Beijing Notes - 008: A Rainy Day

后山

May 17, 6:00 PM

Beijing has officially slipped into early summer. Looking out the window, the vibrant blossoms and tender young leaves that greeted me when I first arrived have vanished, replaced by dense, layered canopies of deep, lush green. Today brought a rare, gentle rain—only the third shower I’ve experienced since moving to Beijing.

I once heard a romantic saying: some people merely feel the rain, while others just get miserably drenched. Rainy days naturally carry a tender, atmospheric charm. Imagine strolling down the street in a misty drizzle, hand-in-hand with someone you love—how wonderfully serene that would be. Yet here I am, alone in my hotel room, quietly contemplating the path my life will take from here.

While rainy days always bring a touch of melancholy, looking back at my time here from my arrival on March 29 to today, May 17, I realize I’ve truly grown and changed a lot.

Not long ago, I successfully obtained my Chinese driver’s license. The company was incredibly thoughtful, specially assigning a car for my personal use. I can now drive myself to work on weekdays and head out on weekends. During the day, I leave the car at the office for the company drivers to use—an arrangement that makes my daily commute exceptionally convenient. Honestly, I’m a veteran behind the wheel; I got my US driver’s license back in 1993, meaning I’ve been driving for a solid 33 years.

In the past, whenever I returned to China, the chaotic traffic and the way drivers aggressively cut each other off made me too anxious to ever consider driving. But returning this time, the experience has been completely different. The domestic navigation systems are now so meticulous, highly accurate, and incredibly advanced. To be frank, with GPS this precise, it’s practically impossible to get lost.

A few days ago, we had a company dinner in the city. A colleague, worried I wouldn’t be used to local traffic conditions, repeatedly urged me not to drive. Knowing she meant well, I readily agreed and let another colleague drive my car instead. Sitting in the passenger seat, I couldn't help but reflect: his driving experience lagged far behind mine, and his skills left much to be desired. The ride was so bumpy and erratic that it kept me on edge. On the way back, I simply took the wheel myself. With my decades of experience, my driving is naturally smoother and more composed than most people on the highway.

Aside from my daily work, physical exercise is something I have not been able to consistently maintained. Initially, I planned to walk to work. The 2.4-kilometer distance from the hotel to the office felt perfect—a great way to commute and stay fit at the same time. I thought it was a win-win. However, during one early morning walk when the temperature happened to be somewhat warmer, I arrived at the office drenched in sweat. My colleagues immediately showered me with concerned questions, and realizing how unprofessional I looked, I promptly abandoned the idea of walking to work.

Now that having a car makes commuting so much easier, I’ve adjusted my routine. I wake up early every day to go power-walking in the park. The walks allow me to clear my mind and reflect on things. I also use various handy apps on my phone, like Doubao, to look up interesting topics and jot down my daily thoughts. This routine has brought a comforting sense of peace to my schedule.

Speaking of daily work, it has certainly given me a lot to reflect on. The company strongly promotes a culture of relentless hustle, and the "996" work schedule (9 AM to 9 PM, 6 days a week) is the norm here. Yet, my actual hours have already surpassed that standard. I arrive at the office before 8:00 AM and don’t leave until after 6:00 PM, logging a full 11 hours a day. Dedicating so much time to work means I can no longer meet up with friends for sports and leisure like I did in the US. This easygoing personal life is a sacrifice and a trade-off I had to make to pursue my career back in China.

When it comes to sports, finding a place to play has actually been my biggest headache lately. I often want to play a few games of pickleball to unwind, but suitable courts are incredibly far from where I live. Whether taking a taxi or transferring through the subway, the round trip drains a massive amount of time. Once, while out playing, I unexpectedly bumped into an old neighbor from New Jersey. She kept calling my name, and at first, I drew a complete blank. It wasn't until she grabbed my arm that it finally clicked—it was an old sports buddy. Crossing paths with someone from my past in a city like this felt surreal. From another perspective, it also highlights just how scarce pickleball courts are in Beijing.

Later, a colleague recommended a local club called Sports Town. The facility was massive, featuring soccer pitches and basketball courts. Interestingly, the sprawling tennis courts were completely deserted, while the tiny pickleball courts were packed to the brim—a striking contrast. The staff even suggested I play a match against their professional coach. But when I inquired further, I found out the coach's skill level wasn't particularly high, yet the fee was 360 RMB per hour—nearly on par with US prices. Since my time was limited that day, I ended up not playing.

A couple of days ago, I noticed in a WeChat group that a tennis buddy from New Jersey is also in Beijing. I immediately invited him out, and we enthusiastically locked in a session from 8:00 AM to 10:00 AM this morning at the National Olympic Sports Center. I was thrilled at the prospect of a good workout on a rare, free Sunday. However, driving there meant a 1.5-hour commute each way, forcing me to roll out of bed and get ready just after 5:00 AM.

To my surprise when I went downstairs, the hotel restaurant—which normally doesn't open until 7:00 AM—was already serving breakfast at 5:00 AM. It turned out the Daxing Half Marathon was happening today, and many runners staying at the hotel were up early preparing for the race. The hotel had thoughtfully prepared early meals, so I grabbed a quick bite and hit the road by 6:15 AM, driving toward the Olympic Sports Center.

After a hour and a half of driving, I arrived smoothly and waited expectantly for the venue to open. When I left the hotel, the weather was clear with no sign of rain. But once inside the indoor tennis hall, I noticed its peculiar design. The structure was completely sealed without a single window, and while the space was grand and cavernous, it was entirely stifling. With no ventilation or air conditioning, the air felt incredibly heavy and oppressive—a far cry from the sports facilities back in New Jersey.

I am someone who sweats easily, but even though it had been a long time since I last played a proper match, my old friend and I teamed up to take on two young local players. After a hard-fought battle, we ultimately secured a 2-1 victory. It was my first truly exhilarating and satisfying tennis match since arriving in Beijing, and it left me absolutely thrilled.

After the match, I drove over to the Shuangyushu area in Haidian to grab a bite with my friend. By then, a gentle drizzle had begun to fall over Beijing. After lunch, I made a detour to the Baofusi area where I used to live. Years ago, I spent a year living in the Chinese Academy of Sciences dormitory. Yet, after all this time, I couldn't for the life of me remember the exact building number. My friend and I drove around the neighborhoods for several loops, but we never managed to find my old home. A faint sense of regret lingered in my heart.

After dropping my friend off at the subway station, I began the drive back alone. Waves of emotion washed over me along the way. Today's Beijing is undeniably modern. The streets are pristine, skyscrapers pierce the skyline, and everything looks brand new. Paired with the precise and convenient navigation system, it appears far more polished and glittering than the US in many aspects. Moving with the flow of traffic, I found myself wondering how I will keep pace with this city, and where exactly I belong within it.

Returning this afternoon, I didn't feel like heading out again for food, so I tried ordering delivery through Meituan for the very first time. Now, the food has arrived at the hotel entrance, and the hotel's smart robot has thoughtfully delivered it right to my door.

Staring quietly at the endless, soft rain outside, I feel that the rain in Beijing is fundamentally different from the rain in New Jersey. Though there is no wind, this rain does not fall in misty strands; it drops straight down, heavy and vertical. Perhaps that is because, within this rain, I have neither my loved family nor my loved friends.