Two and a Half Days (Not) on Beijing Time

Our phones work, our Chinese apps—namely 支付宝 (Zhīfùbǎo) and 微信 (Wēixìn)—work, my VPN works, and the whole trip over worked out just fine.

It’s just the brain malfunctioning, really. Minor detail.

On the first night, Mark and I went to sleep after a midnight massage and some noodles, and we slept late while Feng—still on Canadian time, while we were on French time—got up at 6 a.m.

On the second night, I finally fell asleep after eating at 4 a.m., but Feng and Mark apparently woke up hungry at 6 a.m., had noodles and went back to sleep. I didn’t hear a thing, mind you.

And last night, I was quietly eating bāozi and reading my Kindle in the dark at 4 a.m. when I suddenly heard a weird buzz. Turns out, it was Feng, who had woken up restless and was microwaving bāozi.

We’d better adjust soon.

It’s just sleep, really, because we slipped back into life in China as if we hadn’t left the country a year ago. By now, Beijing feels a bit like a second home—or third, fourth, fifth… I’ve lost count. In fact, Feng complains that we’ve already been everywhere. It’s true, but I never get tired of it. To me, Beijing is the right mix of comforting rituals, fun discoveries and fascinating street life.

We have our rituals. We have to get some sugary tánghúlu because Feng and Mark love it. They also have their favourite holes-in-the-wall in Sānlǐtún and Wángfǔjǐng. I go all the way to Cháoyángmén for the best bāozi—they come in handy at 4 a.m.—and I’m partial to “Fucking Coffee,” aka Luckin Coffee. Feng likes “shag,” aka Chagee.

We always end up in Qiánmén and in the hútòngs behind the main pedestrian street.

We always check out a famous place or two, along with two billion Chinese people who have the same idea.

This year, Mark suggested the National Library of China. As nerdy as it sounds, I was impressed that it had copies of the Yǒnglè Encyclopedia from the Ming dynasty. Not that I could read it fluently, mind you.

On Sunday, I suggested the Temple of Heaven because it was pouring with rain last time. I forgot how big and crowded the park is…

And Feng suggested Hòuhǎi, a scenic lake surrounded by insane nightlife. We left Mark at the apartment and the two of us walked around the lake and the hútòngs packed with cafés, bars and restaurants, convinced that, come morning, we’d all wonder whether the whole thing had been a dream.

I think it’s easier to get over jet lag than to get over culture shock. We know how things work here. It’s just sleep, really.