I ♥ WU

Wudaokou, affectionately known as "Wu," is the neighborhood just outside the gates of Tsinghua University. Whenever I get that little longing in my heart that makes me almost consider hopping back on a 737 straight to Beijing, it's because I'm missing Wudaokou.

It's the Chinese equivalent of a college town, with more bars, restaurants, and shops than we knew what to do with. Wudaokou is just a five minute bus ride from campus, so it was a much more feasible trip on weeknights when we didn't feel like trekking all the way to Salitun or Hou Hai for a taste of night life.

In the beginning, we checked out many of the shops and restaurants, and by the half-way point we liked to consider ourselves regulars at a handful of the local establishments. There was Lush, where you'd find the gang every Wednesday for the Pub Quiz (no matter how embarrassing our score was the week before). The casual atmosphere at Lush made me feel instantly at home. I liked the continuity; the crowd that turned out for the Pub Quiz was always full of familiar faces. Just the down the block was Pyro Pizza, where Lindsey and Kelsey proved their beer pong chops and kicked some frat boy ass. If we were in a social mood, but still had work to do, Bridge Cafe was the place to be. If we needed a sweets fix, Tous Les Jours, a korean bakery franchise had exquisite pastries at ridiculously low prices--not too mention the constant streaming of k-pop (korean pop) music videos.

Even walking around Wudaokou proved to be an adventure--a feast for the senses if you will. Every night, as soon as the sun begins to set, a sort of clandestine, nighttime street market appears, as if out of nowhere. The vendors set up their goods on any available pavement, which makes simply walking on the sidewalk quite a challenging task.

Everywhere you turn there are racks of clothing, bags and shoes blanketing the ground, and rickshaw carts blocking every corner. Amidst all the merchandise for sale are carts selling street food. Often, we had the misfortune of catching a whiff of what is known as "stinky tofu." Whenever we got off the bus and thought "Wow, what died?," we knew the street vendors we cooking the popular, albeit foul-smelling delicacy.

Restaurants and bars aside, I found no greater joy than in wandering about the streets of Wudaokou and happening upon a basket full of puppies for sale. Each time, my heart melted, and, suddenly, I transformed from 20-year-old college student to a five-year-old, begging mom to let me stop inside the pet store. Of course, I always stopped. I'm never one to pass up an opportunity to play with cute animals. It took everything I had in me not to walk away with a new puppy in my arms. I had to keep reminding myself that customs would probably not look kindly on a living thing in my carry-on luggage.

Wudaokou is truly a microcosm of life in Beijing. I found comfort in our weekly routine and the familiarity of my surroundings. We never even extended our boundaries more than a few blocks in any one direction, but for eight weeks, Wu really became my home away from home.