“I can… oh no, wait. I can’t smell the ocean.”
“I’m smelling squid, but that’s because that’s all I’ve been smelling in Shenyang with the night market downstairs. Well, at least it’s cooler by the ocean, isn’t it, Feng?”
“Very funny.”
“I need a milk tea.”
“How do we even cross this road?”
Feng grabs Mark’s hand—something we haven’t done in years because, at almost 14, he is quite able to cross a street by himself. But this is Dalian, China, and Xinghai Guǎngchǎng (星海广场), one of the biggest squares in the world, where the biggest threats aren’t the usual silent electric motorbikes but giant SUVs with drivers who, just like any driver driving any kind of vehicle in China, don’t give a damn about pedestrians.
I glance at Feng, who is wearing his Floripa tank top.
“Totally reminds me of Brazil. Look at all the people parading around in their swimsuits!”
I’m joking, of course. The local swimsuit is a full facial mask—not a COVID leftover or a religious choice, but a way to never ever tan.
“Ah, no Brahma here, it’s Tsingtao beer sponsoring the umbrellas!”
Brazilian and Chinese beaches have this in common.
And that’s about it.
For the rest, Dalian beach reminds me of this rocky Lima “beach” or possibly Viña del Mar in Chile. A bit soulless, a bit dirty, with water that doesn’t scream “come over for a swim”.
Most Chinese are wise enough not to swim. They eat on the beach. They drink too. Ah, maybe that’s another common point with Brazil.
Feng went to Dalian once, when he was six. It counts as a new place, so we took the train from Shenyang to get a taste of the Pacific Ocean and a Chinese beach.
It was… an interesting day.
We learned our first Dalian lesson very fast—it’s spread out; even subway stops are far apart. The train station was 15 stops from Xinghai Square, and it took 45 minutes to get there.
And another ten minutes to cross the square to reach the shore.
We got a break from the traffic along Xinghai Bay, which is mostly pedestrian. Mostly because Meituan drivers do get through for all food delivery emergencies at the beach.
None of us suggested walking on the sand. It just didn’t look very inviting.
The view was quite unique, though, with the Xinghai Bay Bridge stretching across the bay.
“I have no idea where to go now or where the subway station is.”
“Can’t help you, but there’s a map in Chinese, Russian and Korean right here if you want.”
“Let’s go to a major square.”
Ah. There is no shortage of squares in Dalian. Subway stations are all named “something something Guǎngchǎng”.
We settled on the supposedly iconic Zhongshan Guǎngchǎng (中山广场), a grand colonial-era square where Dalian still proudly shows off its European wardrobe.
Feng and Mark went to eat at the mall.
I walked around, looking for a vibe, a pulse, something. I didn’t find Dalian particularly inspiring—the Russian vibe, maybe, with many domes and stone facades. I’m not a big fan of open spaces and wide streets where there are few people around, so the city made me feel slightly uneasy.
It was just too big.
I found a few narrow streets hosting a market. This one had unbarbecued squid and urchins, for a change. I picked up Feng and Mark, and we walked back to Zhongshan Square. It was livelier at sunset, with kids blowing soap bubbles and jumping around to catch them.
And this was probably my cutest moment in Dalian.
“Are we going back to the train station now?”
I shrugged. “Sure. Nowhere else to go.”
It was only 6 p.m., and the train was at 7:39 p.m. I figured I’d explore the train station neighbourhood for a change.
We boarded the subway.
“Holy shit, 21 stops?”
It emptied out a bit after five or six stops, and we found a seat.
Unfortunately, since the subway car was no longer packed and the air con was at full blast, I started to get cold.
Feng had goosebumps too.
We huddled together.
Fifteenth stop. Shit, it was already 7:10 p.m.
“We’re going to miss the train!”
We should have been worried, but we had no energy left for that. We joked about starting a new life in Dalian.
It didn’t happen. We rushed out of the subway at 7:25 p.m., crossed the station—huge, of course—and made it with five minutes to spare.
It was cold on the train too. Damn air con, and we didn’t have the chance to warm up.
Maybe Dalian just wasn’t for me. I’m not Chinese enough—or Russian enough—to appreciate it. At least now I know where I won’t spend my summer holidays.
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