Dream Bar

I have been dreaming about bars just lately.

Well, not a whole bunch of different bars, but one bar in particular.

Odd thing is that it doesn't exist.

If I were dreaming about the Pool Bar or 12 Square Metres or any of the other bars that I like in Beijing, or any of the other bars that I've ever liked anywhere, I could understand it more readily. But here I am having a series of dreams about an entirely fictitious bar....

Not that I haven't had such experiences before, but.... well, usually, when I dream about a bar, it seems to be an idealised bar, a bar that I wish I did know in the real world. And usually, too, the dream bar is fairly recognisably an amalgam of certain not-quite-perfect bars I have recently been frequenting.

This latest 'dream bar' doesn't seem to be quite like that. Well, yes, perhaps 'idealised' in some ways, but in many others quite far short of an ideal; and not closely based on any bar I actually know in China, or anywhere else.

It's a music bar - but quite a bit bigger and better appointed than any of the music bars in Beijing. Sort of what we hoped the new Yugong Yishan might have been like, if it could have trebled in size while retaining the unpretentious grunginess of its original incarnation. Or sort of what D-22 aspires to be..... if only it were twice as big and had decent acoustics. Or what 2 Kolegas would have to be if they ever wanted a crowd of more than 200 people.

There was a door charge. This was non-ideal: dream bars should not have door charges, though in the real world we don't begrudge the bands and the venues making a bit more money off us. It has been a difficult psychological adjustment, though. Until a couple of years ago, most of the rock venues in Beijing had no door charge at all, or only a very low one. Having to shell out 50 kuai or more just to walk in and have a drink still draws a bit of a wince.

The door charge was supposed to include a free cocktail. But it didn't. Well, apparently that was some sort of 'ladies' night' promotion: girls got a free cocktail with their ticket, boys didn't. This had not been made at all clear on the door. The boss (English??!!) was sufficiently sympathetic with my companion's and my disgruntlement to offer us a taster of the special cocktail. It was a sweet and poisonous concoction of Blue Curacao and probably-fake vodka. We decided we were happy enough to have dodged the bullet of the 'free cocktail'.

The bar staff were all, or nearly all English too; or foreign, at any rate. And female. (Ah, so it was just a sex dream, was it?) Now, I don't think I'm getting impatient with Chinese bar staff as such (standards are very much improved over the past year or two, and there are plenty of perfectly decent barmen around now), but..... I do miss barmaids, I confess.

Was this a bar in England or America, then? Oh no. There were a number of Chinese around amongst the punters, and on the door, and all of the musicians milling about at the front waiting to go on stage. And everything was priced in RMB. And there were the all-too-familiar vagaries with the drinks list: a bizarre and overpriced selection of imported beers (Boddington's in a can!); cheap but probably poisonously fake basic spirits.

The bar itself wasn't at all bad, though. Properly dark, with a long, long serving counter, and reasonably friendly and attentive staff. Not unduly high prices.

Unfortunately, my friend and I had arrived early, and there was hardly anyone there.

And, although I've now gone through several fragmentary variations of this dream, always in definitively the same bar, I never seem to get beyond the difficulties at the door and trying to decide what to drink. Never yet had a conversation with anyone there (except the owner and one of his barmaids). Never yet heard the music start. Maybe tonight. Or the next night.

What does it all mean, Dr Freud?