The exotic “laowai”

A casual stroll through T Square before dinner;
Mao mausoleum in the background

Laowai, 老外), is a commonly-used term that in everyday spoken Chinese refers to Caucasians. It’s thought to be a neutral term, though early ex-pats in China thought it was meant to be derogatory. The government mouthpieces in China actually launched what I would call a PR campaign to educate readers on the correct usage and appease foreigners that it’s not meant as an insult in anyway.

Now, if you’re being called Gwailo (鬼佬), that could be a different story. Gwailo is a slang term for foreigners used by the Cantonese and has more historical connotation as deprecatory. Though, here too, it can depend on the speaker. Some may be using it as a synonym for laowai; others, if adding the adjective sei (死, meaning dead or damned) or as a prefix. seigwailo (死鬼佬), well, they may not be so nice.

Traveling as a laowai in Beijing generally has few negatives. In fact, some moments are downright comical. I’m sitting at the airport having just bypassed a long line of people waiting to show boarding passes at first check-in point. I queued up like a good traveler, and then for some inexplicable reason, the guard just waved me forward. This happened on my last visit too. No one fussed.

While going through security, something in my bag must have raised a question because a guard took it from the belt and asked (i think) “Who’s is this?” When I raised my hand, he just nodded, didn’t even look at it, and gave it to me. Odd.

While entering Tiananmen Square yesterday afternoon, I encountered security checks at entrances (not sure if this is normal practice or a special situation given many countries are taking precaution against Egypt-style uprisings), and was simply waved through. I even started to put my purse through the scanner and the guard just gave it back.

I’m not sure as to the causes of this.

a folk art display outside T Square for Spring Festival

A charming moment occurred when I was walking through the square. A Chinese tourist gripped my arm, smiled endearingly and gestured that she wanted me to pose for a picture with her small daughter. (I had heard similar stories from friends, Mother, so i knew this wasn’t some distracting ploy so they could rifle my pockets.) Kind of sweet.  

I’m keen to explore more of China and see how the attitudes toward foreigners changes.

French winter in the midst of Beijing

View of Maison Boulud upon entering walled compound

On this trip to Beijing, I wrapped up my meetings around 4 p.m. and quickly sped to the central area for some sightseeing (separate entry to follow) and dining. A good friend with a taste for fine French cuisine recommended I try Maison Boulud, Daniel Boulud’s Beijing outpost.

Yes, it’s odd to try classic French within a great Chinese food city like Beijing, but I promise I had my fill of local food, too. Plus, I’ll admit, I haven’t found that perfect French place in Singapore ... the one you go to for classic French recipes, dim and hushed ambience, polished service, leisurely pace and a feeling of wanting to linger for hours over multiple courses, wine and delicious pastries.

Maison Boulud is located just about as centrally as you can get. Right adjacent to Tiananmen Square (which is across the street from Forbidden City, national museum and other must-visits), it is set within a walled compound that used to be the American Embassy at one point. Grey stone buildings flank a small manicured courtyard, and you immediately feel a bit coddled.

Chesnut soup. yummy!

Inside, it feels like an old French mansion, with lots of wood, stone, rich carpeting and fabrics. To the left is a dimly lit, cozy bar area (where you could easily enjoy a meal, though beware, smoking is allowed) and to the right, the main dining area. I was unsure, when I made the booking, whether it was the type of place where I would feel comfortable dining alone in the main dining room; it actually was ideal. It isnt a crowded space and I was seated along the perimeter facing in, flanked by a trio on either side. It is a good place to have a business dinner, romantic date or just dine solo. Even with the large parties and 75 percent capacity, it remained pleasantly abuzz yet relaxed.

Nicolas, the French host, was graciously attentive, welcoming me, ensuring I was comfortable with the table, asked if I would like a magazine or newspaper, and invited me to stay as long as I want, enjoy a book, etc. Very warm French welcome!

The food was just what I wanted after a long week and a couple hours of walking around in the brisk Beijing winter air. Chestnut soup to start, which was preceded by a lovely trio of cheese amuse bouche; duck confit as my main, though the chef sent out his famous black cod poached in olive oil for me to try, which was delicious though practically filled me up; dark chocolate souffle on Nicolas’ recommendation, which to my surprise (and full tummy’s near-horror) was accompanied by tastings of their homemade marshmallow, macaroons, madeleines and brioche.

Gracious Nicolas gave me his card and the contact info of his counterpart at Boulud's Singapore outpost, for when we need a table or anything else. Will definitely be paying a visit to DB Bistro Moderne again soon, and I recommend checking out Maison Boulud in Beijing.

O Rick Steves, Where Are Thou?

I wish Rick Steves would do an Asia book series. Perhaps he has, and I’m woefully unaware. My time in Beijing was not as thrilling as it should have been. Instead of visiting the Forbidden City and Temple of Heaven, I was holed up in my hotel room writing talking points and managing agencies. Important and interesting work, to be sure. But it was work that could have been wrapped up in a few hours, leaving me an hour or so of each day to explore this historic city. Yet, I found the prospect surprisingly intimidating.

Home base in Beijing.

Normally I am very comfortable walking around major cities, hopping on the subway/trains, taking taxis … but Beijing was intimidating because it’s difficult to decipher the language. In my experiences in France or Argentina for example, there usually are English translations everywhere and the subway workers/taxi drivers know enough English to tell you if you’re on the right train. However, “Forbidden City” in English is not anything close to “Forbidden City” in Chinese … and colleagues have said that taxi drivers, for example, are blissfully unaware of English names of many things. I’ve been told to bring business cards or notes that list the places I want to go in Chinese … but who has time to track that down? So alas, I found the excuse of too much work comforting and holed up in my massive one-bedroom apartment at the Westin.

Had I had Rick Steves practical advice instilled in my brain, I would have felt more comfortable touring the city. Next time, I hope to have more time to read up on sites, walking tours, restaurants, etc. It’s an amazing historic city and I’m bummed I didn’t really have a chance to experience it.

Arrival in Beijing -- welcome to China

13 September 2010

415 p.m. SST

I arrive in Beijing after a relaxing and uneventful flight from Singapore, and the first thing I think: Man, it is hot. Like, hotter than Singapore. A colleague told me that while Beijing is further north than Singapore, the smog and pollution in Beijing trap the heat and increase the heat. Great.

The airport looks like any other major airport – no immediate, “Wow, I’m in Beijing!” feeling. My company has arranged for a guide to meet me and escort me to my car service. Thank goodness. A nice young boy greets me with a sign that has my name and Westin on it, then walks me to Immigration Control.

This boy earned his worth with his valuable tip: go to the lines on the left. See, when you walk to the Immigration Hall, it’s massive. There are maybe 15 queues and the right 12 say Foreigners. They have really long lines, and I feared I was in for a long wait. However, he guides me to two queues on the very left that just say Immigration Control, I believe. There are about 15 people waiting total…I ask him if I am in the right line, fearing they’ll throw me out and I’ll never be allowed back. He replies, “Yes. This way is much shorter.” Sure enough, it only takes me about 10 minutes to get through … remember this tip.



Ug. A normal drive in Beijing.



We then proceed to the hottest airport shuttle train I’ve ever experienced. Fortunately, it’s only a five minute ride to baggage claim. Baggage collected, he shows me to my car and driver and we’re off. Traffic of course is awful coming out of airport and again I fear a long wait. But miraculously things open up after 25 min of bumper to bumper…not sure why. I manage to successfully call my hotel and let them know I’ll be a bit later than expected (apparently they don’t hold rooms after 4 p.m.) and catch up on work email.