A Week in Familiar Shenyang Unfamiliarity

Once again, I found my way around Shenyang. At the very least, I know to turn right at the squid guy’s bright red cart—once the night market takes over the street, that’s the only way into our building.

It only took 48 hours for the city to take shape again—in my mind, not in real life, it’s shapely enough even if rough around the edges.

My ear got used to Dōngběihuà (东北话) and, just like everybody else, I started pronouncing only 50% of the syllables in a language already made up of short syllables. I hope Feng’s proper Mandarin recovers in Beijing, where you just add “er” to every word.

I learned to tie my hair with a big clip the way all Chinese women do and zip through traffic on yet another blue rented bike, and I know where to find the best noodles.

I learned to feel at home in Shenyang, Feng’s former home.

I love it here.

And this is how you embrace Shenyang and the Northeast of China.

Meet the family, survive the great hóngbāo (红包) battle

“My aunt called,” Feng announced on Friday morning. “We’re going to their place on Saturday. Just to visit. No lunch, no dinner, promise.”

Feng’s many aunts and uncles all worked at the metal factory and all retired to one of Shenyang’s many suburbs. I’ve been there before—in 2024—and I know them all, so I wasn’t overly nervous.

“I don’t even know what to say to them,” Feng sighed.

“I’m the social one, remember? I’ll make conversation. Mark grew up, blah blah blah, that’s already half an hour. Then… I’ll figure it out.”

And it did go well at first. Feng had brought oranges, they offered fruit as well, we had a Coke, we chatted…

“Let’s go eat!”

“No, no!” Feng protested. “No restaurant!”

Feng’s aunt grabbed me by the arm. “The restaurant. Let’s go,” she whispered.

“It’s 4 p.m. and it’s 40°C, no one is hungry, please!”

This is when Feng dug a hóngbāo (红包) out of his pocket, probably to distract them. Hóngbāo are little red envelopes filled with money, usually handed out during Chinese New Year.

Damn. They had a hóngbāo for Mark too.

And then another uncle and aunt arrived and the next thing you know, we were in the elevator trading hóngbāo, refusing hóngbāo, stuffing them into bags, giving them back, etc.

Then we all walked to the restaurant while insisting the whole way that we really didn’t want to go.

I know what you’re thinking: why not humour them? Because it never fucking ends. You sit down to eat and then they force you to eat more, drink more, and then it’s “how about dessert somewhere else?” followed by more drinks.

We ended up running away. Literally. We ran to the corner of the street where we unlocked bikes and left for real. It’s not even that impolite apparently.

Phew. Done with family. I love them, really. But no restaurant, really.

One Qing dynasty tomb, one huge park, one very important dead guy

In 2014, Feng famously described this Shenyang must-see as a “big empty space with a tomb at the end and fuck, I was freezing last time my family took me there.”

They did take us there. I barely remembered it but yes, it was cold.

This time, in summer and without family (and a toddler in a stroller), I actually appreciated it. The long walk to the vast walled imperial tomb complex is part of the experience—the sheer scale of it is impressive.

Zhōngjiē, where all of Shenyang seems to end up

When in doubt, go to Zhōngjiē (中街), Shenyang’s most famous pedestrian street. It’s a sprawl of packed side “food alleys,” shops and underground malls, plus it lights up at night and somehow makes you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

In Shenyang, the old industrial days are never far away

Shenyang is not one of those international cities where money comes from companies run by suits and ties with a fancy title. It was built around factories, heavy industry and the socialist glorification of the worker—the massive statue of Mao still standing at Zhongshan Square doesn’t even feel out of place in the scenery.

Shopping in Shenyang, or our complete failure to buy anything useful

Feng and I tried to shop for souvenirs and anything vaguely useful, really.

The problem is, we suck at shopping because we both hate it.

We had fun, though. We spent hours in the Wu’ai Market warren, home of wholesale and cheap goods. Then we headed to the Zhongjie underground shopping malls, a true backrooms experience. We spent our last day at Taiyuanjie fashion mall, yet another sprawling underground mall.

What did we buy?

Ahem… nothing useful, really. Mostly what we refer to as “cuties cuties”, from Hello Kitty hairclips to stuffed animals (I even won one by shooting balloons at the night market).

Noodles and one very helpful Lanzhou boss

It was too hot for the traditional Dōngběi jiǎozi (东北饺子) and I was unlucky with bāozi (包子) (hard to find past 10 a.m. in Shenyang!).

I settled for noodles, as usual, and explored various traditional Chinese favourites. I got lucky with a great lāmiàn (拉面) place just across the bridge, a ten-minute walk from the apartment. The boss was a Hui Muslim from Lanzhou and I could barely understand his Mandarin accent.

“You don’t need to read menu, you have me. I show you!”

And he would go to the kitchen and grab whatever veggie I couldn’t read in Chinese.

I’m going to miss this place!