I’ve been to my fair share of rock shows in China, but never to an all day festival on the beach. So I was psyched to have the opportunity on the last weekend of the summer to mosh around Shandong style. Almost all my bitch ass friends pussied out because of they were scared of rain. Uhh It’s a rock music festival fools, you’re gonna get sweaty, dirty, sandy, and your gonna fucking love it. The rain would make a good time better, and no rain would make it an even better time on top of that, so my logic was invincible. Since Mother Nature and I go way back, she hooked us up with clear skies.

Sadly, perhaps even pathetically, due to random chaotic factors beyond our control (aka: women); we were unable to get to the venue until dusk. The area of the beach fenced off for the concert was huge, and was even engineered to keep the ocean side open to allow unwise but irresistible drunken night swims.

There was all manner of places to buy things, and our company managed to make a solid acquisition of two kegs of beer. This of course being China, and not the psychotic dictatorship run by the nazi inspired AGCO in Ontario, we were free to consume our cold and frothy beverages wherever we pleased. Oh and those kegs together cost the same as ONE two-four in the store back home.

What about the music? Well it was rock n roll. What more needs to be said? Honestly I’m happy whenever I get to hear any original music that involves guitars, drums and a voice, instead of Lady Gaga played five times in a row. Rock here is everything it should be, super enthusiastic crowds and high energy performances, without all the mindless commercialism and egoism that’s tainted the Western scenes. One of my favorites of the night was SUBS (杀不死), their lead singer Kang Mao can really wail.

The only downside (at least for the ladies) was that the washroom facilities were located 10 minutes outside of the venue. For some “developing country” reason, there was no running water there. For us shameless guys (and gals) the ocean proved far more accommodating. I’d even go as far to say the whole concert was a raging hard on of accommodation but check the photos and you be the judge.

Buddy was just pissed that he had to go home to watch historical dramas with the wife instead of rocking out at the show.

Don’t look like no rain clouds to me.

For lots of people, the 50 kuai price of admission was too steep. (It was actually a bargain considering a shows in Shanghai regularly charge this much and this was on a beach with 10 times the # of bands)

SB is Chinese slang. Fill in the blanks and figure out what it means: St_pid C_nt.

This guy was my hero.

MADNESS!!!

Inside, there was about 120 people, average size for a modern Chinese wedding, but not by any means undrinkable. The bride and groom then had all kinds of things to do on stage, like saying their oaths, exchanging rings, the kiss, a toast, cutting the cake, ritualistic goat sacrifice, etc. It was a cocktail of all the official stuff that would happen in a church in the west, combined with some of the traditions of a western wedding’s reception. Luckily for me and the bridesmaid, we didn’t have to do dick all during the lot of it. Knowing that, I was on another planet, defending hapless beauties from ill-tempered apes.

Finally after all the formalities, lunch started to make it’s way to our plates. There was all kinds of things, some of it I might have even considered eating, had I not been under the impression that I was going to need room in my stomach for approximately 100 ounces of some form of alcohol. Drinking on an empty stomach, that’s the way to do it kids.

I did try a few things, one being a sea cucumber. For the uninitiated, sea cucumbers are famous in China for having many health a vigour inducing properties. They are ridiculously expensive. The truth is that they are slimy oblong objects that are coated with spikes. Imagine a piece of poo trying by voodoo witchcraft to transform itself into a porcupine, but by some infernal flaw, failing halfway. That’s what they look like. And let me tell you, they look a lot better than they taste. I only know because I was urged to try it by the groom. I ate approximately 1/10th of the little bastard before I started to choke to death. That wasn’t enough though, he insisted I eat the whole thing. I made it to half, before I considered my health, and the hotel’s carpets, and I promptly buried the remaining piece under a tomb of rice and vegetables.

After all the food was served things got down to business. A number of startling but miraculous details were quickly revealed to me. First, all the toasting that I had feared up until this point was happening immediately instead of at the night time banquet as I had originally expected. Not to worry though, because I was handed a bottle of wine that was filled with a very lightly alcoholic grape juice, to bamboozle people into thinking it was real wine.

Around we went. Every single person of every table got their chance to ganbei with the wedding party. Most of the time it was just with the bride and groom, and the bridesmaid and I were relegated to refilling glasses, but at every table there was always one or two old guys who wanted their chance to ganbei with me. And oh, it couldn’t be with our wine spritzer concoction, no, it had to be the real Maotai baijiu, the stuff nightmares are made of. There was about 15 tables, so naturally the groom and I had to take turns defending each other from that satanic sauce.

By the last few tables, things started to get crazy. Instead of toasting with each of the people from the table (they were all younger friends), the table would force us to down rice bowls that had been filled with run off oil from the different dishes that had been served, combined with Maotai. After one and half of these, I vowed no more. Once we reached the final table they had a special surprise. I could chose either another punch bowl of poison, or a piece of cake with about 20 tooth picks sticking out of it. I couldn’t ask what I was to do with it, I had to choose one or the other. I could only think of them making me swallowing that damn ball of toothpicks like a pill, but if I had any more of the Maotai-oil mix, my stomach would beg for harakiri. Turns out it was a game, the bridesmaid had to hold the piece of cake by one of the toothpicks in her mouth, and I had to remove all the toothpicks with my mouth! Pretty good game you’re all thinking. Yeah so did I, but her boyfriend who was standing right behind sure didn’t. I however managed to pull out every single tooth pick without coming into contact with her, which her BF probably appreciated. At this point the banquet was pretty much over, so people started to clear out, while we stuck around shootin the shit with whoever was left.

The rest of the afternoon was not free time as had been suggested by the groom, but was actually a photo session in Badaguan, a former German Colonial concession that is now a giant urban park. Since I didn’t think there’d be much me in the photos, I wandered off into a secluded area and passed out in a bush. Sure enough, sleep was futile as every 15 minutes or so my presence was needed. I soldiered on like a man and we finished the photos before sundown. With that out of the way, we piled into different cars and made our way to the next banquet hall.

Even though I only got about 15 minutes of delicious nap time at the park, I was re-energized for the second banquet. This time I actually got to enjoy the food, because there was no toasting of formalities, it was just eat, drink, and enjoy. The drinking part was a way more relaxed affair, and everyone was taking it easy…at first. There was also only about half as many people at this banquet than there was at the first one. I was doing alright, despite a few more calls to ganbei with the Maotai. The groom on the other hand…well by the time we took him home at around 10pm he was toasted. He couldn’t even stand on his own two feet. That’s cause he didn’t have the power of the power nap on his side, so I don’t blame him. My liver is a real stubborn masochistic mofo, so of course I had to head out for even more drinks with some Korean friends after the ordeal.

All in all, in summary, and to conclude on this event with some reflection, I’d have to say Chinese weddings fucking kick ass. The culture and traditions involved may be a little hard to comprehend for my primitive foreign barbarian brain, but I had a good time all the same. Would I do it all again? Well, my friend slipped me one little nugget of information about being a best man in China. If you’re already married, you’re ineligible. So Mom and Dad, just wanted to let you know, I’m getting hitched ASAP.

Now it was the bride’s turn to get the green light from the groom’s parents. More stuffed envelopes changed hands, and tea was served by the bride to the new in-laws. At this point everyone was more mellow as most of the major traditions had been fulfilled. Lots of photos and video were taken, some games with little kids asking the newlyweds something I can’t remember, and we all boarded up into our red convoy of cars to the banquet hall.

There was one more surprise that I should have anticipated. You see, I met this friend of mine through the mountain biking scene in Qingdao when I first arrived there. Over the years we managed to keep riding together despite the fact that I’m always on the move and he works a strange schedule. I love biking. He loves biking. He loves his new wife. But he also still loves biking. We stopped halfway to hotel where the banquet was to be and I asked what was going on.

“We waiting for few moar friends, should be ten minute” he said.

Sure enough 10 minutes later and an entire squadron of bikers showed up, their bikes all blinged out with balloons and wedding decorations, ready to accompany us to the banquet. That wasn’t all.

“Get out of car, we ride!”

We all got out, two people got off their bikes and let the bridesmaid and I ride, while one guy had a bike for the groom and bride to double on. I was having a hard enough time riding in a suit and dress shoes, I takes some real bananas to double a girl who’s wearing a dress that runs 20 feet long without it getting caught up in the gears. Every damn pair of eyes along the route was glued to us like they watching an Adam Sandler movie for the first time, happy, some laughing, unaware that it only gets dumber and funnier the more you think about it.

Arriving at the banquet hall, we were greeted by an even larger group of noise making people and dragon dancers than was at the house. This group were real pros, they made the last group look like street bums. There was actually three weddings going on that day, and they all do it at the same time, so the huge crowd waiting at the door wasn’t all for us. There was other groups of noise people and dragon dancers waiting for the other newlyweds, which was a little awkward. I’m not sure why, just left an air of tension to the scene. I was almost waiting for the noise people to try and out noise each other and the dragon dancers to have a dragon dance off. Shit woulda gone down! Down to Chinatown! Riiiight…Anyways after all the chaos and paparazzi mob of photos we made our way in.

*Chinese weddings have nothing in fours and no fours. Now don’t you forget it!

At this point in the game my duties as banlang (伴郎) officially began. First, I had to pose as if I was making sure the groom looked sharp. You know, padding him down, brushing invisible dust off his suit, staring at him from different angles as if it made some kind of difference. The cameraman filmed away and people snapped pictures, this was a big deal. After he was ready, and the house was fully set up, we were off to go pick up the bride. Once we made our way outside, I had to make sure to follow the groom around the whole day, leaving no door unopened and no bidding unbid. This was all part and parcel. As a total surprise to me, when we got outside, there was a shiny red Land Rover waiting for us. I thanked the norse gods for this, because it would quickly become apparent why we did all the driving the night previous. We were plotting the routes that we would take with the caravan of cars (all red of course), and how long it would take so that we could arrive at the different places on time. You see, it’s essential that on the wedding day, the newlyweds do not retrace any given route to get back to a destination. Every trip has to be an entirely new way, otherwise it would signify going back, and could lead to the clock turning backwards, back to being unmarried, then pimply teenagers, turning into kids, and then little babies, and next thing you know it’s Benjamin Button all over again and no one wants that flapdoodle. Yes I just used the word flapdoodle…deal with it.

We got to the brides house after a very enjoyable ride, since I was shotgun and would be the whole day. Once there, we had to bribe our way in the door using small packets of red envelopes filled with money, and singing some songs as a part of the traditional games thing. I was feeling pretty hungry and tired already and wasn’t having any of it, so I kicked in the door while yelling “LISTEN UP BITCHES ITS TIME TO GET THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD.” Ahh who am I foolin, reality was more like a solid rendition “I’m a little teapot” and the girls decided we could proceed. Finally, the groom met the bride (looked as though she spent about 3 hours getting ready), and had to carry her downstairs to meet her parents. There, the groom formally asked the bride’s parents if it was cool if they got hitched, which they seemed to be very cool with, considering the very fat red envelopes that were bestowed upon the groom. Then each of the brides parents had to eat some kind of candy, and it was dumpling time. The bride and groom had to help each other eat some dumplings, while the bridesmaid and I also got chow down. The key here was we all had to leave exactly two dumplings left in the bowls to signify the testicles…I mean the couple. This was a difficult task for me, as not having eaten much the night before, my stomach felt as though it was about to go down like Three Mile Isle and eating those dumplings was like throwing more nuclear fuel on that run away reaction. Hopefully things wouldn’t go critical.

After we finished up dinner, the girls and guys separated, for if we were to see each other after the stroke of 12, all our genitals would dry up and fall off according to a legend I just made up. My friend, two of his friends and I jumped in a car and headed for what I thought would be his new home. The girls went off to the old home where they would spend the night hopefully having pillow fights. While we did head to the new house, we only stopped there for a few minutes, and then proceeded to drive around for 3 hours to different places (the hotel where the wedding reception would be, his old house, his new house) back and forth and never taking the same route. We did this at no faster then 30km/h. I thought I was going to lose my mind and my bladder, cause I really had to pee, but I kept silent and figured it was just another one of those cultural peculiarities that would soon be put down like a sick dog by the globalism veterinarian.

We finally returned to his new house sometime past midnight, and spent a few hours talking about the next day. The other guys were already married so they told stories about how their last moments of freedom went down…the toilet. As soon as they mentioned that we’d be getting up at 5:30, I was already under the covers restricting my breath as hard as I could so as to pass out as quick as possible. It wouldn’t be quick.

When I inquired as to the statistical break down of the drinks, he replied that it would mostly be beer, with the occasional shot of baijiu or wine thrown in to keep shit real. This put my mind at ease, for I knew that strategically speaking, if I kept my stomach devoid of food, I could easily down a couple 40s of beer give or take, and the odd shot would be diluted with no affect. By his estimates there were to be about 100 guests. That would be grounds for entry into the century club right there. Not bad. Not bad at all. Then more bad news. The baijiu served would not be just any baijiu, but Kweichew Moutai baijiu. In Chinese, this drink isn’t even called a wine or a liquid, but a “sauce”. One time, I gave my friend back home a bottle of it for his birthday for shits. He took half a shot and then everything that was formerly within his digestive track was ejected at a remarkable velocity. Later he passed out in a bathtub somewhere. That should give you an idea. In summary, I would sooner consider tapping a volcano and taking a shot of liquid magma than deal with Moutai…repetitively.

Despite checking into the hotel around 11:30pm thanks to Air China and their mysterious “air traffic control delays”, my friend insisted on taking me out for beers. He also explained that in China the debauchery of bachelor parties has yet to fully catch on, but knowing I was very much not Chinese, assured me he still wanted to get into some trouble. His idea of trouble of course was me undergoing excessive beer consumption, dancing on bouncy dance floors and him living vicariously through me as I hit on girls that looked like they would have had more fun watching rigor mortis set in.

*hint: it rhymes with “nada”

Agents can be useful for a bunch of things. They have data on where tons of apartments are for rent, and can find them faster than you would on your own. There are indeed websites designed to search for rentals, but in my experience they are poorly designed. A good agent should argue on your behalf, mostly because they want to close the deal and get their fee, but also because you are the customer as opposed to the landlord. If you make your requirements clear to them, they will usually see to it that they’re met, or come close to it. Finally, they’ll do all the paperwork, and have contracts pre-written that are mostly in-favor of the tenant.

My strategy to finding the apartment I want is to first find out where I want to live. Then I pick the exact building that I want to be in. With the rental and real estate market overly saturated right now thanks to the economocalypse, chances are there will be at least one unit available in that building. The agent should be able to get you in there to take a look, and if you like it away you go. If you do need heed this advice and pick just some area, or even worse an entire district, you will wind up with some massive apartment on the verge of complete and total failure, with neighbors above, below and side to side who will all be doing renovations involving high volume power tools only at times you have to catch an early flight, are hung-over, or both.

Using this technique recently netted me a decent apartment. First inspection was good. The forties something landlord guy offered me good price, and was going to supply me with all the furniture I needed. Little did I know, despite his ownership of the place, the real owners were his elderly parents who materialized like wraiths at the second showing. It’s funny how friendly they were at first, only to become hostile banshees later on.

After heading back to the real estate office to sign the contract, the demons began to reveal themselves. First, they wanted the deposit to be a number that was perfect sounding to them, so no fours, 250’s or any other unlucky combinations. Of course I agreed, not wanting to offend their foolish but perfectly normal superstitions. Their son took a while to show up, and by the time he did I got the agent to explain that I only wanted to pay two six month terms instead of upfront for the whole year. So much can happen in a year, and if for some reason I need to make like a banana and get the fuck out, I don’t want to lose an excess of rent. Not to mention, the landlord would get to keep the deposit, thus affording him time to find a new tenant. The guy’s mom was already starting to pull the strings, and said was saying this was no good, unlucky, and would end badly. The landlord then offered that the deposit should be higher that what it was, I agreed that this was an acceptable offer. But before anyone could sign the contract, his mom suddenly started shrieking that there was no way he could rent it out, this was totally unacceptable, and that he should find someone else. Just moments early she had been signing praises about how good foreigners were to rent to.

The sheer noise she was making, and the repetitive yelling was not unlike that of a little child complaining about not wanting to eat her broccoli or something. It was just absurd to me that someone of that age would act like that. It’s really hard for me to even put it in words what the situation was like but I just sat there, and listened to this old witch go on. While I couldn’t make out everything she was saying, I did hear a number of slurs leave that old wrinkled cake hole. Finally the guy got up and said that he couldn’t sign it, and they left, without apologizing, but instead the mother continuing on about how what a horrible circumstance it would have been.

Despite this rather unpleasant experience, it was a blessing in disguise. I wouldn’t be stuck with superstitious landlords that probably would have been unreasonable anal goblins. Not to mention, the landlord’s brothers would have been living above and below me, so there very well could have noise complaints, stupid requests to practice English, and the smell of burning flesh of former tenants wafting into my flat.

On my way home in the taxi from this aborted contract signing I got a call from my agent about another landlord wanting to meet about another unit like the one I wanted in the same building the next day. Within 12 hours, I had a new contract, the landlord was in her early forties, was totally cool with six month payments and basically had no qualms whatsoever. Oh yeah and the price was more than 10% lower.

Landlords really are a completely random variable. Renting a new apartment is a lot like playing Russian roulette. Except in the empty chambers, you get delightful chambers to sleep in, while the ones that are full leave a nice gaping hole in your head with your brains oozing on the floor in a big mess that you will have to clean up in order to try and get your rental deposit back.

It’s about that time of year again, where my rent is nearing expiration and I have to find a new home to live. I never bother resigning a new contract because I always feel like I can do better than what I’ve got, which so far, I have. Not to mention I quite enjoy looking for new apartments here.

Who doesn’t love a real estate agency, where within 2 minutes of walking in the door, they have some landlords bringing you up to take a look at an apartment? Never mind appointments, introductions, names or telling the agents what I was looking for. They just whisked me right up to some random dwelling. That was a stone’s throw away from the agency. As luck would have it, that turned out to be the best place of the day.

The landlords are always so into it, it’s great. They quote you a price, and then immediately say, but if you take it right away we’ll lower the price even more. The first ones I had where a young middle-aged couple. They were nice, perhaps a bit too nice. The guy looked like he had recently gotten facelift, and perhaps addicted to cocaine. He was always wide eyed and had this enormously open smile that I thought he might offer as an extra room in the flat.

After giving the place a good once over, we sat down in the kitchen to go over the details. Immediately the guy offered us all a smoke. Being a non-smoker, I politely refuted, at which point he pulled a half empty bottle of cola out of a drawer(?) and offered it to me instead. I was going to say that I only drank water and booze, but I was afraid of what substance he would pull out of his sleeve next, so I switched the conversation back to the topic at hand.

Even when I’m speaking English, I have a hard enough time with these awkward situations. It’s because I often feel pigeonholed. I like the place or thing that I’m looking at, but obviously I’m not going make big commitments right away. They seemed to think I was ready to sign a contract right after 5 minutes in the place. Really, who rents the first house that’s shown to them? As I tried to be as polite as I could for coming down on short notice to show me their apartment, I couldn’t help but see a sudden dejected look in their eyes when I told them I needed think things over and look around. It was like they just found out that their puppy was beheaded by pirates. Feline mutant pirates. They could watch the highlights on the news at 11. It was back to the drawing board at the agency.

It’s hard enough for me alone to figure out what I want in terms of a place to live, but then to have to explain it in another language to someone who has no concept of my utility-value system is almost a lost cause. Almost. But as it turns out, I still got to have fun practicing my real estate terms in Chinese all day while cruising around in a QQ.

First time in a QQ

As I was being ferried around looking at new and well…not so new apartments, I had the opportunity of having my first ride in a QQ. To those of you from countries where vehicle safety standards exist, the QQ is a diminutive little car that’s ubiquitous here. They’re powered by engines packing a whopping 51 or 67 horsepower, and are the same size as a large bathtub. I have to say I came away impressed. For a car so small, it managed to zip around without too much effort (so there were some points where it almost stalled, more than likely due to the driver) with 4 guys piled inside of it. Speaking of the interior, clearly the Ringling Brothers played a role in its design process, because everyone including myself had ample leg room. The only problem I could really feel was the flimsy construction of the doors, the walls, and… pretty much the whole car. If you get in an accident in one of these things, forget about an ambulance coming to pick you up, you’re leaving in a Hurst. SUVs would fly by us, and it felt like I was on the 401 in a Camry being passed by a Mach trucks. Despite these small faults, it was fun. Just don’t expect me and my homies to be rolling around in one anytime ever.

Despite 5 hours of visiting various apartments and offices in different states of neglect my quest continues. Will I find that royal habitat, fit for a golden goose? Or will I be pulled into the next landlord’s massively gaping mouth to the far side of another dimension?

[update march 09]
Check out this new map to see where everything is! Nightlife MAP

Welcome to the nightlife capital of Shandong Province. Oh god do I wish that really meant something.

The Western Bars

First and foremost, we’ve got LeBang. It’s one of the few places that I consistently go (too often). If you’re a noob in Qingdao, you are guaranteed to meet drunken expats here. It’s usually busy Fridays and Saturdays cause they have an all you can drink deal, and a DJ spinning the retarded love child of house and top40. It is acceptable the first time, but if you go as often as I do, it starts to smell of Vieux Boulogne. The highlight: Seeing drunken eurotrash try to get with Chinese girls and fail miserably, then get beaten up by said Chinese girls’ boyfriends.

Another popular place along the same lines is Corner Jazz Bar. I rarely step foot in there because I can’t stand the crowd of businessmen and Russian hookers that usually spawn after New York Bar shuts down. I don’t know what the deal is with their washrooms but I’m near certain that the mob’s choppin’ up bodies in there. It fucking reeks. Music is strictly top40 pop and some Korean tunes too because that group always has a presence. Doesn’t get busy till about 1am and during weekdays don’t even bother. It’s a given they sell fake booze. The highlight: Hourly catfights between drunk over possessive Korean girls.

Moving along, there’s the upscale Qbar and New York Bar on HK road, both of which are located in hotels. I avoid NY Bar for aforementioned reasons. Qbar has a ladies night on Wednesday that I used to frequent for the booze that I managed to sequester from lady friends. Besides that, it’s too expensive for Qingdao, and although the hip-hop cover band is better than average, they play the same music every night. Also the bartenders WILL try to jack your change; so don’t forget to get it. The highlight: The washrooms. I would hold my crap all day just so I could dump a load off in there. Seriously, it was nicer than my own damn bathroom, and you can high five the bathroom guy on the way out.

Then there’s also OldJack’s, New Jack’s and King’s Head. These three bars are virtually the same: dimly lit, not very large, and populated by old guys talking about, watching, or fantasizing about playing soccer. The pub style atmosphere if that’s your thing. I’m not into these places on account of four reasons: all older people, more expensive drinks, no music, and most importantly no girls. The highlight: Ordering sushi from the place next to Old Jack’s and getting them to serve it straight into bar, and watching as every other barfly looks at you like you’ve invented the wheel.

Finally there are two other western bars worth mentioning. Lennon Bar is a two-floor place that at one time was a full of hookers. The owner or more likely the police kicked out all the floozies and now all that remains is a big empty shell with the Beatles playing in perpetual rotation. On the weekends and possibly on the weekdays there are live cover bands, most likely there will be so few people that you’ll be able to get them to play songs for you instead of the 80′s-90′s bullshit that the musicians have been robotically programmed to play. Charlie’s Bar is across from Soho on Jiangxi Rd. and is similar atmosphere to Jack’s, but they have more reasonable prices, younger crowds, music and open bar on the weekends. The highlight: Watching the owner at Lennon slowly get drunk over the course of the night and then have to deal with the police showing up for the inevitable “noise complaint” a.k.a. the we need money to support our mistresses visit. Oh and Lennon has really good Chinese food.

The Chinese Bars

If you’ve ever wondered what working in the Chinese manufacturing industry is like, just go to one of the clubs. Big, loud, smoky environments await you. The product is you; the consumer and they want to “make” as many of you as possible. Hence you’ll be rushed to a table and pushed into buying only bottles of liquor, and they would prefer if you’d order 6 packs of warm beer instead of per bottle. You might wind up with a big gay plate of fruit on your table if you’re swindled into ordering your bottle in a combo or special.

On Jiangxi Rd. across from Charlie’s bar is Soho. This place used to be more Western/Korean, but was gradually overrun by locals and morphed into a Chinese bar. The music was once almost exclusively hip-hop, now it’s mostly Asian pop tunes. Some of the dancers are dudes in tight pants and makeup, if that’s what floats your boat (it sinks mine). Actually, it should be barred as counter-revolutionary activity. Drinks are cheap; but they really don’t know how to make anything other than bar rails. The interior is clearly steampunk inspired which I think is hilarious, although it is a franchise, so the owners probably had no idea what they were doing anyway. This is still somehow the best Chinese bar in town.

Right near LeBang, is the former Babyface, which has now become SOS. This bar is the newest of the big Chinese clubs in Qingdao. Take a shipping container full of LED lights, 2 hits of acid and really cheesy tastes you’ve got the interior design of this place. Upon entering you will be hounded by staff to sit at table and order drinks. Par for the course really. Music is sporadically hip-hop, which is why I’ve been there more than once. Almost always it’s garbage technopop though. Not often is it very busy, and the crowd thins out around 11pm.

Further up HK road towards the schools, you’ve got the massive Feelings. This is a large cavern of a dancehall, buried deep under an office building where it belongs. Same shit technopoop that never changes. Same annoying waiters. But this place for some reason or another is always RAMMED with people. I’m not sure why, maybe because it was the first on the block and the club kids here have rabid brand loyalty, or maybe they put crystal meth in the drinks. They do have one of those bouncy dance floors so maybe that’s the key.

Back down HK road, across from Carrefour is Feeling VIP. I only mention this place because people undoubtedly get it confused with Feelings. As far as I know the two are not connected in anyway. If you want to go to one of them (have mercy on your soul) it’s probably Feelings and not VIP. VIP is smaller and not as busy. Although I must confess I once knew someone who would give me a free bottle of vodka every time I went, so as you can imagine, I went often.

There’s other Chinese dance clubs scattered about the city, but those are the three main ones. I wouldn’t go to other ones, simply because they are going to be exactly the same as these three. What you should check out though, are the BEER GARDENS. Yes Qingdao is the home of Tsingtao Beer (captain obvious to the rescue!), and because of that we get some of the best draft beer in China. These places aren’t that hard to find. Just look for courtyards squished in between old apartment blocks, and then look for the giant stacks of kegs and you’ll know you’ve struck oil. You grab a small table, little chairs made for midgets and get your beer on. The price? 1.5RMB for a PINT. That’s 23 cents for 500ML of beer. And this is super-fresh, came from the brewery today beer. Far cheaper than what you pay in the stores for the crappy over carbonated junk, at half the price. You can also order to go, and take your beer home in a bag. Unfortunately these places are only open from late spring to early fall. Another downside? They often close up shop before midnight.

The Korean Bars

Korean bars are a different beast altogether. Thanks to the quarter million some odd Koreans in this town, they add another dimension to the nightlife. The people are mostly students and 20 somethings. They serve a few different brands of Soju (vodka-like liquor at 20%), maybe some sake, and big bottles of Tsingtao. All will be served ice cold. The deal is that you gotta buy a couple of dishes of food depending on how many people you’re with. Good news is the food is all pretty damn good. It ranges from the obvious nachos and nuggets to the more obscure live octopus tentacles that will still be squirming in your mouth as you chew away. Keep in mind that the menus will be in Korean and Chinese without English or pictures. The best bar I can recommend is Yakibar, it’s right next to the horrible sumo sushi in HK Garden. They have good servers who speak fluent Chinese and maybe a little English, but there will usually be someone who speaks English well. They also hook it up with free fried eggs and seaweed. Pure class.