Karen was super nice enough to pick Clint, Steve, Clare, and myself up from Dave’s apartment (thanks Dave for letting me sleep in your bed and shed unsavory things onto your sheets) in her BMW-for-a-week and drive us to the airport on Monday morning, even though technically she was supposed to be working. Apparently she had won some sort of drawing and her prize was to drive a BMW 325 around for a week. Choosing to drive me and Clare and two random dudes early on a weekday was definitely a gesture of friendship, something that I’ll return when Karen visits Shanghai in a few weeks. Good thing I bought that new bicycle (more on that later).
Qingdao is about an hour flight southeast of Beijing (I was too lazy to check the map, but I’m pretty sure it’s southeast). By the time we landed, the (in hindsight) completely ridiculous decision to stay up late to watch scrubs and get 3 hours of sleep before our flight started chewing away at us, particular Clint, who couldn’t seem to shake his nasty bug. The drinking the previous two nights probably didn’t help either.
Our hotel was situated right along the water, and we had an awesome view of the Qingdao coastline. Although I was ready to crawl into bed and curl up into a little ball of panda yarn, I knew our time in Qingdao was short, and so with Clint resting Steve, Clare and I made our way out into the town with absolutely no idea where to go and what to do. We ended up walking quite a bit that day (7 km), just checking out some coastal scenic spots and looking for some decent seafood. All the major coastal cities in China are known for good seafood, but somehow we ended up at McDonald’s after our crazy walk, unable to find an exciting seafood place and craving soft serve. Steve and I ended up ordering two Filet O’ Fish, so we knew that at the very least we could go back and say we had seafood in Qingdao.
Beautiful shot of our hotel at sunset
The next day we rented a taxi for the entire day as we headed to some of the more popular spots in town, and also to Laoshan (崂山) about 40 km outside of the city center. Our driver was friendly, outgoing, and a total turd for taking us to a seafood restaurant at Laoshan that cost as much as his mother probably would go for on the open market. Even after staying away from the expensive shellfish and even going so far as to order chicken, the total bill for the five of us was a hair over 800 RMB. This, after dealing with a herd of unruly customers just to pay that goddamn amount, made me piping hot mad as we got back into the cab and headed toward the mountainside. It wasn’t until moments later that both Clint and Clare confessesed that they would have had no qualms about walking out without paying. Unfortunately, none of them shared my desire to not only leave without paying, but to take the cash register and the cute waitresses with us. On the way down we got our revenge by flipping the restaurant off, but then Clint mentioned that two random people were in the way and caught the brunt of our powerful middle fingers. Damn you, God of seafood, why dost though smite us! My next profession will be to open a seafood restaurant across the street and charge 10% less. I’d still be ripping off tourists, but what they hey, better them than me.
After the driver dropped us off at one of the bathing beaches, we decided to walk back to the hotel. Qingdao is beautiful in that the many of the streets are thin and windy and stony, just like many villages in Europe. There are lots of houses and villas as opposed to clumps of high-rise apartment buildings like in Shanghai. Part of this must be attributable to the fact that the Germans occupied this picturesque little town for two decades before turning it over to the Japanese. It was in one of these hybrid neighborhoods that we ran into an amusing sight: dozens and dozens of brides and bridegrooms, standing around taking pictures. I’m not sure if this is a custom in the States, but in the Chinese engaged couples like to dress up in full wedding gear and take professional photographs before the actual wedding. I guess in Qingdao, everyone agrees on where all the pretty spots are, and so in front of us was a beachful of brides, all heavily made up and all with funny looking dudes. It made me happy to know that one day, one of those dudes might be me.
Bridal Beach
That night, on the driver’s recommendation on where to go (ignoring his advice on drugging Clare…no joke), the four of us went to one of the hottest night clubs in Qingdao, called Feeling. The place was huge and ornate, but as Clare said, everyone at club was super “tu” (土), which in English parlance basically means “country.” You see, there are the cosmo/trendy types in big cities in Shanghai and Beijing, and then there is everyone else who can vary from being very bumpkin-esque to just slightly backwards. This club was full of those people. Forget the fact that they only served Heineken and Chivas and that the dance floor was actually a springy trampoline; you just don’t want to stay at a place where a 50 year old couple is doing the jitterbug next to a couple of young men taking turns picking the other one up and hugging them (no joke). There’s the dance floor at the hottest club in Qingdao for ya. Of course, that didn’t stop Steve and I from bouncing up and down on the trampoline for a good 10 minutes.
Our last day in Qingdao was clearly apex of our trip; it was what we (with the exception of Clare and Steve) had come to this town for: the Tsingtao Brewery. Tsingtao is the best selling beer in China, and was originally brewed by the Germans during their short tenure. What a legacy! The four of us happily slapped down 200 RMB for a tour of the Tsingtao Musem and Brewery. Though not quite Duff Gardens, I was still impressed with how Tsingtao is made (with magical pixie dust) and the whole chronology of how it came to be (magicial pixies created the recipe and gave it to Mao as a birthday gift). Damn, I guess I just revealed all the secrets, and you won’t have to go anymore. Oh wait, you still do, because they have this hilarious little toy house at the end of the tour that is supposed to simulate how a drunk person would feel. Basically, they slant the floor so that you can’t really stand up straight, even though you’re looking at normal walls and ceilings. The best part was when an old lady stood there and complained, “I don’t feel a thing!” Welcome to my world, Grandma, guess you and I are just used to getting blitzed every day.
Eric on beer: I get it, and I like it
So, beautiful ocean view, expensive seafood, trampoline-type dance floor, and an opportunity to worship at the shrine of Tsingtao, the true nectar of the gods. I knew I couldn’t top this for a while when I got back to Shanghai. Which is, of course, why Eddy (who just got back from Dalian) and I got piss drunk the next night when we got back. I see it as a eulogy of sorts, but then again, I see crazy things all the time when I’m drunk.
