Conversation | Stranded in Beijing
AIAI-assisted translation·Read the source version
Because of a typhoon, I had to remain in Beijing for a day. After asking around the airport about changing my flight and rushing about in confusion, I finally received a hotel room as compensation and a ticket for the following day. Only then could I breathe easily. With that settled, I had the leisure to look at Beijing.
The moment I left the airport, damp heat climbed over my skin. It was deeply uncomfortable; I had not expected Beijing to be so humid. My impression of the city was still fixed in the winter of 2024, when I first visited and found the air so dry that I could scarcely bear it. In the centre outside the airport stood the five-starred red flag. The distant grey sky was heavy and covered in dark clouds, as though rain were about to fall. The flagpole rose straight into the middle of that sky, the flag moving in the wind. I was indeed back in China.
Beijing is vast. Airports on the outskirts of most cities are not surrounded by many buildings. Beijing is different. From the car to the hotel, I looked through the window at orderly towers and broad, clean roads all along the way. On a map, Beijing spreads from its centre into an enormous urban circle. Travelling diagonally from one corner to another takes at least two hours.
At the hotel I felt little desire to rest. I had come to Beijing alone, and although I was nowhere near the centre, it was still a rare opportunity to go outside and look around.
The city seemed to have been deliberately designed. Standing where I was and looking into the pale distance, every building on either side appeared to have emerged from the same mould. A shared-bicycle station appeared every ten paces, and an intersection every three or four hundred metres.
The streetlights had not yet begun to shine. It was midsummer and, though evening had arrived, the road ahead was still visible. The streets around the hotel were empty. I took a bicycle and rode unsteadily forward, intending to find somewhere livelier.
Most of the cars were electric, so a vehicle would suddenly glide past in near silence. There were lanes reserved for bicycles and electric scooters, but one still had to be careful: many riders hurried recklessly ahead, most of them delivery workers anxious to complete an order.
Two young men with close-cropped hair and white T-shirts sat casually on a flight of steps. Their rough voices echoed around that patch of street. They were discussing how many bottles they would drink later, occasionally swearing at something or someone. The local accent was interesting. Standard Mandarin itself grew from the Beijing dialect, yet Beijing speech carries a distinctive intonation that can be recognised at once—obvious, and particularly curious to hear.
Riding further, the surroundings began to grow noisy. I rounded a corner, parked the bicycle and walked a few steps. The street was filled with people, making me dizzy. A vast quantity of voices, movements and expressions surged towards me at once. The air remained hot and damp, yet many people were carefully dressed as they walked through it.
Outside each restaurant stood someone in distinctive clothing calling to passers-by, while a loudspeaker announced queue numbers: “A15, please take your seat,” or something similar, every few seconds. More than a dozen nearby shops used the same arrangement. The result was confusion and a growing headache. Almost every shop displayed a sign covered in bright colour; even the clothes of some delivery workers carried promotional offers. Alongside the queue announcements were countless other broadcasts, occupying every second of the air. It was not enough to seize the eyes; hearing had to be occupied as well.
People at work here either seemed mechanical or excessively eager to please. They ran back and forth with vacant expressions, driven by the need to make a living. Work seemed to occupy everything in their eyes, forcing them into motion with an invisible pressure. Many of my childhood classmates have already begun working, while I remain at school. Looking at these working people, I could not help feeling curious and a little afraid. Is this what work is? Is it filled with pain? Must one endure hardship in order to be paid? And is the pay truly worthy of the difficulty demanded by the work?