Zhongnanhai

Three weeks ago the That’s Beijing weekly newsletter linked to an article about love being found in Poacher’s.  I was stunned to see it there, because it was an article I had written a few days earlier for the Victoria Times Colonist. It said:

This article about true love being found in Poachers appealed to the romantic in us.

I’ve no idea how they found the column, and the link takes readers to a pay site where you can’t even read it.  So, if anyone is actually interested in reading it, I have posted it below in its entirety.  Enjoy!

Finding love in a backstreet Beijing bar
Published:  Sunday April 29, 2007

     One of the places I’ll remember in Beijing most is a bar called Poacher’s.  When I moved to China I was a fearless 25 year old, and my other Canadian friends and I spent more than a few nights in this timeless Beijing establishment.

      Poacher’s, way back in 2004 (which is an eternity in China) used to be down a back alley off the main bar street.  If you didn’t know it was there, you could’ve never found it.  First a left, then a right at the lamb-skewer stand, and then walk a few more meters past old Chinese buildings and some fake DVD shops.  You’d know it, because the thumping of American Top 40 songs could be heard throughout the back lanes.

      Like many bars in Asia, a mix of young North Americans, Europeans, and Australians mingle with the dozens of pretty Asian girls.  When drinking, dancing, and loud music get thrown in, it can be more than a lively night on the town.

      What made Poacher’s stand out more than other bars was its atmosphere – a run down warehouse hidden among the historic hutongs, or traditional courtyard houses, in Beijing. I always found it fascinating to listen to the latest tunes pulled straight from American radio in a bar in Beijing, where a majority of the people inside couldn’t even understand the lyrics.

      One of my favorite perches was from a little balcony to the left of the stage, where sometimes we’d dance and survey the scene.  Down below was an older fellow, perhaps in his 60s, pouring gin and tonics and $1.75 pints of Tsingdao.  To this day, I’ve always wanted to talk to him. As an older fellow, he lived through the Cultural Revolution, one of the darkest moments in Chinese history, as well as the Great Leap Forward and other trying times.  He still works hard, earning a living selling drinks to young women in scantily clad outfits surrounded by drunken foreigners, something unthinkable in Mao’s day.

       Then there were the regulars.  One of the young women was named Liane (pronounced “Lianna”) who was clearly available to whoever wanted to be with her.  I talked with her a few times, and while our conversations never ventured into Chinese economics or military strategy, she was still quite lovely.  She was only 22 years old at the time and very pretty, and fits into a stereotype that is slowly becoming obsolete as China becomes more prosperous: the girl who is just looking for a passport.

      Of course, I’ll never forget New Years Eve 2004, when the cover charge was an astounding $15. In Beijing, where lineups and cover charges are as foreign as people practicing Falun Gong, this left us quite indignant.  But we came around when we were told that cover included an entire bottle of wine – one each – for every person in our party.  We had 12 people that night, and with 12 bottles of wine at our table, that $15 proved to be the cheapest New Years I’d ever had.

      But there is one night in particular that I will always remember.  I brought a couple of friends to meet up with some colleagues from China Central Television late one Saturday.  I was inside dancing while my good friend Trevor Metz, who used to work in media in Kamloops and Price George, was chatting with a young woman he had just met outside.  I know Trevor had partaken in a few too many Tsingdaos that night, and when he came inside he slipped on the floor and fell directly on his face, as though a bookshelf had just tipped over with a big thud upon hitting the ground.  As crowds stood laughing at him, he got up and continued inside the bar, probably too drunk to realize he had just served as everyone’s comic relief.

      His biggest fear at that moment, he told me later, was that the girl, Jingjing, had seen what happened.  Luckily for him, she hadn’t.

      Trevor and I visited that bar on many Friday and Saturday nights, along with several other friends from Canada.  It was a chance to share stories, funny moments, laughs, and relish in our experiences. In the back of our minds, we knew that when our contracts were up, we would return to our regular responsibilities in Vancouver, Victoria, Prince George, or wherever else we were from.  China was supposed to be a one-year adventure, not a whole new beginning. But life rarely goes as planned.

      Nobody knows this better than Trevor Metz.  Today, Trevor will celebrate his wedding to Jingjing in her hometown, a small city in central China. “We have a very happy life together and I never dreamed I would end up with someone so wonderful, kind, caring, understanding, beautiful, and fun as her. She is perfect in my eyes,” he said.

      It doesn’t matter where you find love, as long as you find it somewhere.  And for Trevor, he found it far away in China. 

      In a fun little bar called Poacher’s.