Wujin in 2020 is so not the Wujin of 2014 and 15. That’s when I lived down there, and your western food options basically consisted of Monkey King, Jagerwirt, or Chocolates. Kaffa opened, and that gave a bit of scope to a part of the city were “foreign” mostly just meant Japanese or Korean cuisine. Back then, a reason to go to Xinbei was actually quite salivating, because that’s where Changzhou’s one and only Turkish eatery existed. Going up north meant you could actually have hummus and a doner kebab at Istanbul Restaurant. Years ago, I used to dream up excuses to come to Xinbei just eat Turkish food. Well, times do change.
Eventually, I moved to Xinbei, and I actively have taken Istanbul Restaurant for granted. Recently, Wujin got a brand new Turkish eatery called Pistachio. And in an ironic turn, I actually dreamed up an excuse to go to Wujin just so I could go there and try it out. So, how did it go?
Well, here is a feta cheese plate with a wrinkled olive floating in a dipping sauce. That is meant to sound more descriptive than sassy. Also, if you consider that feta is one of the rarer cheeses in Changzhou, this is actually appealing. One of the only places I’ve actually found real feta has been in Metro, and that was in a jar of oil with olives and spices.
Pistachio has most of the traditional dipping sauces. The hummus was particularly good. But, the biggest test of a Turkish place usually comes down to the doner kebab meat.
I went for a beef and cheese fold over, and it was pretty good. However, this brings up an obvious question. How does it compare to Istanbul Restaurant in Xinbei? I would rate the two as pretty much the same. They’re both good and one is not better than other. However, it should be noted this opinion comes after only an initial visit and trying a main dish that is on both menus. All I know is that next time I am in Wujin, I am going to be highly tempted to return to Pistachio.
Years ago, I created this blog when I bought an ebike. The idea was to wander around Changzhou and figure out what stuff is and then write about it. So, this literally entails sometimes saying, “I’m going to see what is down this street,” and then cruising down said street. Lots of times nothing comes of it. I did this recently on the above road. It seemed weird to me because much of this particular road has walls on both sides, and it zigzags through undeveloped land.
Near one or two small housing complexes, there are these vegetables on the side of the road. Microfarming like this is more common than what one might think. Typically, this occurs in areas of a lower socioeconomic status. Oddly enough, there are signs everywhere telling people not to plant vegetables. The soil is being treated.
That makes sense to a degree, because once I hit this bridge over a canal, the walls on the sides of the road stopped, and small industrial parks started popping up. And then, that’s when I found a tiny park, and this weird bit of public sculpture.
Abstract art is pretty common when it comes to public sculpture in this town. This had me scratching my head because it’s shaped like a big L. Towards the top, there’s what looks like a red revolutionary flag with another L in yellow. Using Pleco on my phone, I looked up the Chinese. Those characters are 腾飞，and that basically means soar, fly swiftly upwards. A secondary meaning has “make rapid advance; develop rapidly, take off.” The back of the pedestal has nothing but the date this was erected — 15 years ago. So, I have absolutely no clue as to what this is supposed to be. I just know I haven’t seen anything else like it in Changzhou.
On July 11th, 1946, Li Gongpu 李公朴 left a movie theater in Kunming with his wife. Agents of the nationalist Kuomintang government shot and stabbed him. He died in the hospital the next day. His wife was also killed during the assassination attempt. Days later on July 15, Li’s friend Wen Yiduo delivered an intense eulogy at a memorial service in Li’s honor, and later that day, Wen was also killed.
This story tends to be well known in Chinese history, but not much of it is actually written about in English. Typing in “Li Gongpu” into Google doesn’t lead to a lot, but if you type in the Chinese characters for his name 李公朴, you can find some rudimentary information on the Chinese version of Wikipedia that can be fed into a machine translator.
So, who was this guy? He was one of the early leaders of the Chinese Democratic League, who alongside the Chinese Communist Party, agitated against the nationalist government. Like many other figures of the time period, Li went abroad for his education. In particular, he studied politics at the then-named Reed University (now Reed College) in the state of Oregon, USA. During his time in America, he also spent some time working in an Alaskan fish cannery and wrote about what he saw there.
Originally, he came from Jiangsu Province. He was born in Huaian in 1902. Eventually, his family moved to Wujin. His former residence is still there, and it stands on a street that his given name: 公朴璐 Gongpu Road. Down the street a little, there is also an elementary school named in his honor. For years, his former residence remained closed. At the same time, a memorial hall had also been erected, but every time I had tried to visit it, that had been closed. Recently, I had zipped by the place on my eBike and noticed the door was open. I availed myself of the opportunity.
The place is relatively tiny, and all of the signage is in Chinese. However, a little bit of time with Baidu Translate on your phone can fix that — especially since it can be argued that there is more information here that what can be found in English on the Internet.
This little memorial all is off of Changwu Road in Wujin. Unlike the halls for Qu Qiubai or Zhang Tailai, it is relatively small and easy to miss. That being said, the life and death of Li Gongpu is a part that makes up the greater history of Changzhou.
In recent months — even before COVID-19 had disrupted everybody’s lives — it seemed like Xinbei was getting a steady trickle of new places that serve beer. Not all of them were technically bars. This is definitely the case with Xue Bao 雪宝. Two very good friends of mine found the place, and they preceded to berate me on Wechat for not answering my phone — all while sampling the beer the place had to offer. Turns out, teaching a class was not a good excuse on my part. Eventually, I did check the place out.
Xue Bao brews three types of craft beer. This includes 沃斯乐黄啤酒 which basically tastes like a basic lager or pilsner. There is also 艾丁格白啤酒，which is a white beer. Both names sound like words from a western language that have been transliterated. 艾丁格 sounds an awful lot like Erdinger, a more than hundred year old brand of German wiessbeir. The third option sounds more decidedly Chinese: 桂花小麦，aka osmanthus wheat. Osmanthus flowers are part of a regional tradition in this end of China. Suzhou, for example, famously makes wine out of it.
While my two rowdy friends — an Aussie and an Albertan Canadian — were enjoying their drinks while seated on plastic chairs, Xue Bao is basically a takeout business. Each of the three options are sold by the liter and in bags with handles. As for the beer itself, it is okay. It’s neither awesome nor disgusting — it’s okay. The brew itself is relatively low in carbonation, and out of the three flavors, the osmanthus wheat has the most unique identity. Of course, it would be slightly unfair to compare Xue Bao to western micro brewing — say, Zaphler’s over in Zhonglou and Canal 5. After all, craft beer is still a relatively new phenomenon in a country that has an extremely long tradition of making baijiu and yellow wine. Xue Bao, as my Albertan friend opined, “get’s the job done for what it actually is.”
Xue Bao is located on Daduhe Road 大度河路 in Xinbei. This is the road that is directly south of Hehai University’s campus. It is also in an easy walking distance from Wanda Plaza.
When COVID-19 was spreading with documented cases here in Changzhou, I figured out that this blog needed to go on hiatus. After all, we were told to stay indoors and minimize the risk of catching and spreading the virus. This blog has always been about learning more about the city and encouraging people to see “The Real Changzhou.” So, it’s purpose was not relevant to the times. In the interim, I created a new blog about Chinese alcohol: Liquor Laowai. It gave me something productive to do. Now, however, the city seems to be slowly seeking normalcy as infection rates nationwide have been trending downwards. A good friend and long time reader of Real Changzhou suggested an idea to me a few days ago about reviving this blog. I 110% agreed with him
Things are reopening around town. And that is great news! Yay! However, with the promise of returning amenities comes a lot of confusion. Here’s an example. OK Koala was told it could open and then after a few days, it was told to go back to being open only for delivery and take out. Meanwhile, Candles, Monkey King, and Daniel’s are all open in Xinbei. I can speak to that because I was at Candles last night.
This is not intended as commentary on city decisions at all. This is only meant as reporting of where one can and cannot go based on my experience. I thought a place to start with would be Japanese Street aka Hanjiang Road. Why? It’s where I live.
As you can see above, a majority of the Japanese eateries are back open. However, there are a few things to consider.
For whatever reason, Indian Kitchen is still closed.
Forgive me for some of the poor cellphone picture quality. The majority of the bars on the street are still closed. I know Japanese Street has a reputation for having a few girly / hostess places (which are all shuttered). However, not everything here is actually that. Fossils, for example, has western food I personally like. It’s not open.
Hanjiang Road is one of the major nightlife destinations for the Japanese expat / business person community, and that’s why you have two or three whiskey bars here. They have locked doors as well. If you are looking for an open bar, however, there is only one.
29-Minute Beer Delivery is open. Honestly, I can’t tell you if they have their kitchen running, but you can buy beer here. I know. I have. It’s also important to stress this: I don’t know if it’s open as a butt-on-stool bar. I just walked in and bought some Wuhan craft beer as take out. Yet, keep in mind I am operating by one simple question for all of this: open or closed? While reading this post, here as another important thing to consider. Information such as this becomes outdated the moment I publish it. So, this is the state of Japanese Street as of 8:30pm, 3/22/2020.
With the possible exceptions of Warhammer 40,000 and Dungeons and Dragons, Magic: The Gathering is perhaps one of the west’s nerdiest cultural exports to China. It’s a collectible trading card game where people build highly personalized decks to play against their friends. The more extensive your collection of cards, the more exotic your decks may become. As hobbies go, it’s a highly costly one. I would know. I am absolutely addicted to Magic: The Gathering. Do not ask me how much money I spend on this game. It’s embarrassing! Maybe not so much that I’m willing to admit this publicly?
Anyhow, the spread of a game like this is also an uncommon indicator of how rapidly this end of China and Jiangsu province is economically developing. Previously, those who liked playing Magic had to go to Nanjing or Shanghai if they wanted to visit a card shop. On a first glance, this game is that niche. To somebody like Ady Zou, the story is actually a bit longer. Magic the Gathering has actually been in Changzhou for quite awhile. Many years ago, there used to be a shop out by Canal 5. Eventually, it closed and Changzhou entered what Zou terms as a “Magic Ice Age.” The Chinese playing community was relegated to cafes and each other’s homes. Card purchases involved Taobao orders or going to the aforementioned cities of Nanjing or Shanghai. Over the last year, that is something that Ady Zou has personally sought to change.
After studying at Changzhou University, he decided to forego his major and invest in a game shop of his own. For a business to be successful, one must have a passion for what they are doing. For example, if you think you can make money importing Polish widgets into China, you should probably actually like Polish widgets and think about them all of the time. Otherwise, the work will be tedious and soul crushing. As the saying goes, you don’t own a business; a business actually owns you and consumes all of your free time. That’s if you want to be successful. And to anybody who knows Ady Zou, he has a definite passion for not just Magic: The Gathering, but games in general.
Yes, his shop — which is across the street from Changzhou University’s north gate — is a place where one can pop in for a hand or two at cards. However, Zou knows that this alone cannot pay the rent and operational cost of actually having a store. He has organized events around board games and things not related to Magic. He has found ways to appeal to the wider gaming community in Changzhou. These would also be largely Chinese customers.
The known foreign community revolving around Magic or D&D or Warhammer is decidedly tiny in this city. It usually meets up at OK Koala in Xinbei Wednesdays or Sunday nights. Of course, that doesn’t involve people who played before coming to China and just don’t know there are like minded expats in Changzhou. Those games may be western cultural imports, but people like Ady Zou can’t grow a business by explicitly focusing on foreign clientele. This is just another instance of Changzhou clearly not being in the same sentence as Shanghai or Nanjing. Although, shop owners in both those cities would argue the same thing. You have to grow gaming communities among other Chinese people. Foreign customers, while nice to have, are not suitable paths to sustainability. Both English teachers and engineers come and go year to year. Most foreigners here have not dropped an anchor and have decided to stay put — Changzhou and China as a whole are just a temporary stops in a greater life’s journey. And that’s well and fine.
However, if you are into nerdy things, it’s always good to know that there are places to go while you are passing through.There is a community of like minded locals that are willing to embrace you if you show up. Gaming shops are as much about community as they are about making money.This is also why it’s cool to know somebody like Ady Zou and that he has shop. This is also another reason why it’s also good to forego Taobao and to shop locally.
According to my students over the years, China isn’t a superpower when it comes to anime, cartoons, or comics. According to them, that’s the domain of Japan and America — with profoundly different styles coming out of both countries. With recent high budget movies like White Snake and others, it’s something that may change in the decades to come. After all, science fiction is now a big thing in China when it wasn’t twenty years ago.
Unlike science fiction, cartoons and comics do have a history in China. Sure, it may not be the level of Hayao Miyazaki, but then again he’s in a class of his own. There is only one — and can only be one — Miyazaki. Still, China has been publishing comics for decades. They just don’t look like anything you would find elsewhere.
Typically, these can be found in antique markets these days. They are tiny, and they are largely black and white with one panel and caption per page.
There is a deeper, richer history than this, though. In this regard, I’m speaking of San Mao 三毛.
Zhang Leping 张乐平 created this character in 1935 as a way to show the economic plight of orphans and the poor in Shanghai. Of course, there was some anti-Japanese propaganda thrown into Zhang’s work. However, it is really hard to argue that San Mao is dogmatic. Zhang’s work does have a political point, but there is often a whimsical edge. Plus, he often depicted the humanity of what it’s like to be a poor and malnourished in truly chaotic times.
If I am going to be honest, I had never heard of San Mao before I moved to China. If I am permitted to say something weird (to me), I had never heard of San Mao or Zhang Leping until I walked into a shopping plaza. American shopping malls are not keen on putting on cultural displays. Often in the USA, commercial and cultural things are decidedly kept separate.
Global Harbour in Xinbei, however, has an exhibit dedicated to San Mao and Zhang Leping’s drawings. It’s on the fourth floor.
It’s hard to tell if the framed work are prints, reproductions, or originals. To an extent, does it really matter?
For me, it didn’t. I learned something new, and this whole exhibit is free and open the public. I wandered in with a super-jumbo cup of watered down espresso from Starbucks. I did this on a very lazy day off, and I could very easily see myself doing it again, soon.
The word around town is that there is a new Greek restaurant called Golden Olives, and after a few friends sent me pictures and firm declarations of “This is awesome,” I felt like I had no choice but to check it out. After all, I have loved Greek food ever since my elder brother forced me to eat a gyro pita in Brussels (near the Grand Platz) such a long time ago. So, did the food live up to the hype and whispers? Here’s what I tried.
This is halloumi with cherry tomatoes and a drizzle of balsamic vinegar. Halloumi is a thickly textured cheese resulting from a mixture of sheep and goat’s milk. It’s so dense it doesn’t melt, and it’s one of the few cheeses that can be grilled or fried. Like feta, it’s often used in Mediterranean styled salads — which are also available on Golden Olive’s menu. This restaurant quite possibly could be one of the first to ever serve halloumi in Changzhou. Next up, there’s this.
Tzatziki, pure and simple. This is rather common as both a dip for flat bread and a condiment in wraps. Personally speaking, whenever I try a new-to-me restaurant in China, it’s usually best to start with the most basic menu items. Simply put, if a “Greek” eatery can’t get tzatziki right, then something is seriously wrong and the rest of the menu may not be worth trying. In the case of Golden Olives, this starter more than passed the test.
Of course, if one is just judging by the basics, starting with a gyro platter seemed apropos. When I first looked at the menu, I was a little disappointed. In my mind, a gyro usually consists beef-lamb hybrid where the meats are ground, mixed, and rotisserie roasted on a spit. But then again, back in the USA, a gyro usually implies a pitawrap. It’s not a startling revelation that America changes things and assumptions when it imports international cuisine by way of immigrants and their resulting children. Regardless of that, the chicken and pork mixed platter was seasoned exceptionally well, and I look forward to having it again someday. In short, Golden Olives lives up to the hype and buzz it has been getting recently. So, yes, it’s actually worth the visit. While it is pricey, one can easily say there is nothing else in Changzhou like it. Istanbul Restaurant comes close, but that’s Turkish food, not Greek.
Currently, there is a downside, though. Golden Olives is currently located in the brand new Wu Yue mall in Tianning. It’s an inconvenient trek from the city center. The B2 — among other buses — comes out this way, but it’s a lengthy ride. Depending on where one is in Changzhou, a taxi could be a little on the costly side of things. This is only a temporary problem, however. Tianning Wu Yue is near a future Line 2 subway station. However, that is slated for next year. So, chalk the inconvenient location up as a growing pain. Personally speaking though, it is wort visiting.
Let’s conjure up an American football fan. Let’s call him Jimmy Spizone, and he comes from Trenton, New Jersey. He loves the Philadelphia Eagles on absurdly religious levels. In his mind, any fan who opposes his beloved team deserves to be punched in the face! His green Eagles baseball hat is a particularly prized possession. This is not just out of loyalty, but he also thinks it brings him luck. Every time he’s successfully asked a girl out on a date, he’s been wearing that hat. That green hat is just something he doesn’t leave home without wearing.
Now, let’s say Jimmy can’t find a job in Trenton. It’s not that far of a stretch; lots of people in Trenton can’t find work. Trenton can be a very sad place, and because of that, he ends up in Changzhou. He has bachelor’s in business administration, so he ends up teaching at a language center and not an international school, college, or university. Everyday, he happily walks to work, and just like his life back in Jersey, he can’t leave home without wearing his treasured green Eagles hat. Only, China isn’t New Jersey.
Every day, people on the street stare at him in weird ways. Some of them, in a state of disbelief, take photos of Jimmy for their QQ and WeChat feeds. They also whisper about him behind his back. Whenever he goes to a bar and tries to chat up a beautiful Chinese woman, they laugh hysterically in his face. He gets royally pissed off one day at work and has a nervous breakdown.
Why is China being so mean to me? He screams at the top of his lungs.
His head foreign teacher calls him into his office and tries to put it to him gently. China is not at fault here. Jimmy is. And, so that leads to the question of why?
It’s the totally the green Philadelphia Eagles hat. Jimmy came to China not knowing that a profound stigma comes with wearing a green hat. It means your wife or girlfriend has been cheating on you. When it comes to such matters of infidelity, there are some places in Changzhou that go out of their way to document that and depressing feelings that come with it.
This place is in Laimeng, downtown. It’s on the top floor and is near a cinema — presumably, a place where people have gone on dates. It’s also where I took the above wall-of-green-hats picture. It is truly bizarre.
It’s a space where items from broken relationships have been collected and curated. Explanatory text in Chinese accompanies most of these things, and those blurbs detail the circumstances and extent of the heartbreak involved. Also…
There is just a lot of silly, and surreal weirdness. However, while walking through, I wasn’t all that shocked by the garishness. Actually, I have been to somewhere similar before.
They are actually all over Changzhou. The above Amap screenshot doesn’t include red dots for Jintan and Liyang. Searches on Amap also turn up possible locations in Nanjing, Wuxi, Suzhou, and Shanghai. Even possibly Zhenjiang! This phenomenon isn’t even uniquely Chinese. The first possible “Museum of Broken Relationships” popped up in Zagreb, Croatia. Given the pervasive nature of these “museums” in Southern Jiangsu, one thing is clear. Apparently, this is a big business. Entry is not free. The ones I have since been to range from 30 to 50 RMB a ticket.
If we could get back to Trenton’s totally made up Jimmy Spizone for a moment. Now that plenty of Chinese girls have laughed in his face over his green Eagles cap, he could donate it as a relic of his own broken heart. However, he wouldn’t. Once you are an Eagles fan, you are an Eagles fan till death. He now knows not to wear his treasured hat in public, but you’re only going to get it from him if you pry it from his cold, dead fingers.
From time to time, after staying up late and drinking one too many beers with friends at a bar, I often hit Japanese Street on my way home. It’s more of a convenience, though. The north gate of my housing estate is actually on Hanjiang Road. The other night, I did one of my routine pit stops, and I had what I felt was an amazing bowl of pork and garlic ramen. It was also 2am, and I figured thinking it was so awesome could be chalked up to the fact that I was a little tipsy. So, I decided to go back, completely sober, and try it again for lunch. Alas, the place was closed. I was still hungry, and so I just ventured into a different — and newer to me — Japanese eatery. They didn’t have the type of soup I had wanted from the other place. However, I noticed something I hadn’t really tried before.
To put plainly and simply: udon noodles in Japanese beef curry. Now, if one is ranking the international curries of the world, Japan’s version is not near the top. In my opinion, that’s an ongoing threeway war between Singapore, Thailand, and India. That’s not to say Japanese curry is bad, and I do quite often enjoy it. There is a sort of simple “comfort food” aspect sometimes appeals to me.
Frequently, curry is on a Japanese menu while being paired with white rice. Adding a pork or chicken breaded cutlet is also common, and that is often sometimes topped with a fried egg. So, on this occasion, it was the first time I saw beef curry paired with soft, thick udon noodles. So, what’s the end result?
Liked it, and at 35 RMB a bowl, it will be something I will have again for a quick lunch. While putting noodles into curry is not a new and novel thing, this particular pairing isn’t something I have seen at other Japanese places I have dined at. That’s also the important thing about figuring out the entirety of Hanjiang Road as a dining destination. There are so many Japanese restaurants competing with each other, it’s hard to declare which is the best. Actually, that’s a bit of a silly task. It’s better to figure out what menu items are unique to certain places. So, simple udon beef curry; it’s one of the reasons why I might go back to Jing He 井禾 on Japanese Street. Since it was only my second time there, I’m wondering what else may be on the menu that sets itself apart from the dozens of other places nearby.