On this afternoon, the streets were abuzz with local life; the lack of expats in the crowd hinted at this hutong's authentic day-to-day vibrancy. Families, scooters zipping by, and the kaleidoscope of traditional Chinese fast food coalesced into a singular visual feast distinct to hutongs. It was in the narrow side streets, however, where a quieter story unfolded—one that allowed my camera to focus on scenes less traveled.

I joked with a friend that I had been Beijing’ed. My family and I moved here last June, and ever since, I’ve felt my connection to the Iranian diaspora slipping–this week hammered that home. My mistake, missing the ever-important kick-off event to the Nowruz season, wouldn’t have been a thing back in DC. But, if I’m honest, this disconnect isn’t anything new. I mean, we grew up in rural Kentucky. So, it felt like everything Iranian happened in a vacuum. While we knew we were Iranian, my father’s maintenance of our cultural touch points was basically limited to rice with every meal and facilitating a love of radishes.

Back then, it was known as a nightlife hotspot. It was where expats and young Beijingers went for a night of drinking and dancing—a Beijing version of DC’s Adams Morgan or Dupont Circle. As things go in Beijing, however, the area isn’t as hip as it once was. The new chic area of town moved further east, down to Sanlitun.