Special forces tourism

Crushing cities before my thesis crushes me

Hi beautiful friends,

I’m typing this post on a train bound for Beijing. After four days of solo travel and a concert in Suzhou last night with my favorite duo, Phoenix Legend 凤凰传奇, I’m finally returning to Peking to write my thesis. Some of you may wonder why I’m traveling at all. Truth be told, as of last week, I planned to live in the library and grind out the thesis. Then, mid-FaceTime with a friend, I got a notification to fight for Phoenix Legend tickets. My friend watched as I aggressively tapped the screen. After months of trying, I finally scored a VIP ticket (880 yuan section). The timing is terrible, but I couldn’t predict the next chance to see my idols. Before I leave China, likely in July, I vowed to do anything to see them live at a concert. So off I went to Suzhou, a city I’d visited just a week prior. Talk about irony.

I’ve been to Suzhou too many times. It’s a beautiful city near Shanghai, where some relatives live, so I’m done with it. This time, instead of staying put, I hopped to nearby cities: Wuxi 无锡, Zhenjiang 镇江, and Yangzhou 扬州. Each is a short train ride from Suzhou, and I embarked on my second solo travel spree. Unlike my first trip last year to Shijiazhuang 石家庄, I felt far more mentally at ease, but I traveled aggressively. In Chinese, my style is called “Special Forces” tourism—marching through sites and restaurants at breakneck speed. I follow Rednote’s “must-see in a day” city walk lists, hop in and out of taxis parked outside (no time for Didi Uber rides), skip subways unless necessary, and forgo meals to squeeze in more sights. I’m the type who believes once I’ve seen a city, I’ll never return. It’s extreme, but China is vast, and life is short. The only exception? I’ll order local delicacies for the experience, though I scarf them down without savoring the scenery, which, in China, often means grannies shouting in restaurants. Yangzhou fried rice? Done. Wuxi crab buns? Done. Am I speed-walking through cities with a thesis due in four days? You bet.

Anyone who follows me on Instagram knows my advisor is responsible but, in my words, “anal.” My master’s program was supposed to be a chill two-year China vacation. Instead, my advisor wants his pupils to win the “distinguished student” award. Though he once called me “China’s travel ambassador,” I was stressed last week rewriting my thesis again. This is my third topic scratch on electric vehicles. I’ve settled on comparing innovation strategies between Northvolt (European) and CATL (the world’s largest EV battery supplier). If my advisor forces another rewrite, I’ll jump off the Great Wall.

My thesis is due in four days. Traveling south for a concert was terrible timing, but I’d planned to work on the go. On my first night, I camped in a book bar, hacking away at my laptop. Then I realized: Even if I traveled this weekend, I still have three days left before the thesis deadline. Why waste them in a café when night markets and gardens beckon? So after that first night, I shut my laptop and raced through cities so fast I’d collapse into bed by 8 p.m., exhausted. Now, back in Beijing, I’ll grind out the rest of a thesis that’ll never see the light of day.

Top left: Another day, another pagoda. Middle left: Why did all of China descend upon Wuxi to look at cherry blossoms? Bottom left: Another day, another beautiful pavilion. Right: I was taking a picture of the view, but this person was in the photo.

Solo travel on a mission

I love solo travel because 1) I have a hit attraction list, and 2) I eat fast and hate waiting. In China, group travel often turns me into a translator, though I cherish the camaraderie and shared meals. But with four to six classmates, we take forever to leave the hotel and bicker over itineraries. Solo, I blitzed the Yangzhou Grand Canal Museum in under an hour and slept ten hours nightly, ready to pound the pavement in two-inch platforms. I need nine to ten hours of sleep; less makes me cranky. So I start late, storm through sights like the Special Forces, then lie in bed by midnight.

To the cities

Each city felt like a prettier Suzhou clone. Wuxi had charming but fake canals, with signs boasting its role in this year’s Lunar New Year gala—one of the world’s most-watched TV shows. Zhenjiang felt poorer, but my sleek hotel had a Japanese toilet and a Chinese Alexa (“Xiao Du”) that kept talking to me, making me laugh. I geeked out at sites from the great Chinese novel, Three Kingdoms, and listened to grannies belting KTV duets in a park with a full stereo setup. In Yangzhou, I hit every major attraction (willows, flowers, more willows, more flowers) and ate the famous fried rice, except it tasted bad. I called my mom: “I could get better Yangzhou fried rice at Panda Express.” She laughed out loud.

Top left: I just woke up. The sign behind me says “Yangzhou.” Top right: Another day, another pretty garden. This country has too many pretty gardens that charge a fortune for a ticket. Bottom left: I walked into a museum that had a night market as an exhibition. How is this a socialist country when capitalism is everywhere? Bottom right: I bought my first meal of the day for 5 RMB (less than $1) because I was too busy looking at sites and didn’t have time to sit down and eat.

Phoenix Legend’s concert

On the final night, I sprinted through rain to catch the 7 p.m. show. A chronic last-minute person, I forgot the train to the venue took an hour. At 6 p.m., lugging a backpack and suitcase (both banned from the concert venue), I raced to the stadium, pausing only to buy overpriced bobbleheads of the duo. I don’t believe in waiting for security pat-downs, so I spun through the checkpoint, dodging scrutiny. Made it VIP just in time, with a raincoat handy on the chair.

Then I hollered my lungs out. For ten years, Phoenix Legend has topped my Spotify charts. Every. Single. Year. Last year, they were my fifth most-played artist. I’ve never loved a duo more—memorizing lyrics, devouring interviews, chasing their news. Critics call them “granny music” (their hits soundtrack dances in public squares), but I adore their songs about heaven, earth, hope, and futures. For a decade, their music buoyed me when I felt lost.

Scenes from the concert! I’m a huge fan of paying for overpriced bobbleheads and have similar cutouts of other famous badminton players.

I’ve been to over ten concerts, half here in China. Getting tickets is a bloodbath in this country. You fight to click fastest before they sell out in 30 seconds. But Phoenix Legend was the first concert where I teared up. I’ve set alarms, enlisted friends, and even tried hiring a person to take me inside (a scam, thankfully foiled by a classmate).

Ten years. That’s how long I’ve waited. Countless nights with their songs about water, land, flowers, and trees. Countless KTV sessions belting their tunes. Even my NYU application begged to see them live. It took six years—not the ten I’d written in the application—but it happened. I’d told myself I’d be ready to leave China after seeing them. God answered.

But I’ll never truly be ready to leave China. It’s been two great years. China, however, isn’t a chapter ending in my life. My extended family’s here, and I grew up in this hemisphere. This chapter closes soon, but the story continues. Someday, I’ll fight for front-row tickets to my favorite duo. Until then, I have a thesis to write. If it’s not done in four days, graduation is delayed, and I’ll stay another semester. My parents and advisor (who’ve never met each other) mutually threatened to “end me” if that happens. In the most Chinese way, they call their torture love.

Funny thing? I know they love me. They care too much. I don’t care enough. So back to the thesis grind I go!

Warmly,
A human with a master’s thesis due in four days

WeChat dramatically lowered the resolution of this video, but you get the vibes!