Seasonal Snippets from Beijing: Why I Had a Crush on the City I Once Shunned

For a long time, Beijing felt like one of the least appealing cities in China to me: a hazy, dreary, and cold political hub that has issued some ruthless orders throughout history, leaving a trail of pain for the nation’s 1.4 billion people.

I’ve found myself avoiding the city for years, steering clear of trips and internships here. Gaining my journalism enlightenment with respected reporters in Hong Kong and making like-minded friends there, I yearned to stay in a place where the remnants of press freedom and civic life still flickered, despite the heavy shadow cast by national security laws following the 2019 pro-democracy protests.

But landing a full-time job in a newsroom in Hong Kong proved tougher than I’d imagined. After a year of internship and freelancing, a job opportunity finally landed in my lap – in Beijing, the very city I’d long harbored strong “stereotypes” against.

This was a tough decision for me: Am I really heading back to the mainland under the watchful eye of Big Brother? But am I letting go of this hard-won chance? And what if I can’t secure another full-time position before my temporary work visa expires?

Reality won out. I left Hong Kong with disappointment in myself for not being capable enough to stay, and arrived in Beijing for the first time in late September.

This career shift forced me to experience the capital firsthand, and now, I have to admit that I indeed had a crush on it.

Meeting Beijing at Its Best

First impressions matter.

My encounter with Beijing came at just the right moment: early autumn, when the skies were mostly clear, the sun was gentle, and the temperatures were just perfect for someone like me, a Southern China native weary of the sweltering heat and longing for a refreshing chill.

During my first week in a youth hostel at the Friendship Store, I explored the city on shared bikes, wandering aimlessly and soaking in the breeze – cheap fun I hadn’t enjoyed much in crowded, costly Hong Kong over the past two years.

As dusk fell, I meandered into random hutongs beneath dim street lamps that cast warm glows over cobblestone paths, where locals cruised home on scooters or bicycles. Cats were an unmistakable presence there, lazily strolling or napping on courtyard walls, gray-tiled rooftops, and the cool stones below.

Hutongs are ruled by cats.

As I weaved through the hutongs and walked through the lively chatter of local Beijingers in their contagious dialect featured by “erization”( Er Hua Yin) – adding an “er”(儿) sound to certain words – my childhood memories of living in my grandparents’ countryside home came rushing back.

Hutong residents return home and take leisurely strolls at dusk.

Though we spoke different dialects (btw I found myself getting “er-ized” quickly!) and lived in more spread-out countryside homes in southern China, the laid-back touch of everyday life felt just heartwarmingly familiar to me.

As autumn deepened into November, the city grew more adorable with its golden hue, as fallen ginkgo leaves carpeted the streets. Each sight of those yellow trees shimmering in the sunlight brought me a rush of happiness.

Gold is the theme color of Beijing in November.

By then, I had settled into a neighborhood near the CBD – not exactly my dream spot, but it was probably the best choice for someone who needs to cut down on commuting to make daily morning meetings at 8:20.

Before actually starting flat hunting in Beijing, I had assumed that rent there would be more budget-friendly than in Hong Kong, but it wasn’t the case for the CBD! My new flat costs about 500 yuan ($71) more than my old room in Causeway Bay monthly but this single unit is five times larger than the cramped 6-square-meter room in the flat I shared with three roommates in Hong Kong – one of the world’s most expensive cities.

It honestly felt a bit surreal – and oddly undeserved – to live in such a spacious flat with a large bay window after two years of being squeezed into the tiny room in Hong Kong, where my yoga mat could barely lay out, and my only window faced the wall of a nearby high-rise, barred and small.

Beijing awakens as the sky transitions from deep blue to a gradient of orange on a clear day, October 21, 2025.

While the rent stretched my budget a bit, it felt worth it every time I woke up to bright mornings filled with sunshine streaming onto my champagne roses and flaming Katy on the windowsill. (Though, sadly, I must announce that both plants have passed away—perhaps they were a bit too spoiled by the sun, or maybe my green thumb overwatered them.)

Memorial photos of my champagne roses and flaming Katy.

A more spacious room with an open view indeed boosted my mood; and the more affordable everyday conveniences – from my daily three quality meals, along with occasional afternoon treats, for well under 100 yuan to flu-season medications delivered straight to my door – have deepened my appreciation for the delivery workers zipping by on scooters. Sadly, they remain underpaid and overworked while their super-platforms battle it out in a cutthroat price war.

A saying from China’s founding father Mao Zedong — “People, only the people drivesthe creation of history” — hangs beside a “lafufu”, a fake labubu doll.

Chatty, Sassy Beijingers

While affordable convenience isn’t exactly exclusive to Beijing, it’s the lively and sometimes sassy locals—complete with their infectious “erization” dialect—that add a unique flavor to the city.

“What’s there to even take a picture(r) of? That shitty Drum Tower!“ A Beijing granny quipped as she passed by a tourist posing in front of the historic landmark. Her blunt remark quickly went viral on social media, making the “shitty Drum Tower” even more popular.

I encountered another sharp-tongued Beijing granny in a hutong near Yonghe Temple while practicing my filming skills with my phone.

On one side of the hutong, an elderly man and two grannies were busy weighing some folded cardboard boxes. As I slowly panned my phone from left to right, I caught the eye of the gray-haired granny on the far right. She glanced my way and, with a thick er-ized accent, shot back a succinct remark: “真是闲的...” (“Such an idler!”)

Her somewhat dismissive comment caught me off guard, and I quickly stopped filming, sheepishly walking away. While I felt a bit embarrassed at that moment, I couldn’t deny her point —I was indeed an idling tourist, especially compared to her and her fellow workers.

Grannies in colorful attire enjoy their morning dance to "Me and My Motherland," a patriotic Chinese song, in Liangmahe Park, central Beijing.

Grannies gather in the afternoon in Picun, an urban village on the outskirts of Beijing’s Chaoyang district, known for its vibrant literary community of migrant workers.

The sassy yet lively characters aren’t limited to Beijing grannies; you also find them in the taxi drivers—typically a group of middle-aged men known as the “current affairs commentators on the road.”

On a Thursday evening earlier this month, I was stuck in traffic around Jianguo Gate in the cab of an impatient native Beijing driver.

“Ugh, why does he have to visit China?! Look at how bad this traffic is!” The driver grumbled, punctuating his frustrations with the characteristic “erization.”

I then realized, oh right – French President Emmanuel Macron was in town today, having talks with Chinese leader Xi at the Great Hall of the People, around 5 kilometers away. There must be some road restrictions because of his visit – No wonder the traffic was a mess!

The driver, looking to be in his 40s, leaned out the window every couple of minutes to check how much longer we’d be stuck in this crawl, sighing irritably.

“What the hell is he doing in China? He’s not one of our buddies!” he vented again as we crawled along for about five minutes.

Though I felt a twinge of regret for not taking the subway that day, it ended up being a fun ride, with the driver ranting about Macron throughout the traffic jam.

Another cab driver I met during a midnight ride in late October—from a jazz bar near the Drum Tower to my home—was less expressive but eager to share a juicy story he heard from his taxi buddies.

A woman – who was fed up with the foul smell coming from a makeshift public bathroom that appeared near her home during neighborhood renovations – called the police days before the big military parade on September 3 and threatened that she would report it to the world leaders at Tiananmen Square during the big event if they didn’t sort it out by then.

And this woman was reportedly taken away.

“It’s said that she called the police for the smell problem multiple times, but they never fixed it,” the driver said. “But come on, it’s the military parade—the whole world is watching! How dare you say that? We don’t have that freedom of speech!” The driver said half-jokingly.

These two have been the most talkative taxi drivers I’ve encountered in the city so far who initiated conversation with me. Most others kept it brief, simply greeting me before falling silent for the ride.

A man practices tai chi in the sunlight.

Personally I’d love to chat with cabbies – the barometers of social change gathering the most intriguing gossip while interacting with a diverse array of passengers.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get many chances to chat with Hong Kong cab drivers, as my poor wallet only allowed me to have a taxi for four reimbursable work-related rides and my poor Cantonese restricted my conversations with local drivers to “m4 goi1” (thank you), “do1 ze6” (many thanks), and a few short phrases for destinations.

How long is the honeymoon?

My first three months with Beijing are so far so good, but how long will this honeymoon last?

Beijing, show me how long you deserve.

So far, I’ve mainly scratched the surface, experiencing the most central, flashy —and arguably the brightest—sides of you. I’m eager to uncover your various facets and find out who you are beneath it all.

How are you treating the most marginalized and vulnerable groups? Are you being inclusive enough towards the millions of migrant workers in your sprawling urban planning?

Scooters glide by in Picun, the urban village once known for its literary community of migrant workers.

And — circling back to my very initial preconceived notion that put you at the bottom of my list for years — do you have the guts and honesty to reflect on some of your darkest past that still lingers among your people?

I’ll discover the answers in your wrinkles.