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.

Even if that gets sorted, the exposed right flank will remain a feature. As LFC has worked their way through the preseason, I’m not convinced they’ve sorted out ways to limit the negative impact it may have. Teams know that’s a weakness and have continued to target it. Against Bayern, the Reds were punished. I’m afraid that’ll be the case against the top six opponents in the League, too.

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.

They loved their father. There was no doubt about that. They had forgiven him, but some unhealed wounds continued to fester even in adulthood. Those open emotional scars made their father’s transgressions hard to forget. But it was their father’s refusal to acknowledge the pain he had caused that compounded chinks in their psyche and kept their relationship with him lukewarm in the best of times. Amir’s revelation, though, was yet another reason for Cyrus to figure out how to spend more time here. He and his siblings needed each other.

The cobblestone streets of Regensburg’s Altstadt clicked and clacked under the steady footfall of Cyrus’s desert boots. He hated wearing them when he traveled because they were more cumbersome than his driving loafers. But he also didn’t know what he would be doing or where he would end up. Besides, it looked like rain, and no self-respecting son of a bourbon heiress should ever be caught dead wearing loafers in a downpour.

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.

Before me was a man that can only be described as a Chinese version of The Dude from The Big Lebowski–disheveled hair, a scruffy five-day shadow that probably took a month to grow, a ratty, holey t-shirt, shorts that just as easily could have been boxers, and flip flops that likely doubled as house shoes. I am convinced he had a robe, but that’s likely chalked up to projection.

So it should come as no surprise that the prevalence of jaywalking in Beijing shook my American sensibilities to their core. I mean, folks, when I first arrived, it felt like it was a god damned free for all on the side streets of Beijing.

It was around 3 pm when the rain cleared, and the sun crept out from behind sodden clouds. I rechecked the forecast. No rain in sight, and temperatures would hover around 75 degrees. Perfect soccer weather. It would be hot, humid, and nearly unbearable on a typical mid-summer day in Beijing. The Footballing Gods had approved of my plans.

Almost immediately from the restart, the lifeline that the match had needed was either found in the locker room or in some moment of inspiration on the pitch, I could tell this forty-five minutes would be different.

But, I’ve been stuck on the odd number of slices thing for the last few weeks. What’s going on there? Is there a culture of eating half a sandwich? Piling in all the goodies and then trying to keep it all contained inside a single slice of bread folded over? Do they prefer open-faced sandwiches or tartines?

But here’s the thing, even in the places you’d expect to respect the sodium requirement of a cultural-casserole-esque palette, I’ve been let down.

The weather in Beijing was actually bearable for most of the weekend. While still relatively high, it wasn’t the sort of scorching heat we’ve had in the previous few weeks. There was a nice breeze, which helped even if marginally.