I have mentioned it before (for instance, here and here and here), but was chary of giving too many details, of naming the place, in case I gave my own identity and location away too easily to those 'in the know', my fellow Beijingers.
The eponymous Huxley - named after the writer, Aldous - is one of the city's earliest and most resilient bar entrepreneurs. The original 'bar strip', Sanlitun, which sprang up in the heart of the Embassy district in the '90s is - these days, at least (I have no idea what it might have been like when it first came into existence) - a gaggle of interchangeablely charmless, cheesy, over-priced lounge bars with music (karaoke and/or so-so Filipino cover bands), targeted mainly at the curiously tasteless local punters or the occasional unwary tourist. A smaller enclave of more foreigner-friendly drinking dens began to develop along a small alley to the south, which became known as Sanlitun 'South Street'. Obviously, we were all enjoying that far too much - so, to spoil our fun, the city fathers decided a couple of years ago to bulldoze it to make way for some preposterous new megal-mall. CHANGE is our constant companion here in Beijing.
The first Huxley's outpost was one of these latter bars, the smallest and diviest of the lot, just off 'South Street'. It was distinguished by having a real fire, decent and cheap pizzas, and low-priced booze - and by being the only joint in town to play AC/DC. Oh yes, and Huxley coined the appealing slogan for the place: "Shut up - just drink!". A useful motto, indeed. He's had many other ventures since: a large 'sports bar', an upmarket courtyard bar, a trendy juice'n' coffee bar, the larger, loungier 'Zoo' (scene of my birthday party last year), and the slammin' 'party HQ' 'Nanjie' (meaning 'South Street'; named in honour of his first bar, after that was levelled in the name of progress). Only the last of these was a success; the others all folded within 6 months or so; but the man seems to keep bouncing back. The economics of running a bar in this town are mysterious, opaque.
Anyway, the 'new' Huxley's, a transplant of that long-lost original, set up a couple of years ago down near the lakes in my neighbourhood - a 20-minute stagger from my home, which gives it an immeasurable advantage over its predecessor and the rest of the Sanlitun scene, which are a 20-minute taxi ride away. It brought with it (intermittently available, anyway) the pizza, and the AC/DC (and a lot more good music), and the famously low prices, and much of the decor (a Simpsons rug adorning the wall; the original, very battered wooden 'Huxley's' sign at the end of the bar) of its forebear. It also brought with it Jackson Bai - 'The Barman' - the cheeriest, most decent, hardest-working drinks-slinger in this town, and a Huxley veteran (I had met him first as a raw young barman in 'Huxley's 2', the ill-fated sports bar venture, which was one of my first pool-playing haunts when I landed here 5 years ago; then again a year or two later in 'Red Yard', the equally short-lived courtyard bar, where he had graduated to being head barman/manager; then again, after another interval of oblivion, in the new 'Huxley's', where he made the place his own). He's a great guy, and the main reason why 'Huxley's' has become my watering-hole of choice (on those rare occasions when I do go out for a drink, that is!).
Oh yes, and it's a proper bar: it's dark, it's dingy, it's all bare wooden tables and hard stools and benches. Most of the Chinese don't really known how to do bars. In the past few years, there are dozens of 'bars' (literally - dozens and dozens and dozens of the bloody places) which have opened up in the area around the lakes, and more recently also along the narrow street nearby called Nanluoguxiang: all of them are pretty much interchangeable; all have fairly dismal service and unwarrantedly high prices; all are fussily over-decorated (eccentrically but cheaply - the bizarre mis-matching of knick-knacks occasionally achieves a quirky kind of charm, but more often it is just a jarring sensory overload); all are twee and 'comfortable', pitched indeterminately between 'bar' and 'coffee shop'. I hate these places. Well, they're all right, I suppose, for idling away an afternoon with a book - but NOT for drinking in. If there were another proper bar within walking distance, I might well prove a disloyal slut and abandon 'Huxley's' (especially now that the wonderful Jackson, alas, is leaving - god knows the boy deserves a break after running the place, and more recently its sister, 'Zoo', pretty much 24/7 for the last two years); but there isn't. There are very few, in fact, in the whole damn city - not proper bars, like you might expect to find in Britain or North America. I am constantly on the lookout....
Ah, and the haiku thing? I think I've explained that before, but..... I got over my last broken heart (nearly 18 months ago, but the wounds are still not quite healed) in 'Huxley's'. I'd spent a lot of time there, actually, during the difficult 'wooing' stage; I'd taken her in there once or twice; and I'd fallen into the habit (on the nights - too many of them - when we were apart, and I didn't really know why) of writing her poems, usually haiku (because they're short), and sending them to her by SMS, to remind her of my existence. Hence - 'Haiku Bar'.
I am a much less frequent visitor there these days; and I'm writing a lot less too. Chicken, egg, egg, chicken??
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