Latte

In terms of Beijing night life, the most common area to head for dancing is Sanlitun. There are a lot of different types of bars, restaurants, brand-name shops like Esprit, Roxy, and a giant Apple store. At this point I’m used to going out there and partying with the foreigners. Last night was different.

I was with a new group of people that I’ve met through friends, and one of them, a recent transplant into Beijing from London, insisted that we bypass the usual clubs and check out Latte. He promised that if the music wasn’t better, it was still worth it “for the experience.” I didn’t realize until we got there that what he meant was the experience of seeing how Chinese people do Saturday night.

We took the elevator up to “Latte”, a giant one-room club. The walls were all laden with golden machines, I suppose to simulate the mechanics of a Latte-maker, but with an excess of pipes, pumps, and fans. The ceeling was coverd with giant bronze chandilers and a disco ball in the center. There were TV screens intersperced on the walls and hanging in the middle of the room which showed images like neon dancing robots to blue skies, dependeing on the song.

When we walked in the self-proclaimed “Chinese-Lady Gaga” was performing. There she was on stage in a eopard-print uni-tard, stripper pumps and aviators, fiercely punching the air to accentuate the words of some song in English I’ve never heard before. Her backup dancers included two women in silver uni-tards with bedazzled ski goggles, two men with gemstone bling designs on their face. It was hilariously amazing.

When that ended the DJ’s music resumed. People rushed the tiny stage to get a spot. Beyond the stage, the “dance floor” consisted of a three feet border between the stage and the first set of tables. In fact, most of the room was lined with tall tables, with groups of people leaning around them. As the only foreigners in the place, we stuck out even without having a table to lean on. There were waitresses buzzing around bringing bottle service, peanuts, and giant fruit platters to each table. The poor cleaning ladies worked their way through the strip of dance floor with a dustpan and broom.

We danced in the tiny space allowed, creating a new move called the “Latte”, where you basically move as little as possible, so as not to bump the table or the stage. The music ranged from “G-6” to techno with random words in English like, “I want to fight you” repeated over and over again. The lights went from rave/gay club neon to bright white as if we were in a coffee shop.

Best-Dressed: One guy was wearing a tiny-T that said, “Will you sleep with me?” I couldn’t help wonder if he knew what it said, or if it’s the same phenomenon where Americans will wear Chinese characters without giving too much thought to what it means.