Visiting Beijing

Six years have passed since my unforgettable adventure in Beijing. Memories have faded, and details are hazy, but with another overseas trip just around the corner, I felt compelled to revisit those days. I was a young 21-year-old, full of enthusiasm, arriving in Beijing from Inner Mongolia. My journey began at a guesthouse, where I spent one night before embarking on a full day of exploring.

The weather couldn't have been more perfect, and it was during the Mid-Autumn Festival, which explained the bustling crowds wherever I went. Purchasing a Chinese ticket proved to be quite the challenge, with a sea of people to navigate through. Armed with my fake student ID (borrowed from a friend at South University of Science and Technology), I made sure to take advantage of every student discount available.

The pictures from that day remain etched in my memory - countless tourists thronging the entrance to the Forbidden City. I marveled at the mass of humanity and wondered if I'd ever be able to board a bus in such chaos. Opting to explore on foot, I embarked on a picturesque journey that led me through the city's famous landmarks.

It was a day for firsts: my first encounter with yòugurt (yogurt) that looked tantalizing, my first experience with unique fashion choices on the streets, and a memorable sighting of a man engrossed in his book, marking the pages with intriguing bookmarks. I had no words but was content with the moment.

The image I cherish the most from Beijing at 22 - the throngs of people that gave a true sense of the city's vibrancy. I wanted to board a bus, but it seemed impossible due to the crowds. The pleasant weather allowed me to traverse long distances on foot as I meandered through the city's streets and alleys.

As I explored, my friend Sun's older sister, a skilled photographer, captured memories that would otherwise have been lost. For all that escapes memory, photographs remain as witnesses of our experiences.

Wangfujing Street was a treasure trove of experiences. The place teemed with activity, reminiscent of Seoul's vibrant Myeongdong. We followed the crowds into shops with unfamiliar bread offerings that weren't quite to our liking. We settled for watching the activities of others, and that was entertainment enough.

As the day unfolded, we embarked on a journey to a well-known Beijing duck restaurant, the famous kaoyadian. We were initially unsure of ordering an entire Beijing duck, expecting it to be quite substantial. Eventually, we ordered one, indulging ourselves. After gorging, our lips were smeared with the excess oil that required two oil-absorbing sheets.

Leaving the restaurant, the sun had already set, and we walked wherever our feet led us, using the time to aid our digestion. The enticing aroma of street food wafted through the air, leading us to explore various delicacies.

One notable stop was a kebab place in a busy corner, where we dodged bustling crowds of Chinese locals. Their chants of "bùyào mì! bùyào mì!" (Don't push! Don't push!) resonated in the air as we navigated the crowded marketplace.

The night ended with my first-ever visit to a club, the largest one in Beijing, I was told. It was a boisterous and spirited place, not quite my style, but it offered a unique experience, especially as it was the Mid-Autumn Festival, complete with dance battles and singing contests.

Upon our return to the guesthouse, a chance encounter with a friendly stranger resulted in a memorable conversation and an invitation to share whiskey at his place. The evening unfolded, and before we knew it, we had learned a new word: "tipsy."

The next morning, we returned to the guesthouse, where the warm-hearted host personally made cocoa for us, an experience I treasured even if I couldn't recall her name.

The leisurely pace of our exploration took us to a workshop, where I purchased a leather-bound notebook, filled with the delightful smell of unique Chinese paper. We had time to relax and prepare for our departure to Pyongyang.

It was finally time to bid farewell to Beijing. We arrived at the train station with batteries at just 3%. Our 24-hour bed train to Sacheon had already been reserved. There was a slight hitch: the throngs of people at the Great Wall of China made it almost impossible to get to the train station.

Disaster struck. We missed our train. My friend and I were left with no money to rebook tickets and no accommodation for another night. However, I was unfazed, confident that somehow we would resolve the situation.

My friend's tears were a call for help. She phoned a close friend, who came to our rescue, lending us the money to rebook the tickets. I couldn't recall my guesthouse name, but I felt as helpless as a child who'd lost their mother.

The guesthouse owner offered comfort in the form of hot cocoa and words of encouragement. She helped us rebook the earliest available flight. A day more in Beijing, our departure would have been a race against time.

After recharging, I embarked on an adventure that led me to areas I'd missed earlier. I was drawn by the enticing aroma of delicious food from a nearby stall. With a limited budget, I made the most of every meal.

Feeling moved by the experience, my friend and I purchased some stationery and wrote a heartfelt letter to our kind host. She had smiled upon receiving the letter, and that was the memory I held dear.

So, my impression of Beijing remains a mix of the vivid and the vague, full of charm and surprises. I realized that sometimes, it's the unexpected turns of fate and the kindness of strangers that make a journey truly memorable.

As I departed from Beijing, the hardships and adventures became part of a story that would last a lifetime, leaving me with a wealth of stories to share and cherish, regardless of what I could remember or not.