreign visitors in everyday urban settings.
Among all the sights in Beijing, I wanted to see the Heavenly Temple again. Surprisingly, quite a lot of people were visiting it. I had to queue to get a ticket and the walkways were full of people. Back then, on November 18, 2019, the temple was not well-visited. But the temple itself just sat there like it always did: majestic, timeless, enduring the present. The tiles around it are smoothed by centuries of feet walking and slurping on them, and there will be more centuries to come for it to witness even more people.
Being in Beijing, walking around and hearing the Chinese chatter around me did not necessarily beam me back to 2019 and 2020. Still, it reactivated my knowledge of Chinese phrases, numbers, sentences I used a lot and I moved around the city smoothly, still being able to orient and move around towards my intended goal.
The last morning: I would like to know if this will be the last time I am in Beijing. I am having coffee at Luckin Coffee and wrestled with the language barrier. Things are so complicated to do with (a) the language barrier, (b) the cultural barrier, and (c) the technological barrier.
The two women working here are busy all the time, even though no customers are coming in. They prepare bags full of takeaway coffee, and from time to time, a delivery driver comes in, scans the bag, picks it up, and leaves. These delivery drivers are middle-aged men wearing Luckin vests. It’s all a very silent process. Also, I noticed there are no outlets to charge devices anywhere in the cafés.
Being here sparks so many thoughts, and I am curious about so many things, but I cannot find answers to the things I see. I will have to keep watching and accept things. In Beijing, public life appears relatively uniform at first glance. I notice limited variation in outward expressions and clothing. I finish my coffee as it is almost time to head to the airport to catch a flight to Seoul. Korea awaits, and with that, my China chapter comes to an end. Bittersweet, as always when leaving a place behind.
