Located on the south coast of Shandong Peninsula on China’s East Coast, Qingdao shares the same latitude as South Korea and Japan. If you set sail from the tip of the peninsula and crossed the Yellow Sea, you would eventually reach Incheon or Jeju Island in South Korea and perhaps Nagasaki in Southern Japan. Traders, of course, know Qingdao for its seaport and naval base. To me, Qingdao is synonymous with Tsingtao.

Indeed everything I know about this seaside city comes from my acquaintance with Tsingtao, a lager that’s a favourite tipple all over China. So it’s not surprising that I regard my trip to Qingdao as the perfect opportunity to unearth the origins of the famed Tsingtao brewery.

The search though is held at bay by the weather. It’s dark, cold and very foggy when we arrive in Qingdao and it’s impossible to see where the sky ends and the Yellow Sea begins. The sun breaks through on the second day and quickly the strong German influence on the city becomes clear.

The old town, for example, is an interesting blend of Baroque, Art Nouveau and the kind of architecture Thais associate with European cities. And Tsingtao Beer – one of China’s largest breweries – was founded by the German settlers in 1903, thus explaining the taste of this well-hopped pilsner.

The Germans were latecomers to the “colony hunting” game, arriving on China’s east coast in the late 19th century just as the Qing Dynasty was about to collapse. The Germans won a 99-year Kiautschou Bay concession by gunpoint following the brutal murder of two German Roman Catholic priests in Shandong Province in 1897.

Whatever Kaiser Wilhelm II visualised while listening to a report from his men about Germany’s concession in the Far East had little to do with land ideal for growing hops. His interest lay both in Qingdao’s strategic location and in the rich coal fields surrounding what, at that time, was little more than a coastal village. With their usual efficiency, the Germans set about urbanising the village, constructing roads, housing areas, government buildings, a sewer system and a safe drinking water supply, a rarity in those days.

We visit the former German Governor’s Residence on the east of Signal Hill Park. The mansion was constructed in the style of a German Palace and cost a small fortune to build. Kaiser Wilhelm II apparently sacked the governor the moment he saw the bill.

“Can you see the dragon on the roof?” asks Bui, my guide “The dragon was originally in chains. The German wanted to leave a message for the Chinese.”

For architecture and history buffs, a stroll through Qingdao’s Old Town is a must.

Perched on a hill overlooking the newer part of the city, Old Qingdao is where the German settlers first set foot. Boasting small and winding roads flanked by maple trees, the Old Town is a great place to admire some of the oldest buildings in Qingdao including St Michael’s Cathedral off Zhongshan Road. The crosses capping its twin spires were torn off during the Cultural Revolution but buried by locals for safekeeping. They were found in 2005 and restored to their rightful place.

Other than the old square and the historic buildings, there are many back roads to explore. One morning, after climbing the hill to admire the Bavarian architecture, I decide to follow a series of paintings of cats. After climbing flights of stairs and taking several turns, I finally discover a lovely coffee shop run by three young Chinese and a whole lot of well-fed moggies.

“Qingdao is a summer destination for the Chinese,” says Bui, as our bus runs parallel with the deserted beach. “In April, when Bangkok and many parts of Thailand are breaking records for heat, Qingdao is blessed with a cold sea breeze.”

Other than the German legacy and historic buildings, Qingdao also has some Buddhist temples and shrines to share. We visit Zhanshan temple, an active Buddhist sanctuary, and a Taoist shrine in Mount Lao, a shady haven of peace surrounded by big trees and a lovely Chinese garden.

I finally get the chance to explore the origins of my favourite Chinese beer on the last day when we visit Tsingtao Beer Museum. We admire the original and still functional machinery before ending our visit with a pint of draft pilsner. For a small surcharge, visitors can pose for a photo that’s then scanned on their bottle.

Four days in Qingdao are enough to convince me that this is one of the best cities in Asia to live or travel. It’s a great place for walking and on a sunny day, the locals stroll along the promenade to get some fresh air. Buskers provide the entertainment while street hawkers demonstrate their kites.

But perhaps the biggest draw is the potential explore the Germany legacy, chill in the hills at the Taoist shrine and Buddhist monasteries and still have time to hit the beach.

IF YOU GO

< NokScoot, a Thailand-based low-cost medium to long-haul airline, operates direct flights between Don Mueang International Airport and Qingdao Liuting International Airport. Visit http://www.NokScoot.com.

(The writer travelled in Qingdao as a guest of NokScoot.)

On my second trip to Beijing in December just in time for the winter solstice and a full 22 years after my first visit, the theme of a powerful film that I saw before I was even in my teens was very much on my mind.

Life-size versions of Kylo Ren and Rey, the latest characters representing a faraway galaxy’s epic battle between dark and light, were drawing Beijingers in their thousands to a trendy mall in the Santilun area in an unabashed promotion for the long-awaited sequel “Star Wars: The Force Awakens”.

On my first trip to Beijing, posters optimistically promoted “Beijing 2000”, though China’s bid to host the Summer Olympics turned out to be a no go. This time the capital was boasting its success at becoming what will be the first city to have hosted both a summer and a winter Olympics, with the 2022 Winter Games the sequel to the coming-of-age party that was the successful 2008 Summer Games.

Likewise, on my first visit the “sleeping giant” was just stirring; this time, I witnessed a China fully awake.

Long before the Olympics, “Star Wars” and other Western influences on the world’s longest uninterrupted civilisation, the Middle Kingdom had long commemorated its own eternal cycles of light and dark.

In the heart of the Forbidden City, the smog that triggered Beijing’s first Level 3 pollution warning didn’t manage to wipe out the comparative warmth of the red sun as it slipped behind the russet rooftops and mythical creatures topping their eaves in the world’s largest palace complex. Outside the Hall of Supreme Harmony and its elaborate Dragon Throne, a sturdy bronze tortoise, symbol of longevity and imperial greatness, raised its head skyward. Only the grandest state ceremonies were held on this raised platform, including the coronations and weddings of emperors.

One of the many symbols of traditional Chinese culture, the turtle gazes West towards palaces once hidden behind soaring and impenetrable walls, but which were opened to visitors late last year for the first time in the 90-year history of the Palace Museum. Officials say 76 per cent of the Forbidden City should be available to the public by the end of this year.

The stunning complex boasts 999 buildings, and, to the best of my knowledge, one cat – a tranquil tabby with slightly matted fur and noble eyes who I spotted sitting silently in a doorway leading to the enchanting gardens and palaces now open to the public. Walking past excavation sites where history’s secrets are being unearthed, I reached the Palace of Compassion and Tranquility, once home to the mothers of emperors, where stone bodhisattvas and Tibetan Buddhism’s Panchen Lama offer silent blessings in a new exhibit of Chinese Buddhist images.

Also now open is one of the four watchtowers, in the southeast corner, which overlooks the enormous moat. Beyond, to the south, is the sprawling Tiananmen Square and the monolithic National Museum.

Twenty years ago I was a student on my college’s China Abroad trip and a single computer was timeshared among more than 20 students. This time I am an Asian Studies teacher, looking to reinforce themes among gadget-laden students that I came to appreciate while here as a student myself.

The dramatic visuals in the museum evoke universal themes involving rebel alliances, the rise and fall of an empire and a republic, exploitative trade disputes, including the Opium Wars, and the uprising that sparked the 1911 Revolution that ended the dynastic cycle.

Later in the day, I gaze at a large mural of Deng Xiaoping, which shows the former Chinese leader at ease while on his rather underappreciated Southern Tour of 1992, when he personally reinforced national commitment to his reformist legacy, which made the dynamic China of today possible.

Another lasting example of powerful change from the top is embodied in the Lama Temple in Beijing’s Dongcheng district, which Emperor Qianlong had transformed from an imperial palace into a place for contemplation. Within buildings typifying the imperial Chinese architecture and their original purpose are elements of the Tibetan monastic world including soaring gilded images that are venerated in darkened rooms punctuated by the smell of butter lamps.

Passing dozens of shops selling Tibetan religious paraphernalia outside before turning into one of the many long narrow hutong (alleyways) that crisscross Dongcheng, I find the same serenity in the courtyards of the Temple of Confucius. This complex exudes an otherworldliness, with dozens of shrines, massive stone tortoises supporting stele and the weight of worldly knowledge on their shells, and peculiarly gnarled and knobbed cypresses creating a sense of mystery.

A few hutong away, a beautiful transformation has redefined the sense of space between the Bell and Drum Towers. Built centuries ago to inform locals of the passing of hours, today the space allows for the passing of time, where locals relax or jianzi enthusiasts kick back and forth this shuttlecock for the feet.

Perhaps the district’s most enchanting spot though is the Temple of the Earth. A world apart from its much more renowned counterpart, the Temple of Heaven, here solitary figures emerge at the end of pathways, walking in contemplation or practising tai chi beneath trees. I am again reminded of how my own Asian Studies professor related what we were seeing back then to “The Force”, making the concept memorable and more understandable to young Western learners.

The treetops and skies above are full of Eurasian magpies, their black and white plumage reflecting a mingling of yin and yang energies and fully displaying their Chinese meaning: “bird of joy”.

Carleton Cole is an Asian Studies teacher at Mahidol University International Demonstration School.