The last stroll in Qingdao: From barley to the sea, and smiles that linger

Editor's note: Zaruhi Poghosyan is a multimedia editor for CGTN Digital. This article is part of China, Soft Focus – a slow journalism series that offers textured, human-centered glimpses into China through measured pace and intimate storytelling. 

On my last morning in Qingdao, I woke up to the faint scent of barley and salt; perhaps it was my imagination, or perhaps this city really does exhale traces of its two great loves: beer and the sea. It seemed fitting to spend the day learning about both after the amazing hikes and temple visits of the previous mornings.

The birth of a brewery

The Tsingtao Brewery Museum, located on Dengzhou Road, sits on the site of the original factory established in August 1903 by the Anglo-German Brewery Co., Ltd., initially known as "Germania-Brauerei Tsingtao Co., Ltd." The company leveraged Qingdao's pristine spring waters, German yeast strains and imported hops to create a German-style lager that eventually became one of China's most iconic beers.

The factory's story mirrors that of Qingdao itself: foreign influence, turbulent change, and an unmistakably Chinese identity through it all. Following the Siege of Qingdao in World War I, the brewery passed into Japanese control in 1916. After Japan's surrender at the end of World War II, the brewery came under Chinese control and eventually emerged as a national enterprise.

Over the next century, through reform and modernization, the beer never stopped flowing – it simply evolved, much like the city around it.

The museum itself was established in August 2003 at the original factory site, in the red-brick compound where the beer has been brewed for over a century. 

A journey through time and hops

You can get the ticket at the entrance by scanning a QR code on a wooden board. Once you step inside, the museum unfolds like a living timeline. 

We begin our tour that takes us through three main exhibition zones: a history and culture hall, a production hall showcasing old and new brewing equipment, and a multimedia/interactive zone where production meets visitor experience.

The production hall really transports you into an era with vintage copper brewing cauldrons towering over polished floors, their surfaces glinting under soft light emanating from beautiful stained glass windows – surprisingly elegant for an old factory. 

At the multimedia/interactive zone, display after display charts the evolution of the brand: the wartime years and the modernization of bottling. 

The vibrant advertisements from 1920s through the reform era that once brightened Shanghai trams and Hong Kong ferries now hang on the walls. Interactive exhibits and screens let you trace the journey of malt, hops, yeast and water from raw material to final drink. Through it all, the air carries that unmistakable aroma – earthy, yeasty scent of beer – wafting quietly from hall to hall and adding to the sensory experiences you find yourself enveloped in.

Fresh brew and genuine smiles

Walking through a dimly lit cellar where large wooden barrels rest, you step foot in the Tasting hall – a polished space with a tall barstand, where glasses after glasses of the freshest beer are filled and passed through the eager hands of visitors, myself included. 

This is where my short journey through machinery and history would fittingly end in a glass of fresh brew. 

You see, during my short time as a self-proclaimed traveller-turned writer, I've come to realize - it's never just about the places or the buildings I visit  – it's almost always about the people. The thing about most tourist sites is that everyone is rushing through, eyes on the next photo spot, with little space for real encounters. 

And at the Tasting hall of the Beer Museum, there was a boy. 

He had likely been standing there for hours, handing out snacks to the endless stream of visitors flowing past like a conveyor belt. He stood just before the bar, where each of us was meant to collect our designated glass of fresh Tsingtao beer. When he handed me the snack, he smiled – not the mechanical, rehearsed smile of service, but a warm, genuine one. It began in his eyes, where the light deepened into soft creases and unfolded slowly into a full, effortless, toothy grin.

All I could do was mirror it back. 

I don't know if it was the scent of the beer, the history echoing through the halls or simply that boy's smile, but something about that moment lingered.

Snack in hand, I reached the bar. Now, I'll admit – I am no huge beer fan. Beer has always felt like an acquired taste, like blue cheese or green olives, the kind of thing we convince ourselves we appreciate as we grow older. 

But that glass of Tsingtao was different. Apart from undoubtedly being the freshest beer I have ever tasted, if there were an elixir for everlasting youth, I could almost believe this was it. I even caught myself glancing in the mirror afterwards, half-jokingly, to check if the five stubborn white hairs on my head had vanished. (The dim lighting made it seem as though they did).

Beneath the waves

Later that afternoon, I turned to the sea once more, heading to another museum by the shore – Qingdao Marine Museum, where glass tunnels curve through worlds of blue. If the Beer Museum told the story of how humans turn nature into craft, this place reminded me of how nature itself is art without effort. 

The museum's halls – "Fantasy Jellyfish Palace," "Seal Museum," "Whale Museum" – held thousands of specimens, glittering tanks, the slow drift of sea creatures and the subtle pulse of life captured beneath glass.

I was most excited for the "Jellyfish Palace," where dozens of medusa species drifted in dim aquariums like floating silk lanterns. In the softly lit galleries, I found myself face-to-face with the silent elegance of these pale translucent creatures that glided in tanks like underwater ghosts. Ancient beyond imagining, they have drifted through our oceans for over 500 million years, long before dinosaurs walked the Earth. Mesmerized by their ghostly grace, I found myself wondering how these creatures survived through millennia without brain, heart, or bones, endlessly pulsing with such quiet insistence. 

As I stepped back into the sunlight, it felt like the circle closing – craft and nature, sea and land, and the human encounters – all speaking the same quiet language of life worth living.

Travel has a way of surprising you like that, reminding that even in the most touristy of places, what lingers are not just the exhibits or the history, but the small gestures of humanity that make the world feel just a touch warmer.

And it made me wonder if good beer, like good memories, needs not just time and craft, but people to pour it with joy and good company to enjoy it with.