24 Hours in Beijing With Former Beijinger Editor Kyle
24 Hours in Beijing is a series in which we ask some of the capital’s movers and shakers how they’d spend a full day in the city.
For the fourth instalment, we talked with Kyle M., a former writer/editor at the Beijinger who has also written for National Geographic, Spin magazine, and Quartz. He is from Canada and arrived in Beijing in 2010. He approached his 24 hours in Beijing with the perspective of it being his last day in the capital. Here's how he would spend it.
After 15 years of living in Beijing, it's not easy to imagine how I'd spend my last day here, let alone how it would feel to leave. Many longtime Beijingers on their way out would have a quick go-to: an epic hutong crawl. That's because the traditional architecture of — not to mention numerous bohemian businesses within — those aged alleyways is so distinctive. Other exiting expats may rather recreate their fondest memories of wining and dining in Sanlitun. Both options seem tough to beat. But more low-key capital dwellers like me might prefer paying one last visit to the mainstays near their homes, adding to the many organic memories that so often become our fondest. That’s easy for me to say, though, because my neighborhood of Liangmaqiao increasingly rivals more hyped locales on almost every front.
Morning/midday: My last day would hopefully be balmy so that my family, some friends, and I could go kayaking on the Liangma River and enjoy the contrasting backdrop of leafy landscaping and striking skyscrapers (Why, hello, Bulgari hotel. Hi there, Qihao Tower). Or I’d be just as tempted to picnic in Chaoyang Park, then take a spin with my young co-pilot (pictured in the lead image above) on the park’s scenic lake in one of its many motor boats. Yes, if you haven’t noticed, bodies of water are hugely appealing for an East Coast Canuck like me. And one of the reasons I’m probably departing Beijing on this hypothetical day is because I’ve finally found digs somewhere less landlocked.
Evening: When I get nostalgic about Beijing after leaving, the memory will surely stem from an assignment for the Beijinger. Partly because it helped me get out of my shell and see every nook and cranny of the city. But more so because it turned me from a picky eater to a snobby foodie after being tasked with copious restaurant reviews (hopefully my new home won’t be so harsh on my waistline). Liangmaqiao is criminally underrated in this regard. Popping into Baoyuan Dumplings to gobble up some of their scrumptious jiaozi would certainly be a trip down memory lane for many an expat. After all, Baoyuan is a fixture for Liangmaqiao’s droves of diplomats and white collar workers looking for an authentic but accessible entry into local eats.
And yet, these days, I’d be just as happy at one of the nondescript chuan’r or noodle joints across the street. Closer to my apartment, a stone’s throw on the other side of the Fourth Ring Road, Jingmulai/京穆来•西北菜（南十里居店) has also been spoiling me with moutherwatering-ly authentic xibei (or northwestern Chinese) grub like thick wavy 油泼面 yóu pō miàn noodles, juicy and stingingly spicy chuan’r, and – best of all – puffy lamb-stuffed kao baozi. My fam and friends wishing us a fond farewell would be equally satisfied by 胡同大涮肉肉, a hotpot joint tucked in an alley down the street. Its hunks of beef and crisp veggies, along with the eye-catching dynastic paintings on the walls, would leave us stuffed and content to pack our bags and be gone on a high note.
I’m especially fond of such humbly delicious spots because they have yet to be chai-ed along the lines of the donkey meat sandwich shop, malatang spot, and more in the comparatively central neighborhood Hujialou, where I spent the majority of my residence in Beijing until moving to Dongfengbeiqiao this year. A similar fate even befell everyone’s favorite dim sum joint in the capital, Jing Ding Xuan. I spent plenty of breakfasts at that Hujialou mainstay, scarfing steamed shrimp dumplings while gazing at the walls coated in photos of visiting Chinese celebrities like Fan Bing Bing and Ge You. The quaint restaurants in my new neighborhood of Dongfengbeiqiao make me feel as if the street level Beijing I’ve long known and loved is still thriving, even after years of seeing my favorite businesses bite the dust because of mercilessly rising real estate and zoning upheaval in favor of glitzier shopping mall dining. So, any of those spots would be prime choices for a last meal in Beijing.
On the other hand, much of my time in Liangmaqiao has been spent devouring the irresistible yet tragically overlooked Japanese cuisine neighboring the slick (but comparatively dull) Solana mall. Living so close to a Japanese embassy has gifted neighboring friends and me with bulbous, savory sticks of yakitori at Tori Tae on Lucky Street and 极北海道炭火炉端烧鸟（拾捌食酒店) in 258 Mall, the crisp ika-yaki (squid pancakes) at 百合亭（好运街店), and the dow-nhome beef fried rice and fried chicken at Zaku. It would be a pleasure to squeeze in one final dinner at one of those Japanese joints for old time’s sake (no, not saké, old time’s sake. Don’t judge or jump to conclusions).
Mulling all this over makes me glad that I’m not bidding Beijing adieu anytime soon.
A More Conventional Take
How should a last day in Beijing begin?
An excellent recent post said a day out in Beijing should begin late. I’d argue such occasions should start earlier, but go loooooong. Here’s where I’ll cheat after my (admittedly contrary) argument above and detail a more conventional “last day” itinerary in nowhere other than Beijing’s highly inviting hutongs. Of course, this is only relatively conventional, given that so many capital residents want to spend some time in those quirky alleyways because they are precisely so singular.
One of the hutong’s biggest draws for me is its cozy cafes. I’d scale the steps of either Z Space or Alba and enjoy the view of the hutong rooftops and bustling streets as a frothy cup of java warms my palms while I savor its scent before taking a sip. Alternatively, I’d pop into ¼ Coffee Lab for one of their silky-textured dirty coffees. They serve them in round-bottom whiskey glasses that give them a memorable tilt and make their dirty coffee’s dark espresso and cold milk mix-in an especially memorable swirl.
Because dessert always couples well with coffee, the next stop would have to be a fresh and exciting new entry in not only the hutong dining scene, but Beijing’s overall sweet spots in every sense of the word. Chill Pill has some of the tastiest and most creative donuts in town, and has a modern atmosphere that compellingly contrasts with the surrounding hutong architecture. My wife, who normally avoids sugar, is always tempted to try their durian-flavored donuts (as I rummage for an N95 mask to ward off its overpowering aroma). My daughter and I prefer to give our taste buds a workout instead of our nostrils, opting for one of the chocolate or raspberry marble varieties. Though I’ve been impressed by the splash Chill Pill made when it opened last year, my longtime haven for sweets in the hutongs is The Bake Shop, one of the few places in town that makes cookies and other such treats reminiscent of what I used to have back home. That’s especially refreshing as more and more Beijing sweet stores serve up blander and oilier goods catering to the domestic market (fair enough, given our city’s plummeting foreign population).
After a sufficient sugar rush, my daughter will be ready to burn off some energy. She enjoys DIY activities of all kinds, so we usually stop at a pottery shop on Gulou called 时光陶舍 when visiting the hutongs. She’ll often make a mug for her mom while there, experimenting with different shapes, then painting a skyline or her latest favorite cartoon character on the sides.
And while I detest Houhai’s tacky establishments that ripped me off when I was still new to the city, a bike ride around the lake in summer or, better yet, skating with my kiddo and some friends in winter, are both fun ways to spend the afternoon. That’s because those seedy establishments are in the backdrop and their aged architecture can be better appreciated from afar. As evening sets in, some Xinjiang cuisine at one of my all-time favorite restaurants 新疆风味清真餐厅, at the northern tip of Nanluogouxiang, is a must-visit. Aside from its hearty and cumin-dashed grub, I also love how its walls are adorned with posters of indie rock shows.
Speaking of which, I’d end my final hutong visit, and burn all the calories I’d been bingeing all day, at one of the shows advertised on those posters at head-banging hub School. It’s my favorite music venue in town, where I pogoed shoulder to shoulder with a sold-out crowd while Yan Haisong writhed onstage with his veteran post punk band P.K.14, where I could hear a pin drop during Nocturnes’ mellow and enchantingly melodic set, and everything in between.
Such an eventful day would be exhausting. But of course, I’d never grow tired of such hutong adventures in Beijing, a city that has steadily grown into my home away from home.
READ: 24 Hours in Beijing With Charles de Pellette
Images: Kyle M, Uni You, the Beijingers
