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.

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.

In fact, the craft beer industry in Beijing and China is quite robust, mature, and producing high-quality craft beer on par with anything I have consumed in the US. Despite that, the beer culture remains vastly different from what you can find in the States. This stems, in large part, from differences in tastes, practices, and purchasing trends.

I had a choice to make, and it was one that would affect the direction of this piece. I could continue the night’s festivities and end up with something akin to Hunter S. Thompson’s essay on the Kentucky Derby. While it would probably have made for a great story, I didn’t believe it was in my best interests to roll those dice here in Beijing.

If there’s anything from living in Washington, DC that prepared me for living in Beijing, it has to be spending the previous four and half years living on Georgia Avenue. I know what you’re thinking, ‘But David, Georgia Ave and Beijing are nothing alike.’ Au contraire, mon ami. They very much are. Well, at least in this one very narrow aspect…bad driving maneuvers, specifically U-Turns.

As with most craft breweries, their beers lean heavily on the ale side of the market. They’re easier to make, and most folks patronize these establishments because they want ales instead of lagers. Even though I enjoy an excellent lager and will not hesitate to elevate a brewery simply based on its lagers, I’ve been pleased with the beer I’ve consumed at Great Leap.

There’s nothing more shocking than walking into the local nut store (yes, there is a local nut store) only to be greeted by a timid ‘ni-hao’ from behind one of these pastel face coverings. Am I speaking to the man in the iron mask or the lovely woman who sold me Turkish pistachios during my first week here? I don’t know because that mask makes it impossible to sort out what’s what.

The brewery she pointed to was just the brewpub for one of the local beer makers–Arrow Factory Brewing. Like with Slow Boat, I had previously heard about them through the craft beer bar in our building. The owner had pointed them out on a map and told me it was an excellent place to grab a few pints.

It sits along a quiet tree-lined side street among residential highrises on the south side of the Liangma River, just a few hundred meters west of Xindong Road. If there weren’t a big sign out front, you’d miss it. However, the facade does stand out among the drab grays and dull pinks of some of the surrounding buildings. So maybe even without the sign, it would at least draw your attention.

I was reminded of it early on after our move to Beijing. Dog ownership isn’t a new thing in China, but the rapid rise of it over the last decade has turned it from a novelty into something more commonplace. This is especially true for millennials who have, for several reasons, put off starting a family.

But unlike in the US, where certain, dirtier aspects of pet ownership see both widely held adherence and some level of public opprobrium if not followed, those things are the exception rather than the rule in China.

But here’s the thing: I’m out of shape. Even if I had taken it easy, there’s a good chance I would have been fucked halfway up the mountainside anyway. Because, like the ambitious fool I am, I tried to take this thing like I was in high school or college. You know, back when you could go out partying, put away the better part of a 12-pack of the worst beer imaginable, and still wake up the following day to run three miles in twenty-one minutes.

It is as inevitable as Spurs being Spursy. If you were a betting person, you’d add it to your parlay, knowing you wouldn’t regret it. I, David Shams, beer drinker, writer, lover of brewpubs, have finally put it all together to start reviewing beers I’ve had in Beijing.

Here’s the thing. This happens all the time here. A delivery driver calls to say they’ve dropped off our dinner at the front desk; after providing the necessary signal that I don’t speak the language, they continue anyway. At a restaurant or grocery store, there’s an exchange in which it becomes clear that you don’t and won’t likely understand. Yet, they continue, undaunted by your lack of comprehension.

But there are things that folks would be less used to, even if they do live in a big city. As I’ve described in previous posts, they’re everywhere and go in every direction. Any surface on which they can make progress toward their endpoint is useable. They sneak up on you, though. Most are electric and barely make a sound. They whir along at ungodly speeds in the tightest of spaces making hardly any noise. Heads must always be on a swivel.

The shift in topics helped, kind of. But in every quiet moment between then and now, it returned. This deep sense of emptiness. There was a realization that my race to write every fucking thing I see and tell it to the whole fucking world was some sort of desire to fill that space. To engage in ways that I usually would be but through different means.

I didn’t care. At that stage of my college life, I thought it was cool not to be into anything mainstream. We had a great foreign film series every semester, and I absolutely loved it. First of all, it was free. And second, it was an excellent way to figure out if the chick you were trying to holler at was willing to expand her horizons.

Like jaywalking and lack of salt in our food, it has been one the constants of our short time here in Beijing. Old men, and it’s almost always old men, sitting on the banks of the restored river casting a line in hopes of catching whatever swims in the waters below.

Miyun’s White River Valley has higher, sharper cliffs of limestone and granite, a slow but more prolonged descent into the valley, and a broader river plain that provides easier access to river crossings by foot. The park is a place one could explore for days and still not experience everything. It gave every impression of being a popular destination for folks looking to escape the hustle-bustle of the Chinese capital. Yurts and tents were visible throughout our hike, and a fly fishing competition was underway.

One of three things happens when white folks find out I’m Iranian-American. It’s like clockwork, and I can usually predict people's responses just by looking at them. I’ve gotten so used to them that I’ve been disappointed when my assumptions are proven incorrect, and none of the potential outcomes occur.