I got up around 08:00. The yelping dog from the night before had been replaced by a younger, equally yelping one. The window didn’t close properly, but it didn’t bother me. Luckily, I had bought cappuccino powder earlier, so at least there was something resembling coffee.
The shower was simply in the bathroom with no enclosure at all, so I flooded the entire room. Before that, I had to wait ages for the hot water to arrive. Apart from that, the hotel was almost completely quiet.
Downstairs I paid for another night and then headed toward the station to buy a ticket to Tianjin. Two ticket counters were open, and in front of them there was a large crowd, which was processed surprisingly quickly. With the help of the Lonely Planet, I managed to buy a ticket without any trouble.
“Where to? When?”—identity card and money. With that done, I headed toward the old town. In front of it was a road that had just been freshly asphalted. Pedestrians, cars, and trucks were already using it, even though the surface was still steaming. Along the road in front of the gate there were numerous metal stalls.
The old gate itself didn’t look particularly impressive up close, and the area around it was rather cluttered. Inside the walls there were many small shops and two long shopping streets crossing each other. In the center stood an old tower. Most of the shops sold everyday items: cheap plastic goods, scooters, and vases. Parts of the main street were torn open. All in all, the city dating back to the 14th century wasn’t really worth seeing—there simply wasn’t much to see.
I walked straight through the old town toward the beach. In a fruit shop I bought two kilograms of bananas, which I ate shortly afterward by the roadside. Along the way, entire neighborhoods were being built all at once. The beach was supposed to be about five kilometers away. Meanwhile the weather grew steadily worse and looked like rain.
The road sometimes led through almost nothing at all. On the sidewalks, poor construction quality was obvious: if something had been built, it was often already defective again. New granite slabs were broken, and entire sections of pavement had slid down embankments. On the left side there was a commercial school on a vast empty lot, dominated by a high-rise building with a large clock that didn’t work.
The ferries were located to the left of Beach No. 1. Small stalls sold mussels swimming in tubs. Everything looked rather shabby. In the middle of the beach, by contrast, stood a luxury hotel. The beach itself was constantly cleaned by workers in yellow vests. Many local tourists posed for photos. By then it had started to rain lightly, and it was windy and cold.
In aquariums, fish swam that children could catch with small fishing rods. The place is apparently popular in summer, especially with visitors from inland regions. At this time of year, however, there was little going on.
I’d had enough fairly quickly and returned along the main road from Beach No. 1 toward the city, where I took a taxi. The otherwise standard fare of 8 yuan for the first kilometers immediately increased, even though we hadn’t driven more than three kilometers. To the entrance of the old town it ended up costing exactly 20 yuan. Overall, the city felt much less prosperous than Dalian, but it certainly wasn’t poor or run-down.
I quickly took a photo of the eastern gate and went into the first shop to buy cigarettes and a drink. Cigarettes and a drink were supposed to cost 35 yuan, which struck me as ridiculous, so I just left. Apparently bad luck for the shopkeeper.
A little farther away from the main roads I found a small shop with normal prices and paid 15 yuan for cigarettes and drinks. I left the dull old town again through the western gate. By now the street was only half finished. Near the train station I bought pastries and noodles for the next day, sat down for a while on the freshly tarred road, and then went back to my room to rest.
Around 18:00 I went out again, but nothing had changed in the boring city—so I returned to my room once more.