Beijing Guide ~ Exploring Life and Art — A Pilgrimage to the Imperial Capital and Discovering the Beauty of the Ancient City

When I think of Beijing, the first image that springs to mind is xiangsheng (crosstalk) — old-timers in long gowns, riffing with self-deprecating wit in that unmistakably smooth Beijing drawl. I've long been captivated by Beijing. Three years ago, a photo set of red walls and ginkgo leaves planted in me the desire to visit: strolling through Beijing in autumn, clear skies and crisp air, the dark red ancient city walls, golden ginkgo leaves; in summer, a pedicab driver in a white undershirt jingles a brass bell, taking me through winding hutong lanes, while I sit in the back munching candied hawthorn skewers and chatting about daily life… Just imagining it feels wonderful. By chance, mid-year, I stumbled upon a copy of 'Secret · City Micro Travel' published by Mini China in a pile of discarded magazines. I took it home for a casual read, only to be utterly captivated by its portrayal of Beijing. When I learned that it's only a three- or four-hour bullet train ride from my boyfriend's hometown to Beijing, stars sparkled in my eyes. We hatched a plan to stop in Beijing before the National Day holiday, fulfilling my wish. Looking back, it feels like fate was nudging me to explore this city.

From one foggy city to another

We stepped out of the airport around 12:30 p.m., a bit dazed as first-timers. Fortunately, a thoughtful local friend had arranged an airport pickup for us, and we chatted away for an hour or so until we reached the Airbnb I’d booked. I’d hoped that by escaping Chengdu’s perpetually gray skies we’d find blue heavens, only to discover that the imperial capital’s overcast backdrop looked eerily similar to ours... Well, at least it felt oddly familiar. After settling into our homestay, we wasted no time heading out to explore~

Sanlitun – A paradise for fashionistas and veteran shutterbugs

After dropping off our luggage, we met up with my cousin who works in Beijing for a meal in Sanlitun. Sanlitun was so close to our place that it took just a short bike ride to get there.

Taikoo Li Sanlitun

Street photography in Sanlitun is a big deal on Weibo. Standing beneath the Taikoo Li Sanlitun sign, you see impeccably dressed trendsetters everywhere — an absolute feast for the eyes. Besides me, they also drew a swarm of photographers armed with hefty lenses, ranging from young to old. Some would politely ask before shooting; others just snapped away, leaving many a girl flustered, not sure which lens to look into. With a scene like this, there had to be some old-hand photo enthusiasts gathering material alongside the pros... No sooner had I thought that than I spotted an uncle aiming his camera at me. Amused, I photographed him photographing me, and then we exchanged a knowing smile before going our separate ways (with a playful fist-in-palm salute).

Many streets still have newsstands, which reminded me of my hometown when I was a kid — so nostalgic! Back then, the three big magazines that classmates passed around the most were Reader, Youth Digest, and Yilin!

Houhai – Imperial charm tucked inside courtyard homes

I’d only rushed through Taikoo Li Sanlitun without paying much attention. Every city has a trendy shopping district like this (calling it that makes me sound old-school, hehe). Chengdu also has Sino-Ocean Taikoo Li, and I could browse name brands back home anytime. What truly drew me was the lived-in atmosphere that years have layered upon each city.

We hopped on the subway to Houhai. I didn’t experience the legendary sardine-can crush; Beijing’s subway carriages, old from decades of service, instead exude a seasoned, gentle vibe. Emerging from the station around 5 p.m. as the sun slanted low, the shimmering Houhai lake looked even more tender.

One local man, noticing me watching their chess game from a distance, looked up and smiled warmly at me. That was my first taste of the welcoming charm of 'Beijing welcomes you.'

Looking back, I can't quite put into words the bliss of that moment. I just remember the setting sun gently flowing over the ripples and the faces of passersby, everyone looking so content. A soft breeze slipped through our clothes, bringing a refreshing relief to bodies lightly damp from the afternoon. Leaning against the lakeside railing, we idled and gazed about, squandering time just to soak in a bit more of that sunset glow and that breeze. There was only one feeling: shufu — pure, easy comfort!

Nanluoguxiang and Dashilanr have been recommended so often that I almost wanted to lump them together with “Jinli in Chengdu” — the kind of overdone commercial streets I least enjoy, where you see only out-of-town tourists and local vendors, not the real life of locals. My cousin said it was no big deal; we just cycled wherever there were fewer people. And so, somewhat aimlessly, we passed this quiet hutong. Under a canopy of green leaves, the gateway was ornate and freshly painted. Though ancient, it looked remarkably vibrant. We paused to rest here; a few pedestrians tiptoed by, making the grand courtyard seem even more solemn and dignified. I recalled a popular saying: 'In Beijing, you never know how low your official rank is; in Shanghai, you never know how small your wallet is.' Until you reach Beijing, you don’t realize your own insignificance in the hierarchy — the kindly old folks you pass on the street might just be venerable authorities. And in Shanghai, you discover how limited your wealth is, as there’s always a bigger fish.

Not everywhere is shiny and polished. The ordinary, everyday hutongs woven into the city’s fabric are what make Beijing feel grounded and full of human warmth.

A roadside barber's stand was another discovery as we cycled through the alleys. On a side road in the bustling capital, a crew cut cost only seven yuan. That worn, handwritten sign speaks of the humility of working people.

A niche bar behind Art Museum Street — drink, sing, seize the day

Cycling through the narrow hutongs of Art Museum Back Street in Dongcheng District, we discovered a club hidden behind an old wooden door. That night there happened to be an event: a talk by Brazilian musician Zhao Zilong. He described how tough it is to make rock music in Brazil — holding a music festival among ruins while police confront you outside — whereas in China, 'people are silly and money is plenty' (that was the gist I caught), so making music feels freer.

Art Museum Back Street, Dongcheng District

Then came a vocal performance by South African artist Anxt, blending hiphop beats with everyday sounds like running water. No lyrics, but the melody was deeply immersive. Sipping beer, we let our bodies sway freely to the rhythm. In the dim light, our ears grew more sensitive, our focus sharpened.

The best came last: Gao Jiafeng from Shanghai, totally chuunibyou, told stories about how he buys lyrics on Taobao when he can’t write them himself. He also sang a demo called 'Food Delivery,' and the whole room cracked up and squealed at the lyrics. So much fun!

Even though I can catch indie music events in Chengdu too, that first night in Beijing, drinking and singing and carpe diem — I’ll always remember the sheer joy of it.

Tiananmen – I love Beijing's Tiananmen, the sun rises over Tiananmen

To reach the Forbidden City, you must pass Tiananmen. As soon as we emerged from Tiananmen East Station on Line 1, we realized Tiananmen was still at least two kilometers away — and a long queue for security checks had already formed. Shuffling shoulder to shoulder, I grew a little anxious, wondering if our entire day would be like this. But after the checkpoint, the crowds dispersed somewhat. We climbed up the gate tower before heading into the Forbidden City.

Seeing Tiananmen for the first time in my life — the red flags fluttering in the wind, the soldiers standing ramrod straight, the towering ornamental columns — my heart surged with emotion, almost to tears. An overwhelming presence welled up from my core: truly, our great motherland is magnificent.

Tiananmen Square – Monument to the People's Heroes

Tickets are required to ascend the tower; there’s also a baggage storage window next to the ticket window, and both require queuing. Once up there, the view is not the same as the TV broadcasts of military parades — the spot where national leaders stand is cordoned off by ceremonial posts. I guess it’s for safety, since visitors leaning over a waist-high wall could easily tumble.

Forbidden City – Using *Masters in the Forbidden City* as a guide

Since the Forbidden City is entered through the Meridian Gate in the south and exited via the Gate of Divine Prowess in the north — opposite directions — we retrieved our backpacks after coming down from the tower and didn’t store them again. We’d already bought tickets online on the palace’s official website, so we avoided the long ticket queues. The line for online ticket pickup was only a few minutes; getting our tickets was quick and easy.

A restored Tang tri-colored glazed horse from the documentary.

Many parts of the Forbidden City are not open to the public. As I passed those areas, I wondered if restoration masters were working on artifacts in some hall. In the galleries, some display cases had signs saying the exhibits were under maintenance. I could almost picture those experts discussing how to restore a particular piece. I felt a swell of gratitude and warmth — they were restoring relics somewhere very close to me, within the same architectural complex. There I was, admiring their successfully completed masterpieces just steps away.

Okay, sentimental moment over — let me start from the entrance. Travel tips say that avoiding the central axis helps dodge the crowds, but maybe because we entered through the Meridian Gate after 11 a.m., all I saw were people everywhere, tour groups galore. So I gave up on taking side routes and just followed the main axis. The morning sky was thick with clouds, light dim; my photography skills hit a wall on overcast days, so I just embraced whatever came. We stuck to the axis and visited several important halls.

Near the Meridian Gate’s main hall, through the gate on the left, you could see a blue painting — *A Thousand Li of Rivers and Mountains* special exhibition of traditional blue-green landscape paintings. Extra tickets were required; had we two whole days to explore the Forbidden City, I’d have gone in to savor it. But time was tight. The Forbidden City, like Jiuzhaigou, deserves multiple visits, any time of year.

I won’t post pictures of the artifact displays from inside. I don’t remember the names and origins of every piece; looking at photos alone feels meaningless. It’s better to experience them in person, with descriptions and guided insights to truly appreciate them.

We met this mythical beast along the way, and I found its snarling, grinning expression utterly hilarious.

Around 2 p.m., it started to rain, big drops. We ducked into a souvenir shop inside the Forbidden City. I’d seen some of these cultural and creative products on the Palace Museum’s WeChat account, complete with purchase links, and I really admire how the museum manages to stay so current and nimble. I bought a fridge magnet of the corner tower and sat down for a quick energy break. About an hour later, the rain cleared and the sun burst out, gilding the entire Forbidden City in brilliant gold. We immediately dashed outside and started speed-sightseeing in awe (because we had another dinner appointment that evening, hehe).

By now we were already behind the Nine-Dragon Screen at the Palace of Tranquil Longevity.

This area had fewer visitors; water droplets still clung to the pine needles.

Just before exiting, we saw a government delegation guiding African friends on a tour, with handsome plainclothes security discreetly maintaining order — black trousers and white shirts, sleeves rolled up to show solid forearms (my focus may have shifted a bit).

And here was the Gate of Divine Prowess. I didn’t take a long shot because the square was packed, haha.

About 100 meters from the photo above, two elderly men were quietly fishing and chatting in low voices, completely detached from the touristy hubbub behind them — a true picture of aloofness.

Qianmen & Dashilanr

Qianmen sits on the central north-south axis of Beijing, on the southern edge of Tiananmen Square and at the northern end of Qianmen Street. It was first built in the 17th year of the Yongle reign (Ming Dynasty) and originally called Lizheng Gate, later renamed Zhengyang Gate. Because it stands right in front of the Forbidden City, it’s commonly known as 'Front Gate.'

Zhengyang Gate was one of the nine main gates of old Beijing. It comprises the gate tower, the archery tower, and the barbican — a complete ancient defensive architectural complex. According to local records, the towers were grand and tall, and the barbican was imposing, making it a representative masterpiece of old Beijing’s city wall architecture.

This railway museum was small, so I just snapped a photo and left.

There was still a queue outside Quanjude, but I’ve heard that Beijing locals don't actually eat there.

We’d gone the entire day without a proper meal. The main reason we came to Qianmen Street was to try Xiyuanju Old Beijing Copper Hotpot. Our Airbnb host had recommended it while chatting, saying it’s an established brand that even locals patronize. Supposedly, it’s authentic old Beijing copper pot mutton.

I’ve always had an indescribable soft spot for hotpot. Before this, I thought the copper-pot mutton in small hutongs was already quite good — just plain water boiled with beef and mutton, and the taste wouldn’t vary that much. But after eating at Xiyuanju, I realized genuine copper-pot hotpot is in a different league.

We waited only three tables before being seated. The tables were wooden, the decor meticulous, and the lamps were carved wood frame lights — really atmospheric.

Xiyuanju’s tableware was all bright yellow, and each private room had an interesting name, like Yanxi Palace, Jingyang Palace, and Cining Palace — having just come from the Forbidden City, we found these names pretty amusing. Each table was set with an exquisite brass hotpot plate that looked like a piece of art, pleasing to the eye.

We ordered the traditional clear broth pot, their signature hundred-day lamb, fresh rib-eye, plus fresh beef, handmade shrimp paste, and some vegetables and snacks.

Their fresh mutton comes from their own partner pasture in Inner Mongolia, and the hundred-day lamb is hugely popular.

When eating old Beijing hotpot, you can’t do without sesame dipping sauce and candied garlic. Swish a slice of meat in the pot, dip it in the sauce, and the rich aroma bursts out. Take a bite of the sweet-and-sour, crisp-and-crunchy candied garlic — so addictive, so satisfying.

This cuttlefish was delicious — just half a minute in the pot, then scoop it out; wonderfully crunchy, fresh, and fragrant.

After that hearty meal, we felt deeply content. It totally refreshed my previous impression of copper-pot hotpot. How could such a simple dish be so memorably flavorful? Maybe this is the taste that generations of old Beijingers have distilled over time.

Walking back after dinner, the night view on the main street was stunningly beautiful.

Summer Palace – A noble grace, beautiful without vanity

On the famous Seventeen-Arch Bridge in the Summer Palace, some stone lions’ faces had been worn smooth. I couldn't tell if it was time or the hands of visitors that had polished them.

Though the stream of tourists never ceased, the Summer Palace always exuded an air of dignified calm. Raising my voice even a bit felt like an intrusion; I only wanted to tread lightly and gaze in quiet reverence.

In a corner corridor, I came across an old man leaning against the railing, enjoying his solitude while a radio played music aloud.

Before him stretched a vast lotus pond; by late summer, blossoms were scarce, the garden now dominated by luxuriant lotus leaves and willow fronds that complemented the green lacquer of the corridor beautifully.

The Summer Palace is separated from Aman Summer Palace by just a wall. At the fork between ascending Longevity Hill and heading to Aman, I chose the latter.

After a few subway stops, we turned into a less crowded hutong. Along the way there were vintage clothing shops, retro collectibles, bead bracelets, and deliberately quirky restaurants... It felt like a very special hutong. I was passing a small doorway when, if not for the lightbox sign outside reading 'School' and a glimpse through the doorframe of a board plastered with stickers, I nearly walked right past it.

Inside, to the left, was a bar — but except for staff chatting, it was utterly quiet, not even any music. When I asked, I learned that the live performance was on pause that day, haha... Oh well, I left with a twinge of regret, which will only make me long for Beijing more next time. To make up for it, I hunted through a vintage shop and found an old slide from the 'Li Lei and Han Meimei' era, which I bought as a keepsake postcard.

Heading back to our lodging from Wudaoying Hutong meant taking Line 2 of the subway. With its decades of service, the station had a flavor all its own.

Central Academy of Fine Arts (CAFA)

Central Academy of Fine Arts – Gazing down at the mundane world through the eyes of art

In any city travel guide, if you ever have a day with no plans, I suggest visiting a local university. The atmosphere on campus is quiet, unpretentious, and youthful; there are tons of cheap, delicious eateries nearby; the grounds are often landscaped like gardens; and many buildings have historical and architectural merit. In Kunming, I went to Yunnan University twice in three days. In Shanghai, I tried to reach Fudan but was forced back by fierce wind and rain that soaked through my clothes, and it left me gloomy all afternoon. Beijing abounds with top institutions, but the one I most wanted to visit was CAFA.

I’d even mapped out a route beforehand in my notes, which supposedly would let me cover all the teaching buildings, museums, and galleries without backtracking. But in reality, once inside, hunting down buildings on the map took longer than expected, so I once again ad-libbed — just wandered wherever, moving on when I’d seen enough.

In the sculpture building, the ground floor had ceilings at least ten meters high. Like a workshop or warehouse, it was stacked with steel, tree roots, wooden pieces, and more. A woman around 28 stood on a ladder, working on a clay sculpture of an ancient military figure that looked four or five meters tall. Nearby, a middle-aged man — likely a professor — was giving advice in a resonant voice. From a distance, I watched them mix pigments; he was instructing her to add more of some material (I forget which) to bring out the color of the armor in the shadow areas, saying the previous light-shadow effect was too flat. Art is profound; the faculty here are true experts. Out of politeness, I didn’t photograph them, afraid the shutter click might disturb their creative flow.

Ceramics piece: It depicted women from a pleasure quarter soliciting passersby, some glancing up, others peeking in through a window.

Oil painting: A scene before a battle (I forget which specific battle).

We had started at 11 a.m. and browsed nonstop until 4 p.m. My poor boyfriend had been silently enduring hunger the whole time, following me here and there, until finally, at his urging, we left CAFA.

Red Brick Art Museum – Digging deeper into offbeat artistic spots

Everyone values different things in travel: some prioritize comfort lodging, others hunt for good food, while I’m all about finding photogenic sights and locations.

The Red Brick Art Museum is a place even my Beijing friends hadn’t heard of — exactly the kind of spot that only an out-of-towner like me, averse to crowds, would dig up. I found photos of it on Lofter: all the buildings are constructed from red bricks, ventilated and luminous, fully showcasing the beauty of light and shadow. When a local friend heard it was in Cuigezhuang, they thought it was remote, with a face that said, “Fine… whatever makes you happy.” But with a few subway transfers, it didn’t feel that far at all. There were several exhibitions on, so we took our time walking, looking, and snapping photos — a wonderfully relaxed day.

Apart from the photography exhibition, the museum itself is a stunning architectural ensemble. I collected two brochures as souvenirs. As for the famous circular “Instagram spot,” we actually had to wait around ten minutes because others like us were also there to check off that photo-op, hehe.

The upside of being away from commercial areas is the quiet. Visitors here wordlessly lowered their voices, finding sunlit corners to read or listen to music, or, like us, meandering and photographing. The sky was clear, though without cotton-candy clouds. That afternoon remains in my memory as both fervent and tender.

Outside the staff room, I spotted a chubby orange tabby sunbathing, watching passersby with a cool gaze. Perhaps she sees this scene many times every day.