Qingdao on the Shandong Loop: June 9–15, 2006

Jun 11 Sunny We arrived in Qingdao at 2:30 p.m., an hour ahead of schedule. This experience totally transformed our view of long-distance buses: clean, comfortable, fast, and safe. But perhaps it depends on luck, because none of our later bus rides in Shandong were this pleasant. At any bus station, there are always crowds of touts—transport really fuels a huge related economy. The Party’s policy of “if you want to get rich, build roads first” is truly brilliant. Many people tried to sell us Qingdao maps. That was just what we needed. Smart as we were, we didn’t rush; we asked around, then got one for 2 yuan, feeling a real sense of achievement (original price 5 yuan). Only when we were about to leave Qingdao did we learn that these maps sell for just half a yuan. The buyer is never smarter than the seller! Stepping out of the long-distance bus station, we felt a bit disoriented. We walked about one bus stop and took the No. 5 bus to near Zhongshan Road (I forgot the exact stop name; I’ll add it later if I remember). Then we walked about two more bus stops and finally "crawled" to our pre-booked hotel—Hyatt International Youth Hostel (I say "crawled" because Qingdao’s roads rise and fall, full of slopes, but definitely not on all fours). Hyatt International Youth Hostel gets a lot of buzz online, probably for two reasons: the price is relatively cheap, and it’s a member of the international youth hostel chain. We spent two days here and, to be honest, were very dissatisfied. First, we stayed in a double-bed room, 209. The room seemed to have been converted from a fire escape, because the door still had an “Emergency Exit” sign. It was tucked in a corner, with another door inside leading to a narrow back alley—not very secure. The room was very damp; the bedding and carpet felt clammy, though there was no musty smell. The air was poor, and the window had no screen, so we dared not open it for fear of mosquitoes. Second, the TV only got five channels—CCTV 1, 2, and some local stations. If you wanted to watch the World Cup, you had to go to the lobby. Third, there was no room service; everything was self-service. Even the wastebasket wasn’t emptied. Fourth, although the hotel’s in the city center, practically no room has a window with a view—our window only faced a wall. Of course, the hostel had its merits: the water heater worked well. Some might say, it’s cheap, so don’t expect too much. But I still wouldn’t recommend it—not because it offended me, but because I genuinely think it’s poor value. Hyatt charged 130 yuan per night, but a couple we met on the road told us about their hotel in Badaguan: 150 yuan per night, more than 50 TV channels, a view right out the window of Badaguan scenery and the beach, clean, bright, and not damp. The name was something with “sanatorium”—you can search online. They said they’d also write a travelogue. We really didn’t want to stay in that room any longer—it would be a waste of travel time, and the room’s atmosphere was too gloomy. We showered, changed into light clothes, grabbed a Qingdao map, and headed out. The seafood we had at 11 a.m. had long since digested. As soon as we reached Zhongshan Road, we spotted the legendary "Meidaer". So lucky—we found it without any effort. Naturally, we chose it, as if it were a must-see Qingdao sight. The grilled meat was just as described online: generous portions, good taste. We tried the recommended bagged draft beer—so refreshing! Just one slight disappointment: it was a bit different from what I’d imagined; more accurately, it was skewered meat. After two days in Qingdao, we realized that "Meidaer" outlets are everywhere, as common as "Chengdu Snacks" in Beijing. And some street-side skewers taste even better and are cheaper. So I’m not saying don’t go there, but if you’re short on time in Qingdao and value every meal, you can skip "Meidaer" and focus more on seafood and Shandong cuisine. Stuffed, we followed the famous coastal walking route: Zhanqiao Pier—Naval Museum—Little Qingdao Park—Lu Xun Park—No. 1 Bathing Beach—Badaguan Scenic Area. It was 5–6 p.m., and Zhanqiao Pier was still packed. We snapped two quick photos to mark our visit. After passing through a small park, the scene completely changed. Along the shore, beautifully scattered unique hotels formed a landscape of their own, echoing the ever-changing sea. After 6 p.m., the Naval Museum was closed, but we could see decommissioned warships through the fence. My husband took many photos through the rails; I pretended to be his lookout, in case someone thought he was a spy. Ha, he’ll be grateful forever. Little Qingdao Park was also closed. The gatekeeper, an elderly man, seemed nice. We wanted to sneak in but he caught us. If we’d sweet-talked him, we might have gotten in, but we decided not to make things difficult. Lu Xun Park is said to be famous for its red reef rocks. It was past 7 p.m. when we arrived, and no one was collecting tickets. We somehow walked right in, only realizing we were inside when we saw the statue of old Mr. Lu Xun. We strolled along the Lu Xun Poetry Corridor and before we knew it, reached No. 1 Bathing Beach. Walking by the seaside, we lost all sense of distance and fatigue—everything felt so natural, like an after-dinner stroll. By then, the sun had almost completely set, leaving us with just Badaguan to explore. I’d read a lot about Badaguan and had high expectations—I wanted to enjoy every bit of it. I’ve never been rich, but at least I can see how the rich live, right? We wandered vaguely until we reached Shanhaiguan Road. Looking at the map, we realized we’d arrived. But the lighting was terrible—almost pitch black. I’d thought a nighttime Badaguan stroll would be romantic, but now it just felt eerie. Every villa in Badaguan seems to have a story; rushing through it would be a waste, so we decided to come back in daylight. Now our only thought was to get out of Badaguan and leave this creepy place quickly. No one ahead of us, no one behind—we grew more and more uneasy. We came to an open area with a domed building, unsure if there was a path ahead. We didn’t want to backtrack, and our thoughts started to churn. Could this be a restricted area? Would we be caught…? From a distance came the fierce barking of dogs—clearly not friendly, probably guard dogs waiting for intruders. I clung tightly to my husband’s arm, repeatedly asking if he was scared. He said no, but I knew he was a little. To boost our courage, we hummed tunes as we walked. Finally, we saw someone—a person with long hair—and felt slightly relieved. If it had been a burly man, we might’ve bolted. But I couldn’t resist my old habit of joking; I whispered to my husband, “This woman isn’t a ghost, is she?” Ha! Humans are social animals; we’re not used to occasional silence. We trailed behind that long-haired woman, careful not to get too close and scare her. Eventually, we emerged onto a brightly lit avenue, saw crowds of people, and completely relaxed. Why didn’t these people show up earlier? My heart had been in my throat! By now past 9 p.m., we’d missed the last movie (movies are much cheaper in Qingdao than in Beijing. “The Da Vinci Code” was 80 yuan in Beijing, 40 at half price; in Qingdao, 20 for day shows, 30 at night—last show at 9:20). We’d thought about revisiting Zhanqiao Pier, but after that scare, we just wanted to get back to our hotel. We took bus 26 from Wushengguan Road to the train station, scouting the pickup point for our Laoshang trip the next day. On the way back to the hotel, we specially bought a watermelon—watching the World Cup while eating watermelon is a treat. Jun 12 Sunny I wonder if people are always hyper when traveling. Normally, getting up on workdays is a struggle, wrestling with my pillow. But now, the alarm hadn’t even rung and I was wide awake early. The moment I thought of going to Laoshan, I practically vaulted out of bed. Because we’d be mountain climbing, I wore my shortest outfit, packed some dry food, and marched to the train station with a hardworking spirit. We really wanted to take bus 311 to Beijiushui, which is said to be wonderful. Many tourism agents near the station tried to sell us Jufeng tours, insisting Beijiushui has no water now and isn’t fun. They also claimed all morning 311 buses had already left (it was only just past 9 a.m.) and the next one was at 1 p.m. We felt increasingly frustrated—it seemed impossible to go to Laoshan that day. Helpless, we boarded a day-trip minivan at 70 yuan per person. The guide said the price included round-trip transport and Laoshan entrance fee, but not the cable car. We asked if the cable car was optional; he vaguely replied, “You’ll see when you get there, decide for yourselves.” It sounded okay. To make use of the morning, we got on this trap. All the way, the guide enthusiastically introduced Qingdao, which I liked, thinking a group tour insured commentary. Then the van stopped at a pearl shop; it dawned on me—the commentary was to gain our trust, then steer us into a shopping stop. Still, I figured he had to make a living; 70 yuan isn’t a big profit. So we cooperated, just without buying. We stopped at the pearl shop about 30 minutes, then drove non-stop to Jufeng. When we arrived, my heart sank. I’d been to Laoshan before (South Route). This trip was mainly for my husband, but this place didn’t feel like Laoshan at all—more like an artificial park, with no Laoshan vibe, just man-made structures everywhere. The guide touted Jufeng as Laoshan’s highest peak, with all scenic spots on the peaks, and that we had to take the cable car to see them. Cable car: 60 yuan per person. My husband stayed calm; since he’d never been to Laoshan, he didn’t care. But I kept grumbling about being cheated. Laoshan generally has three main routes: South Route for religious sites, East Route for mountain-and-sea views, North Route for springs. This godforsaken place fit none. The reason I fell for the trap was that I’d mistakenly thought Jufeng was the South Route. So clever all my life, yet muddled for a moment. Normally, you take the cable car first, then hike to the sights. But stubborn me refused to let the guide earn another cent from us. Plus, the mountain sights were all artificial, nothing special. I grabbed my husband’s arm, gritted my teeth, and said, “Let’s hike—wherever we get, that’s fine.” (I knew it was a silly choice, but my stubborn streak kicked in again.) Along the way, we did enjoy some natural mountain scenery and got a workout, but it never felt like Laoshan. It was as if we’d spent 70 yuan to visit Fragrant Hills. Wuwuwu. Advice for others: never go to Jufeng. If tricked by unscrupulous travel agents and you end up there, just let them fleece you and at least see the real summit of Laoshan. We eventually reached the cable car’s top station and simply had no energy left to climb to the scenic spots. I still regret it deeply. We arrived at the foot of Laoshan at 11 a.m. The guide requested we return by 2:30 p.m. On the way back, we made two more stops: one at a tea shop. The tea tasted good, but prices were steep—no one in our van bought any. The other was a seafood shop. Everyone bought something as needed, but quality was questionable; prices weren’t much higher than outside. Because we had more days ahead, we didn’t buy anything. On the return, we got off at Shilaoren Bathing Beach, which truly lives up to its reputation. It has the best sand of all the beaches and the best scenery. But the seawater was still cold; after a long hesitation, we gave up on swimming. A few people catching crabs caught our attention. My husband tried to imitate them, digging for small crabs, but failed every time—more a matter of confidence than technique. He’d give up on each crab hole after a few digs, not faster than the crab burrows; of course he couldn't catch any. In the end, he borrowed a tiny crab from an expert to play with. Online, it’s widely said there’s barbecue seafood near Shilaoren, but we searched all the surrounding streets and found none. I hope future travelers will give more detailed locations when they find good food spots. We lingered at Shilaoren for over 40 minutes, walking nearly the entire beach before finally heading to fulfill yesterday’s unfinished wish. We took bus 317 straight to Badaguan. This time, we examined every building carefully, consulting our secret guide at each spot. Later, a few middle-school students followed me, saying they were listening to my explanations. I suddenly felt a great sense of responsibility, presenting key buildings to them in earnest detail. The architecture of Badaguan didn’t particularly move us, but the ubiquitous greenery and beautifully layered gardens left us enchanted. People living in such an environment seem almost like immortals (small-town girl that I am, never seen much of the world). There’s even a primary school inside Badaguan—I don’t know if it’s private, but the pupils wore smart uniforms. I envied them. When I have a child, I hope he or she can attend school in such a picturesque place (a wish for later). The sun was about to clock out; after we’d tread every path of Badaguan, we finally left, fully satisfied. It was our last evening in Qingdao. We went to “Lao Zhuan Village,” highly recommended online for authentic Shandong cuisine. It’s conveniently near Carrefour, so we could also buy supplies for tomorrow’s long bus ride. Lao Zhuan Village was fancier than we expected. To me, authentic flavors are found in unassuming little places—unpretentious decor but charming style. This felt more like a place for banquets, a bit showy. But the food was indeed delicious, with generous portions. We ordered three dishes for two people and could barely finish. We didn’t order seafood, just home-style dishes plus drinks, totaling 70 yuan—pretty thrifty. After dinner, the weather suddenly changed. My hiking-appropriate short outfit now seemed absurdly out of place, drawing sidelong glances. I was shivering. My towel came in handy again—a bit unsightly, but I’d rather endure stares than the cold. Luckily, Carrefour’s air conditioning wasn’t too strong, so I didn’t have to keep wearing it. We snapped up special-offer bread at 5 yuan for two (pineapple buns, etc.), picked some of my favorite lactobacillus drinks and yogurt, and for the “baby’s” health, some ready-to-eat foods. Worried about Changdao Island’s water quality, we even lugged a few bottles of mineral water. (And we want to go to Tibet? Can’t even adapt to this—totally lacking hardship endurance.) Laden with groceries, we happily dreamed of tomorrow’s Penglai trip (like we were off on a picnic or outing). Expenses: 260 (2 nights' accommodation) + 10 (city transportation) + 2 (Qingdao map) + 107 (meals) + 140 (Laoshan day trip) + 30 (supermarket) = 549 (to be continued)