It was a smoggy afternoon in Qingdao. Although we were on our final approach to the airport, I could barely see the city. I’d promised myself to stay positive and open-minded, but tendrils of regret reached around my heart. I couldn’t look away from the window, one question echoing in my mind: “Is this the right decision?”
It was May 12th, 2019. We’d spent the better part of a year deliberating about this move, then preparing the mountains of paperwork it required. We were ready for an adventure, and this one had presented itself at an opportune time. The job promised to be rigorously academic, and the challenge was just the kind of change we were looking for. So, we agreed to move to China.
The path of past experience
This was not the first time I moved to China. In 2011, I accepted a job offer in Shanghai. This went rather poorly, and I wound up fleeing my post without even having started it. (Curious? Read the full story here.) Chalk it up to my naivety and/or a bit of bad luck, but it definitely didn’t work out the first time. As a result, I didn’t really consider job options there again.
But in 2017, Kent and I spent the spring getting extremely into Chinese cinema. This inspired us to spend a summer traveling all around the country. It was an awesome, unforgettable trip: running on a rugged section of the Great Wall, completing thoughful koras around monasteries in Tibet, tandem-cycling around raised city walls and climbing our first 5000 meter mountain!
Thus enamored of the middle kingdom, when a mutual friend presented us with an opportunity in the fall of 2018, we weren’t opposed to it. At the time, we were considering staying on for a third year in the wonderful wilds of northern Gangwon province, but it’s always good to have a backup plan.
As the year drew to a close, our plan to stay in Korea began to unravel. I started to see signs, specifically for the exit. After six wonderful years of work and eight years based in the country, it became apparent that it was time to say goodbye.
So we set out to learn about Qingdao. Friends of ours had worked there, and our new contacts were both friendly and helpful. The more we learned, the more promising the opportunity seemed. The positions were legitimate. There would be help with visas and finding accommodation. This time, there were no red flags.
And best of all, there would be a mountain! It was a picture of the city that sealed the deal for me, much like what moved me long ago to decamp to Korea (best decision of my life). In the case of Qingdao, the skyline was dominated by a beautiful mountain – one that I could hardly wait to climb!
So last spring we wrapped up our lives in Inje and shipped them to Qingdao. After the best April ever, we ourselves followed.
An inauspicious arrival
If I was discouraged by the landing, I was positively dismayed by the airport. Compared to the calm cleanliness of Incheon International, I found Qingdao’s small airport to be dirty, noisy and chaotic. My anxiety grew by the minute. As we stood in baggage, waiting for ours to emerge, someone sniped our cart. Reacquainted with it – and our bags, finally, we were on our way out when we got jostled out of the customs line by some new, aggressive arrivals.
Memories of my 2011 experience flooded back into my brain unbidden. Before I knew it, a tear was streaking its way down my cheek. This was not looking like the new adventure I’d hoped for. I stepped out of line – for the second time – and beckoned Kent to come with me. I needed a minute to remember myself and what I was doing here. Then I squared my shoulders and we soon walked hand-in-hand out into Qingdao for the first time.
Outside in the sunshine, we were greeted with warm hugs from our new coworkers. We shared lunch at a vegan restaurant they’d chosen specifically for our arrival, and then were taken to a large hotel by the seaside. That evening, we had time to ourselves, and we used it to step outside and see Qingdao. To our delight, we found a city that was strikingly beautiful!
Now feeling safe, welcome and more than a little curious, my worries dissipated. I chided myself for letting my past color my present. This was not, after all, a trial: just the beginning of a new adventure that would be whatever I could make of it.
The first thing I wanted to do was make trails on the mountain. Fushan rises above the eastern part of the city: small only in size. In character, this 300 meter mountain is massive. It looks like a national park with its multiple peaks and sheer rock faces! I was positively delighted that our new mountain friend was such a spectacular one – and eager to get out to meet it.
Fushan was closed. For fire season or construction or military reasons we weren’t totally sure. Only our second morning in Qingdao, and we were almost defeated before we got started.
But, as my friend Stephen would say, ‘there’s always a Chinese person.’ Even though it was before dawn, we weren’t the only people at the base of Fushan. A closed gate had turned us away, but a local simply headed up some unobtrusive stone steps into the bush. We looked at each other, and instantly followed suit!
Finding the fun
In the coming months, we would come to know this mountain intimately. Multiple trailheads offer different approaches to the mountain, but official entrances are not always open. However, many more folk pathways grant citizens access the mountain year-round. And knowing that others did, we continued to do so also: rain or shine, night or day, gates pulled closed or flung open.
Fushan was a playground to us: it provided us with near-daily adventure on various fun runs and training epics. The mountain was also our solace: when city life was hectic, it was an amazing place to escape to. It was how we marked the weather and the passing of the seasons – and our source of wildlife encounters!
This mountain was not just a geographical feature: it was everything to us! We picked our apartment based on the fact that it had Fushan views from the living room. We celebrated birthdays, anniversaries and other special occasions on its slopes.
When we weren’t running on our mountain, we were running by the seaside. The flat, paved pedestrian path was no match for the ruggedness of Fushan. But this was a perfect place to run intervals or recover from hills. Sometimes we’d run to the beach where I could splash into the waves after a hot summer run, or linger to watch the full moon rise over an inky sea at night.
As for the work we did between runs, I must say I really enjoyed it. I’d been putting in time at my previous job, neither engaged nor stimulated. Here in Qingdao, teaching teenagers the skills they needed for studying overseas was tough but rewarding work.
Our office was small and we got on well with our coworkers. And, after the first crazy term of endless preparations and adaptation to new systems, we had the kind of free time that enabled us to live a balanced, happy lifestyle. We also hit the jackpot in terms of annual vacation: last year was an amazing year for travel!
We also fared well in the city. Coworkers introduced us to a vegan lunch buffet place that became a weekend ritual. And from there, we met many interesting people – one of whom would become a true friend. Eventually we discovered a fruit and vegetable market that allowed us to cut costs while simultaneously eating very well. And there were treats, like the occasional Starbucks date!
The challenges of China
But our margins were thin. We wanted to learn Chinese, but between work and racing last year, did not have the time to study (yeah, I know: where have you heard that before?). Surprise, inexplicable mountain or market closures could derail an entire day. Sometimes, the smog was so bad we had to stay inside. Sending money abroad, using the internet beyond the great firewall, ordering vitamins and other essential goods, dealing with our landlord and/or our work liaison: these were massive, headache-inducing and argument-ridden hassles.
Even at home, time off that was meant to be relaxing was almost without exception interrupted by construction noise or random knocks on the door (for various bills or inspections).
Perhaps part of the problem was this: unlike our wide-ranging, adventurous travels in China in 2017, we spent very little of our time in Qingdao exploring China (with one notable exception: the terrific Devil’s Ridge race!).
This was due in part to racing so much internationally, but also because of several realities that only became apparent once were already established there. You really need a grasp of the language or a local friend to explore China. Even the maps are off, making it tough-to-impossible to find trails independently. With the internet locked-down and the myriad challenges of translation, little is available to the ignorant outsider. And that in turn necessarily colors your experience: making the world look like a bunch of identical closed doors. China takes time, and patience, and we might not have had enough of either in 2019.
Expat, interrupted
In January 2020, we were on our lunar new year vacation. We were visiting family in Canada and California when disaster struck. Reports of the covid crisis in China continued to escalate during our three-week holiday. We were saved from having to make difficult decisions when our return flight was cancelled. In short order, so were our classes.
After an additional week’s vacation, we did resume teaching – albeit online. Weeks turned into months, months turned into a season. Ahead of the pandemic crisis reaching the US, our employer repeatedly asked us to return. Terrified of the virus, we repeatedly said no.
Before the Chinese border was officially closed to foreigners, we could have returned. Fewer airlines were flying, but tickets were available. But going back would mean a couple of weeks in quarantine in a hotel, forbidden from outdoor exercise and unable to procure our own food. Not to be dramatic, but for me, that would be extremely difficult anywhere on Earth. But in China, perhaps literally impossible.
Remember those thin margins I wrote of earlier? Lacking sufficient local language skills, I wouldn’t have been able to get the healthy food I need to thrive. Chinese cuisine is both incredible and challenging: filled with unknowable ingredients and sometimes heavy on the unusual meats. Unless you have an amazing chef of a husband and eat exclusively at home – or a friend you can completely trust to order for you, it can be a difficult place to have dietary restrictions.
Moreover, the vegetable stands we used to frequent were actually in the middle of a wet market, exactly like the one where the virus originated in Wuhan. I would have been somewhat shy of going back to our market, even if the option had been open to us.
On top of that, without access to Fushan, Qingdao seemed a cold, concrete jungle. I know that’s not entirely true: Qingdao is a beautiful seaside city. But with numerous pedestrian restrictions, our lifestyle would be critically cramped.
Furthermore, in-person classes never resumed, so we could just as easily do our work in the beautiful surrounds of Northern California: where we do have access to healthy food and runs in nature. With the ongoing viral threat and restrictions on movement, going back to Qingdao felt like a mistake.
Our decision not to return to Qingdao meant that we wouldn’t have the opportunity to consider staying on a second year. Our choice meant undergoing a lengthy, complicated process to retrieve our documents and possessions from our former home. I won’t complain about how it altered our daily schedules and future plans, because I’m just grateful to be healthy and have a job.
But our decision also meant that our time in Qingdao was over well before our contracts were up. It meant we lost the opportunity to say goodbye. Without even knowing it, we’d already run our last runs on the seaside, and on Fushan.
I wrote this post on May 12th, 2020. Exactly one year ago we took that flight into Qingdao to start a new life there. The past year unfolded in a way nobody would have ever expected. It was, and continues to be, challenging. But last year was also wonderful. We worked stimulating jobs; spent our days in Qingdao sandwiched between the sea and a rocky series of small summits; used our vacation time to run a dozen ultras(!); and we took a chance on trying something new.
But, because of the pandemic, I still can’t say I’ve completed a year in China. Last time, my naïve, younger self barely made it 72 hours. This time I made it eight months, and actually, for the most part, loved it. I might even have stayed longer. We’ll never know, though. We have only this, unexpected, ever-changing reality to explore.
For instance now, when I look back at Qingdao, I remember little of the smoggy days. More vivid memories spring to mind: of clear skies overhead on another bright summer day, or chasing down a morning fog in the lush semi-wilderness of Fushan. Images of Kent’s strong form racing up the dirt road ahead of me to the stone wall at the saddle. My final answer is that yes, without a doubt, it was the right decision to move to Qingdao.
I really miss the place that, for a while, I got to call home. I remember a place and a period of time now stitched into the fabric of my being. My life is better for having been set partially in Qingdao.
