Epidemic-control measures.
Beijing: some areas medium- and high-risk.
Weihai: low-risk.
Leaving Beijing: Beijing’s latest disease-control policy.
Passengers entering a station to board must present a negative PCR test from within the past 48 hours.
Arriving in Weihai: Weihai’s latest disease-control policy.
1. People with a travel history in a high-risk area within the past seven days are placed under seven days of centralized quarantine for medical observation; those with a travel history in a medium-risk area within the past seven days are placed under seven days of home quarantine for medical observation — or, failing the conditions for home quarantine, under centralized quarantine for medical observation.
2. People who within the past seven days have been in other low-risk areas of a county (city, district, or banner) where a medium- or high-risk area is located must, after entering or returning to Shandong, take two PCR tests within three days, 24 hours apart, and monitor their health.
3. Areas where no medium- or high-risk designation has yet been announced but where community spread has occurred within the past seven days are treated as medium-risk areas.
2022.10.23
The whole journey went smoothly. To get out of Weihai station I only had to register my personal information and take one PCR test, and then I was out; I took a taxi to where I was staying.
Beijing South Railway Station was nearly empty — a tenth of what it was in 2019, I’d guess. On the way there I complained about the state of things with the ride-hailing driver, at a level of frankness that could have landed us both in jail; all one can say is that life is really too hard for ordinary people. I’d meant to take a proper taxi, but found that a shared ride was cheaper — and who’s to blame but my own lack of money. The ride-hailing driver said the police would catch them and fine them, so he could only drop me on the outermost lane, and hurried me out of the car. I was traveling light — one wheeled case, one backpack — and still I felt it was too much.
If you never leave the house you’ll never run into a problem, and if you never run into a problem you’ll never solve one — which is why going out is a very, very important activity.
For example, I’d been worried the whole time about whether I’d be quarantined once I got to Weihai, and whether the information I’d found matched the reality — I could only know once I arrived. I had just reached the hotel when a recorded reminder call came, telling me to do three tests in five days. I didn’t really understand it — there were several different rules: what to do if you came to Weihai from another province, what to do if you came from within the province, and what to do if you came from a city in the province that had a risk area. But I was only staying in Weihai three days, so I planned to go for a test every day.
On the train you had to wear a mask the whole way. Then how do you drink water, or eat? Do you take it off, or not? I couldn’t help remembering a funny video: a reporter interviews a resident who is busy eating. “Why did you take off your mask?” “Because I’m eating.”
The ride itself wasn’t painful; the worst of it was having to wear a mask for hours on end — too tiring, too irritating. Beside me sat a young mother with a child of three or four, just the two of them, with a case and a bag, and every so often she had to tell the child a story to keep him happy. Mothers really are magnificent.
It was my first time on a high-speed train in more than a year, and I felt nothing much about it — until a friend replied under my post, “I haven’t been on a high-speed train in three years.” Only then did it occur to me that the pandemic may have weighed very little on some people, and been a heavy blow to others.
On the road from Yantai to Weihai a sliver of the sea came into view, and I hurried to film it, thrilled. The sea stood much higher than the flat land, as if it sloped down from above; I don’t know what optical principle that is. I’d seen something similar at Qinghai Lake before.
It was my first time staying in a guesthouse — just a bit over a hundred a night, a high-floor room with a sea view. Because I reached Weihai close to five, and getting out of the station took time and the taxi took more, I couldn’t catch the sunset over the sea. Standing at the window I could see the nighttime sea. The wind was strong; I don’t know whether it had just picked up that day, or whether it is always strong by the sea — a steady roar, the waves rolling, white lines one after another rushing up the shore.
I took a hot shower, and my energy came back quickly; I hurried out to see the sea. It was only a five-minute walk to the shore, and there weren’t many people out at night. Ah — at last I was seeing the sea up close! The cold wind made me pull my clothes tighter, but I couldn’t hold back my excitement. Dark as it was, I couldn’t see the color of the water, but there was no fishy smell in the sea wind, and the air smelled good; I’m sure the water must be very clear. This is the water of the Yellow Sea, the water of the Pacific, not the enclosed water of the Bohai Sea — surely livelier and cleaner than over there.
I walked along the shore from the Shandong University Weihai campus all the way to Huoju 8th Street and back — four or five kilometers, and I saw only a handful of people the whole way. I’d meant to find a restaurant on Shenyang Road for dinner, but found that many of the shops were closed. It really was desolate. Maybe the high season is over; maybe the economy is bad; maybe I’m overthinking it. I went to a supermarket and bought something to eat.
People in Shandong really do love their garlic — or is it scallions? Either way, pungent and eye-stinging; you could smell it on the train and in the taxi.
The internet at Beijing South Railway Station was terrible; at noon there was news of the utmost importance to Chinese people, and I couldn’t load it. I’ve left Beijing; I ought to pay less attention to that sort of thing. But can I escape it just by not looking? Everything in China is controlled from Beijing.
From Weihai Railway Station to the guesthouse the road rose and fell the whole way, and even went through a tunnel; the terrain took me aback. After living so long in Beijing, I’d come to know only that the city is flat — they used to call it Beiping, the northern flat — and laid out square and true; I’d forgotten that there are cities with other kinds of terrain.
I really do love the sea! Cold as the sea wind is, and though it probably invites rheumatism, the sea is so soothing, so calming. If only I could afford to buy a place in Weihai — ah, houses again; how vulgar I’ve become. How I resent it — the times, my fate.
I turned off the light and lay down, and in the dark I could hear the waves outside, burst after burst — like noise, and like a lullaby; for a moment I couldn’t tell which.
2022.10.24
Today was a day for watching the sunrise and the sunset. I got up at four thirty in the morning, having slept only three hours. Before bed I’d been torn over whether to go see the sunrise that morning; the day before had left me exhausted, and I’d gone to bed very late, probably not falling asleep till half past one — if I couldn’t get up, I’d put it off to the next day. But when I looked online, someone recommended Half-Moon Bay and said you absolutely had to check the weather, because if it was cloudy you’d see nothing. I checked the weather again and found the next day was indeed forecast cloudy; there was nothing for it but to go that morning, and so I set an alarm.
At Half-Moon Bay I had already shot nearly forty minutes of time-lapse footage, and the sun was close to rising, when luckily a woman came over and told me, “You won’t see the sun from here — the little island blocks it. You have to go on ahead.” I ran north as fast as I could and just made it; the sun was only minutes from coming up out of the sea. I have two phones: a new one (with a SIM card) and an old one (no SIM, used for the time-lapse). Traveling alone spares you the trouble of looking after other people, but it also costs you the pleasure of having someone take your picture — you can’t have both.
When I first reached the shore I could still see the new moon in the east, a bright hook, also rising; the dark part of the moon was plainly visible too, like a shadow, and as the sun rose the crescent slowly disappeared from sight. The sky kept changing color, and the sea changed with it — red, blue, white, gold. I tried to describe those shifts with my limited vocabulary and found myself helpless. Thank goodness we have cameras these days — though of course a camera is no match for your own eyes, which is why I hope you’ll come and see for yourself.
The sunset was just as wonderful — even more beautiful than the sunrise: richer colors in the sky and on the water, more varied moods in a person, perhaps because by evening people have just stopped working and have more patience to feel things. Again I won’t describe it; come to the seaside and see for yourself. A girl asked me to photograph her and her boyfriend together, and I was glad to help. The young woman leaned her head on the young man’s shoulder, smiling so sweetly that even I felt happy. When they remember this lovely evening years from now, the corners of their mouths will surely lift of their own accord.
After the sunrise I ate breakfast at a street stall, went to the nearest PCR testing point for a test, and then walked all the way from Half-Moon Bay to the Gate of Happiness. At Haiyuan Park I saw many little boats moored in the harbor, rising and falling with the water, and seabirds flying past — that sight too was deeply soothing. The closer you get to the Gate of Happiness, the closer you come to the city center; the people and the cars thicken, and so it stops being any fun. I like a seaside with few people and quiet. Walking along the shore you can see Liugong Island the whole way; a pity I had no interest in going over.
The sun rises every day, and sets every day — but is it necessary to watch it every day, and wouldn’t you tire of it if you did? Especially at dawn, in winter — can you even drag yourself out of bed? If you live by the sea long enough, will you get bored? Will you get lonely? Does life really have any meaning at all? If you ask yourself these questions, it means you’ve begun to doubt. But as long as today has meaning, then life has meaning. Think about it: how many beautiful photographs did you take today? Do those photographs have no meaning? Then why did you save them?
In these two days by the sea I’ve been posting up a storm on my feed; I don’t know whether it annoys some people or makes others envious. If they want to mute me, let them — I don’t care. Once I get to Rushan I doubt I’ll post this often. Once you’ve had your fill of the sea, you still have to do other things: read, write, study English, cook, sit in the sun, climb hills, exercise, make friends.
I still hadn’t foraged the shallows. At Jinhai Bay Pier by the bathing beach I saw people turning over stones on the rocky flat below the bridge — that’s probably what foraging is. I don’t know what they were feeling for, because I can hardly name a single sea creature: a clodhopping, ignorant inland man. I’ll have to wait till I get to Rushan to learn them one by one. Confucius said that from the Book of Songs we “become largely acquainted with the names of birds, beasts, and plants.” People were fishing off the pier, and I couldn’t name the fish they pulled up either. How to cook all this seafood I had even less idea.
I almost forgot something very important: I’ve settled on a place in Rushan. A kind reader who lies flat in Rushan helped me look; he checked out several places for me, and I finally decided on this one. RMB 4,000 a year, a deposit of RMB 1,000, an agency fee of RMB 200, with property fees and water, electricity, and gas paid by me. It’s in a decently situated compound: fourth floor, two bedrooms, and it looks quite new, roomy and bright — I’m very pleased. I’ve paid the deposit; now I just have to go to Silver Beach on the 26th to sign the contract and take it over with the agent. I hope that goes smoothly too. Bless me.
I’ve finished settling up with the agent in Beijing too, and got back nearly six thousand in deposit. Pokuan said, “One year’s rent in Beijing would rent you a place on Silver Beach for twenty years.” True enough. Put that way it’s almost frightening — and Rushan starts to look like a wonderful bargain.
Many of Weihai’s street signs are in three languages (Chinese, English, Korean) — I don’t know what the city’s ties with Korea are — and there are plenty of Korea-flavored restaurants too. Many place names here end in -gang, “hillock.” The built-up area is full of slopes, and there are hills besides. And there are many pine woods along the shore.
2022.10.25
A friend in Beijing told me there were cases near the compound where I used to live; lucky I left in time, or I might not have got out at all. I’ve turned off my Beijing health code app and never opened it — I’m sure opening it would only trigger a pop-up alert. Now I use only the Shandong health code.
A little before six in the evening, a push notification from Weihai’s official channel popped up: “One asymptomatic Covid-19 case found in Huancui District.” It gave me a start — even Weihai had one now. Please, let it not affect my going to Rushan tomorrow. It leaves you so helpless. How much longer is this going to drag on?
Today there was no need to get up early for the sunrise, so I slept till half past eight. I dawdled in bed a while, then got up, washed, and went out for a PCR test. That made three days in a row. Tomorrow I’d probably have to do it in Rushan. Weihai has any number of testing points too — a real waste of money.
The education Chinese people receive from childhood makes them take hardship for granted: “Only by tasting the bitterest of bitterness does a man rise above the rest,” “A few more trials will do you good” — never mind that the suffering other people force on you could have been avoided in the first place. Why do we have to take so many PCR tests? Why can’t we go anywhere? Why do we have to wear masks? Why can’t we criticize?
The junior-high textbook has a passage from Mencius: “Thus, when Heaven is about to confer a great office on any man, it first exercises his mind with suffering, and his sinews and bones with toil. It exposes his body to hunger, and subjects him to extreme poverty. It confounds his undertakings. By all these methods it stimulates his mind, hardens his nature, and supplies his incompetencies.” Screw that — let whoever loves hardship eat it.
At noon I sat by the sea a long while; the sun was good, the water clear, the wind light. I took off my shoes and socks and walked into the water — icily cold, but not unpleasantly so, and the close contact with sand and seawater felt deeply relaxing. Some people were swimming in the sea; they’re brave. Once I get to Rushan I’ll go bathing in the sea too — winter swimming, to make my body strong. But I’m alone: who’d watch my clothes?
Watching the sunset from the bathing beach at this time of year, the sun is always blocked by the hills to the west — it sets behind the hills, not into the sea. I guess it’s only in summer, when the sun is higher, that you can see it sink into the water from here. So I thought I’d move and go watch the sunset from the Second Bathing Beach, which lies on the far side of the hill; I reckoned I’d see the sun go down into the sea there. But when I got over there I found hills beyond hills, and it was blocked again. Still, there was a new discovery: on the far side of the hill is the Xiaoshidao fishing and shore-foraging park, where many locals were digging clams on the shallow flats, a busy scene, a gift from the Creator. If I came and dug a few myself, at least I’d have dinner. The sand was speckled with little round holes — the homes of small crabs.
Since I couldn’t see the sunset at ground level, I hurried back to the guesthouse; from the sea-view room on the twenty-second floor I might be able to. I propped up my phone, lay back in an armchair facing west, and watched the sinking sun and the coastline below, like a leisured old man enjoying his late years. A pity there were clouds; apart from the sun, which was red, everything else was dim. I watched the sun all the way down. My last evening in Weihai.
These few days in Weihai count only as sightseeing, not as living here — because, of course, a tangle of rules forced me to spend just a few days in Weihai when I could have gone straight to Rushan. But there’s no help for it; you endure, you compromise. And once I got there I felt the trip was well worth it: I saw the sunrise, the sunset, and the foraging; I took plenty of good photos and video, and forgot what it had cost me. I didn’t get to many places altogether, and they’re all places everyone knows; if I were living here long-term I could walk the whole coastline and maybe find a few secret spots. The ride-hailing driver said Rongcheng’s Naxianghai and Chengshantou were even more worth a visit, and one look at the map shows Rongcheng is better placed. Later I can use Rushan as a base and explore the surrounding counties and cities. No hurry; first, get to know Rushan inside out.
I could never be one of those lifestyle influencers. Look: I haven’t said a word about food, and I never went to Hanlefang. My outings are all on foot or by ride-hailing. I found Huoju 8th Street fairly pointless, and the Gate of Happiness is an utterly hideous building. I stayed in an extremely cheap guesthouse, not some trendy hotel. All I can recommend is the sunrise and the sunset, and sitting by the sea in a daze — which costs not a cent, and does little to boost consumption.
Beijing is certainly more convenient to live in than Weihai, and Weihai certainly more convenient than Rushan — it’s the opposite of moving up in the world, and more like moving down. In these few days in Weihai I’ve had some new realizations. For instance, once I’m in Rushan I can’t be running off to the sea and watching it every day; in the end I have to settle into ordinary life — eat well, sleep well, exercise well, improve my various abilities, see whether I can earn a little money, and save money too. And living alone, with no friends and no social life, a person might go mad, like the protagonist of The Shining. In a strange place I also have to learn to protect myself, not be pushed around, keep my wits about me, and be braver.
Far from Beijing, its big events still reach my ears now and then, through various channels, but its small things have truly receded from me — the Summer Palace, the Old Summer Palace, the Forbidden City, and the White Pagoda now exist only in memory. Convenient as Beijing is to live in, it is too oppressive. “Looking at myself, I have no long-range plan; all I know is to go back to the old woods.” And this above all I love: “A wind from the pine-trees blows my sash, and my lute is bright with the mountain moon.”
Tomorrow I go to Rushan, and a truly new life begins. I wish myself all the best — I wish myself a life of happiness and fearlessness.
Epidemic-control measures: Rushan, Weihai.
[Health notice] Reporting by people entering or returning to Rushan, and a PCR testing notice (updated October 25).
All people entering or returning to Rushan who, since September 24, have a travel history in Tibet, Xinjiang, Gansu, or Ningxia; since September 29, in the Inner Mongolia Autonomous Region; since October 1, in Yunnan’s Dehong Prefecture or Xishuangbanna Prefecture; since October 3, in Zhengzhou, Henan; since October 14, in Zaozhuang’s Tengzhou, Jining’s Jiaxiang County, or Dezhou’s Yucheng; since October 17, in Yantai’s Zhifu District; since October 25, in Qinghai; or within the past seven days, in any area with an epidemic risk, or any area where local transmission has occurred but no medium- or high-risk designation has yet been announced — must report to their community (village), work unit, or the hotel or guesthouse where they are staying at the earliest opportunity (★ click to see the self-reporting methods and the reporting phone numbers of each town and subdistrict), truthfully provide their movements and personal health information, take the initiative to undergo PCR testing (★ click to see the list of PCR sampling points), and cooperate with all disease-control measures.