Three days in Shenyang, with a visa interview in between

Getting there, then waiting

On the 16th, I flew from Jieyang to Shenyang with a connection at Shanghai Pudong. Although the two flights had been sold together, they were operated by different airlines. For the second leg, I had to exit, check my bag in again, go through security, and reach a gate that required a train ride. The two or three hours I had allowed were only just enough. Next time I book a budget flight, I will take a closer look at the baggage and transfer rules.

The hotel was only a two- or three-minute walk from the visa office, but it cost more than 400 yuan a night and the room was a little dated. What I was really paying for was not having to worry about an unpredictable journey on the morning of my interview.

That evening, lonlon and I had northeastern Chinese food on Wen’an Street. I tried frozen pears for the first time. The guobaorou, a sweet-and-sour fried pork dish, was thinner and crispier than the version near my university. The cold dishes turned out to be my favorites.

I barely left the hotel on the 17th. With the interview still ahead of me, I was in no mood to explore. I got through the day on chicken-broth soup dumplings, chicken carcasses, and Fengtian dumplings. The dumplings had relatively thin wrappers but generous fillings; five weighed about half a jin, or 250 grams.

After the interview

On the 18th, I got up at seven, stored my bag, and joined the queue. There were appointment checks, security, a photo scan, and fingerprints before I reached the interview window. The officer asked just a few simple questions: why I was going to the United States, which program I was joining, whether I was an undergraduate, and what I studied. I was nervous all the same. Only after receiving the red slip did I really relax.

With the anxiety gone, I began to notice Shenyang. The nearby morning market opened at four. Until half past nine, the whole street belonged to vendors and breakfast stalls; afterward, it went back to carrying traffic.

At noon, I went to a bathhouse. It was my first time getting a body scrub on my own, and I actually felt less self-conscious than I would have with someone I knew. It felt as though I had scrubbed off twenty-one years of dirt. Upstairs, there was a cinema and little rooms for resting. I finally understood how people could spend a whole day in a northeastern bathhouse.

That evening, I moved to a hotel near Xita. At nine, the pedestrian street was still packed, with queues outside dozens of restaurants. I eventually chose a quieter charcoal barbecue place and ordered three portions of meat, pickled cabbage, eel, and a small drink, all for myself. I was enjoying my own version of a middle-aged man’s happy evening after work.

Before going back to the hotel, I bought Korean instant noodles, snacks, and a bottle of rice wine. The wine was sweet, which suited my mood. I had also booked a visit to the September 18 History Museum for the following day. That history deserves to be remembered, and to be encountered in person.