I went to an all-boys primary school in Dublin. Not only was it all boys, but all White, Irish, Catholic boys. Except for Martin who was from Zimbabwe (I think it was still called Rhodesia at the time). He was a celebrity because he was Black and therefore exotic – at least to us he seemed so. (There was also an Italian but he didn't look any different from the rest of us.) Everyone was fascinated with Martin; they stared at him, and wanted to touch his hair. Nothing unpleasant – Irish people hadn't learnt to be racist yet – just genuine fascination.
Nobody asked to touch my hair (or what's left of it) yesterday at Qingdao's Beach Number 2, but considering the number of people who stared at me, I was the exotic boy in the school. When I realised, I looked around the crowded beach and could not see a single other "Western" person. Adults were reasonably discreet in their observation, but the kids looked and smiled, then said "hello" and giggled. This happened several times. I was happy to add something different to their day.
Number 2 beach is just east of the old town, near some very stylish villas. Plaques on some of them tell of the great and the good who once lived or stayed there. All very bourgeois, but give me the simple charm of the old town any day.
Qingdao is certainly a breath of fresh air after the scorching heat of Beijing and Xi'an. It's still quite hot but the sea breeze makes it bearable. Barbecued seafood, chicken and lamb on the terrace was very pleasant last night, washed down, of course, with some chilled Tsingtao beer.
Afterwards we went for a walk to the train station to book tickets for the night train to Shanghai, leaving Saturday, arriving Sunday. The only possibility was a "standing" ticket for the 19-hour journey. That's literally standing, as in no seat. We're flying instead.
