In “The End of History Illusion,” Jordi Quoidbach, Daniel T. Gilbert, and Timothy D. Wilson measured the “personalities, values, and preferences” of nearly 20,000 people from the ages of 18 to 68. All “believed they had changed a lot in the past but would change relatively little in the future.” Try as I might, I suspect that I likewise would’ve fallen neatly into this sample.
Ten years ago, I
had never been to Mongolia or Aruba and couldn’t have imagined my current
relationship to these two places. In fact, I spent most of my time editing math
books and pitching travel articles! This post was originally sold to Rezoom, a
relatively short-lived site designed for aging baby boomers . . .
Because we were
never properly introduced, I called him “The Screamer.” Nobody else paid any
attention to the guy, who stood facing the Yellow Sea, bellowing a
full-throated challenge to the dawn. With his mouth closed, he would have been
just another member of the early-morning crowd—the women in one-piece tank
suits and bathing caps, the men in nylon briefs—most of them over 50 years old
and exhibiting no concern with either the chilly October temperatures or the
American obsession with body image. They fished, swam, jogged, played
volleyball, practiced gymnastic routines. While he screamed. I’m sure there was
a reason for all the shouting, but I couldn’t muster enough Mandarin to ask.
I hadn’t learned much beyond the basics before this trip, just the traveler’s bare minimum of nihao (hello), xiexie (thank you), and yingwen maidan (English menu). That’s probably insufficient for a visit to some of China’s so-called “second-tier” cities, but it seemed to work in Qingdao, the cheerful home of what might be China’s most widely recognized foreign export: Tsingtao Beer. Despite the current difference in spelling, the name of the city and the brand are the same. Literally translated, Qingdao signifies “green island,” although it also sounds suspiciously like a word meaning “to pour.” Fortunately for vacationers, both definitions apply.
Although
Shanghai and Beijing capture most of China’s first-time visitors, a smaller
city like Qingdao can provide a less overwhelming introduction to the mainland.
Its history mirrors that of the other former concessions in China: colonized by
Europeans (in this case, Germans), invaded by Japanese (twice), liberated first
by Nationalists, then by Communists, and most recently, by Capitalists. There
are no tourist destinations on the order of Tiananmen Square or the Bund, but
the city does have a lively pedestrian market, a regional cuisine based on
fresh seafood, a fine old temple that’s been converted into a museum of folk
customs—and much better air. Our well-traveled, sometimes finicky family of
four, including a 9-year-old girl and 13-year-old boy, was never bored.
The most-quoted
description of Qingdao goes something like this: “red roofs, green trees, blue
sea, azure sky.” Not your typical jingle for an industrial city of 7 million,
but stroll along Lu Xun Park’s seaside paths or hike to the top of Signal Hill
and you will immediately recognize the aptness of this expression.
There are still
crowds, of course, but the density during our visit rarely surged past an
entertaining level. I like watching people enjoy themselves—especially in
China, where the faces are astonishingly varied and various: newlyweds posing
for a photographer, formally attired in flawless white (except for the tennis
shoes); grandmothers and grandsons, trousers rolled to the knee, netting crabs
in tidepools; decorous old men airing their caged birds in a neighborhood
square. As for the Screamer, who knows? Maybe he was really a cheerleader,
practicing for 2008, when Qingdao hosted the sailing events for China’s first
Olympic Games.
We stayed at the Huiquan Dynasty Hotel, for its strategic location—across the street from the No. 1 Beach. (From west to east, the city’s beaches are designated 6, 1, 2, and 3, in that order. The relatively quiet No. 2 became our family favorite.) We started each day with breakfast in the revolving restaurant on the 25th floor, then returned in the evening for foot massages, a few games of shuffleboard, or a bucket of balls at the indoor driving range.
Hotel
restaurants in China can occasionally surprise you with good value and high
quality. The Japanese restaurant at the Huiquan Dynasty served reasonably tasty
sashimi, udon, and yakitori. Its Chinese counterpart, however, provided the
sort of memories that will be forever accompanied by a rueful chuckle. The
waitstaff alternated between staring and inattention. The dish we can’t forget
was called “Laoshan vegetable,” after the famous nearby mountain. Intrigued by
its spongy, almost fungal, texture, I made several inquiries regarding its
source and preparation. All were in vain.
We enjoyed a much more satisfying feed at Chun He Lou (Spring Peace House), 146 Zhongshan Road. Although a plaque declared this “A Designated Unit for Foreign Tourists,” we noticed only one other obvious foreigner in the crowded, second-floor dining rooms. The house specialties included crispy chicken, crab with ginger and scallions, three-flavored dumplings, and chrysanthemum leaves with garlic.
West of Lu Xun
Park, open-air seafood restaurants lined the road to the Navy Museum and
Xiaoqingdao (Little Green Island). The day’s offerings were displayed curbside
in rows of aerated tubs. You made your selections from this living, splashing
menu, then chose the style of cooking. The best meal of the trip featured
tender clams seasoned with small red chilies, scallops steamed in the shell,
hairy crabs trussed with palm fibers, and several tall bottles of cold Tsingtao
beer. All of that, plus a fine view of Huiquan Bay.
The Tsingtao
Beer Museum traces the history of malt beverages from the ancient
Sumerians forward to the contemporary Clydesdales. Between encounters with
traditional fermentation vats and the “mystic yeast,” you could also pick up a
few tips on beer appreciation, such as “serious swirling might easily be
thought pretentious.” The 50 yuan admission fee included a souvenir glass, a
taste of unfiltered brew, and a pitcher of draft. As the saying goes, “History
is centuries old, but Tsingtao Beer will be fresh forever.”
