One of the first things I’m learning as a new expat in China is that “normal” is a moving target.
Yesterday, Xue and I had a full day mapped out, breakfast, apartment hunting, a bit of rest, and then heading to the Hilton in Golden Pebble Beach for some quiet study and work time. We hit all the marks, just not in the way we expected.
Our day started at a small breakfast restaurant Xue likes. It’s one of dozens nearby that transform like clockwork: breakfast in the morning, lunch dishes by noon, and dinner offerings at night. All Chinese food, of course, no avocado toast or bacon-and-eggs combos here. Just the kinds of dishes you’d find in a home kitchen here in China, served up fast and cheap.
That’s been one of my early observations. In the U.S., dining out is largely an exercise in corporate branding and niche targeting, chains, franchises, and independent spots that differentiate themselves by cuisine or ambiance. Whether it’s a Taco Bell drive-thru, a neighborhood gastropub, or a gourmet food truck, eating out in America seems as much about novelty and experience as it is about food.
Here in China, especially in places like Jinzhou, a district near Dalian, dining out seems to blend seamlessly into everyday life. Many of these neighborhood shops are woven into the rhythm of the community. They’re not about “dining out” so much as “eating life.” Staffed by what feels like an army of uncles and aunties, these restaurants serve hot, comforting food with all the warmth of a home-cooked meal, for the equivalent of just a few U.S. dollars.
After breakfast, we met up with our real estate agents, two gentlemen who struck me as something of a Laurel and Hardy duo. I couldn’t understand much of what they said, but the back-and-forth rhythm between them, the wide gestures and animated reactions, told its own story. Laurel would make a strong declaration, and Hardy would counter with something equally emphatic, until one of them grunted what I thought was a final “ah, okay,” and they moved on.
Their van was a character too, it was a narrow half-sized van, with a half-sized bench in the back, minimal shock absorption, and every speed bump in the road bouncing me up and down. But it got us where we needed to go, and that’s what counted.
We toured half a dozen apartments in various developments. Most were two-bedroom layouts with modest kitchens and living spaces, but one stood out: a three-bedroom unit that was just a raw shell, bare concrete walls and endless possibility. Tempting, but it would be a project. Still, it gave me a glimpse into how different housing works here. Coming from a 2,600-square-foot, two-story home in the U.S., this is a shift, but one I’ll adjust to. Being with Xue and our soon-to-be-born baby is what matters most right now.
The developments themselves are impressive, sprawling estates with several dozen five- to six-story buildings, often wrapped with strip malls. I’ve seen others housing units that reach up like modern, albeit narrow, skyscrapers, 30, 40, 50 stories high. And the names? That’s a treat of its own. One development we visited was called “Yosemite.”, another I saw was called “City of Glamor.” Both sound like a Vegas-themed amusement park, but they’re apartment complexes here. Many are styled with a European flair, arched windows, columns, decorative facades that hint at Versailles more than modern Asia.
After the apartment visits, we headed back to pick up Xue’s car—a sleek BMW that had been sitting idle for over seven months while she stayed with her brother, then her mom. Naturally, it didn’t start. Maybe the lights had been left on. Maybe the battery was just tired of waiting.
Once again, Laurel and Hardy came to the rescue, helping us jump the battery like absolute gentlemen. We hit the road, driving in long loops to recharge the battery. But the moment we turned off the engine? Nothing. Dead again. The battery needed more than a jump; it needed a revival.
So, our quiet afternoon at the Hilton turned into a three- or four-hour scenic drive, circling and circling in the summer heat and thick humidity, trying to coax life back into the battery. By the time we got home, we were sticky, tired, and ready to collapse.
Today, we finally took the car to a shop, one with a giant green Castrol sign out front. Back home, I’d know exactly where to go: Firestone, Les Schwab, maybe even a dealership. Here? It’s a mystery wrapped in a foreign language wrapped in a very busy (and very messy) garage.
The Castrol shop was unlike anything I’ve seen. It was clearly well-trafficked, with cars pouring in and mechanics hustling around, but it was also a complete circus. Tools and parts scattered everywhere. Workers crouched over engines. Others on smoke breaks. And then there was the air-conditioned office, a little room with three young guys lounging on couches, fully engaged in mobile games. Efficiency? Maybe not. But somehow it all worked.
An oil change and a solid charge later, the BMW was happy again.
And finally—finally—we made it to the Hilton this afternoon.
The one here in Dalian Golden Pebble Beach is something else. The grand exterior looks like a European palace, complete with spires and a central fountain flanked by statues. Inside, it’s just as extravagant, vaulted ceilings, marble counters, luxurious seating areas, and a massive, multi-story glass wine tower as a centerpiece.
We found a quiet spot to work and rest. Xue settled in to study, preparing for her next big event. Later this summer, she’ll be hosting a children’s dance performance here, her third year organizing this event. Dozens of dance schools. Hundreds of kids. She’s pregnant now, but it’s clear she’s still got it handled. I admire her strength more every day.
These early days remind me how much I don’t know, and how much I still have to learn. As a non-Chinese (or just “foreigner,” as I’m often called), the systems I once took for granted no longer apply. Everything from eating out to fixing a car is a new adventure. And that’s both the challenge and the charm of expat life.
I’m sure more surprises are waiting around the next corner, but for now, I’m grateful. Grateful for a good meal, a working car, a beautiful hotel to escape to, and most of all, for Xue, who’s right here in the middle of it all with me.
Echo From The West 