Lijia Zhang's Blog, page 5

Edinburgh

I’ve always thought of Edinburgh, the capital of Scotland, as both charming and dramatic. Edinburgh Castle crowns Castle Rock, looking out over the city with timeless authority. The city itself is full of striking contrasts: an elegant blend of medieval Old Town, Georgian New Town, and the green hills that frame it. Built across a series of hills, it offers breathtaking vistas at every turn. Known for its rich history, literary heritage, and festivals, Edinburgh has been a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1995.
My only complaint? The crowds — especially now, when four different festivals are in full swing: the Book Festival (which brought me here), the Fringe, a film festival, and more. The Royal Mile is a scene of 人山人海 — “people mountain, people sea.” Still, it’s a great city, and one of my favourites in Europe.

Cuban jazz

Cuban jazz at the Jazz Café in Camden
What fun! The place was alive with energy, the rhythms pulsing through the crowd, impossible not to sway along, even me who simply can’t dance. The music was so vibrant, so full of life, it instantly transported me back to the unforgettable days I spent in Cuba a few years ago, just before COVID—warm nights, street bands spilling their melodies into the air, and that irresistible sense that music and joy were inseparable.

Another interview

Since the modest success of my memoir, I’ve been interviewed a fair amount by the media. Sometimes I perform well; other times, less so. This week, I did an interview with Reino Gever, a brilliant writer, mentor, and public speaker, who hosts a podcast called Living To Be, which inspires listeners to embrace their authentic selves. For whatever reason, I don’t feel it was my finest performance. If you have any ideas or suggestions, I’d love to hear them. https://youtu.be/unjcOl_APps?si=V1mYSVsrMVZ-4EAd
https://podcasts.apple.com/de/podcast/living-to-be-a-podcast-by-reino-gevers/id1555111254?i=1000720714624 a podcast aimed to inspire you to become your authentic self

Brockwell lido

Brockwell Lido
Open-air swimming—what a civilised delight. This afternoon, my lovely Irish neighbour Anne invited me for a dip at Brockwell Lido, that great shimmering rectangle tucked inside Brockwell Park. The sun was out, not blazing but generous, the kind of weather that smiles rather than shouts.
As we arrived, we both exclaimed—it feels like we’re on a little holiday! The pool stretched out before us: large, blue, and irresistibly inviting. Around it, a scattering of happy, shiny people lounged like sunbaked lizards, turning themselves at regular intervals in pursuit of the perfect tan.
I dove in. For a few seconds, the cold gripped me, but then, bliss. I swam a few lively laps, as content as a pig in proverbial mud.
Anne has invited me many times before. This is the first time I actually showed up. It certainly won’t be the last.

Friendship and food

Friendship and Food
Here’s a story about friendship, food, and the delightful unpredictability of life.
My wonderful friend Dana Walrath, an American Armenian writer, artist, and academic, is one of those luminous souls who brightens every encounter. We always meet up when she’s in London. Last September, she rang out of the blue to say she was in Oxford for a workshop and wondered if I was free to join her and her college for dinner that evening in London. Regretfully, I already had plans.
“Well,” she said without missing a beat, “I’ll be in Sarajevo next week. Fancy meeting me there?”
Why not? My time was flexible, and I’d always wanted to visit Bosnia. Dana was working on a graphic book exploring ten genocides around the world, including the Bosnian genocide. So off I went. We even travelled together to Srebrenica, the site of the massacre in which over 8,000 Bosniak (Bosnian Muslim) men and boys were killed. It was a sobering and unforgettable trip, and I came away with a deeper understanding of a region haunted by its past.
Before we parted, Dana gave me a small mission. Could I return some cash to Margaret, an elderly friend who had hosted her during an earlier stay in London? “You’ll love Margaret,” she promised. And indeed, I did.
One day, not long after returning from Bosnia, I headed to north London for lunch. I had the cash in my bag and thought I’d quickly pop over to west London to hand it to Margaret on my way back home to south of the river. Just a brief visit—I had a chapter to finish, after all. Well, guess what? I stayed for hours. And I stayed for dinner.
Margaret Owen, OBE, human rights lawyer, women’s rights activist, and all-around firecracker, was 92 at the time and absolutely full of beans. She’d led a remarkable life. Born into an affluent, educated family, she studied law at Cambridge while performing on stage for fun. She later built a career as a human rights and immigration lawyer before founding Widows for Peace through Democracy, a charity rooted in her conviction that the majority of conflict victims are women, and their voices must be heard.
Margaret told her story with such humour and sparkle that I couldn’t tear myself away. By the time night fell, I was starving. “Stay for dinner,” she said. “If you know how to cook.”
Challenge accepted. I raided her fridge and rustled up stir-fried noodles with egg and vegetables. Margaret declared it one of the best bowls of noodles she’d ever had. “This is nothing,” I promised. “Next time, I’ll cook you a proper meal.”
I meant to return sooner, but life—especially a life filled with travel—got in the way. It wasn’t until Dana’s most recent visit that I finally made it back to Margaret’s. Last night, I cooked a few dishes and took them over. The three of us gathered around, enjoying the food, sharing stories, and laughing the way only kindred spirits can.
It gives me so much joy when food becomes the glue that deepens friendships. And it’s not every day you meet someone like Margaret—an inspiring 93-year-old still campaigning fiercely for women’s rights. You can read more about her incredible work here:
Margaret Owen – Founder, Widows for Peace through Democracy

BBC weekend program

Once again, I had the pleasure of joining the BBC World Service’s Weekend programme this morning—a civilised ritual that airs each Saturday and Sunday, in which two guests are invited to sift through the week’s news with a dash of insight and a sprinkle of personality. I adore this show. Unlike some of the more rigid current affairs programmes, Weekend allows for nuance, levity, and the occasional off-piste digression. And I must confess, I adore it even more when I am the guest.
For me, it’s a kind of mental pilates—stretching, challenging, and occasionally revealing unexpected flexibility. I’ve been accused of laughing too much while on air. But really, is that so grave a crime? Didn’t half of America once wag a finger at Kamala Harris for the same offence? I fear I’m incorrigible. I laugh on air, off air, online, in queues, and sometimes inappropriately in meetings. It’s who I am. Still, if you have any suggestions—short of humour removal surgery—I’m all ears.
https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/w172zw85x1mfgxw?partner=uk.co.bbc&origin=share-mobile

Church-turned house

Look at this dramatic church-turned-residence. Imagine calling it home?
Today, I joined a guided tour of Gipsy Hill, a hilly, leafy enclave just a short bus ride from my doorstep. The undisputed highlight was Highland Tower. Erected in 1867 as a place of worship, the church was partially consumed by fire in 1982. From its ruins, something remarkable emerged: the surviving tower was reimagined as a singular dwelling, now known as Highland Tower.
Grade II listed, the property commands breathtaking views—none more striking than those glimpsed from its bathroom window, where the city unfurls like a living canvas.
I can’t wait to uncover more hidden gems like this one across the secret corners of south London.

Brics

“Golden Brick”—that’s how BRICS is translated in Chinese, a name that speaks volumes about the founding members’ aspirations. It has grown in size, but will this organization, without a unifying ideology, dazzle? It remains to be seen. Here’s my latest piece on the topic.
https://www.scmp.com/opinion/china-opinion/article/3317935/brics-its-big-leap-talk-shop-institution-power

Eel pie island

Eel Pie Island, a sliver of land in the Thames at Twickenham, southwest London, is easy to overlook. Modest in size and accessible only by a narrow footbridge, it is nonetheless steeped in a history as rich and unruly as the river that surrounds it. In the 1950s and early 1960s, it rose to fame as a cradle of British jazz. The Eel Pie Island Hotel, a once-elegant, long-decaying edifice, opened its doors to the rebellious strains of New Orleans-style jazz and later to the electric roar of rhythm and blues. Legends such as The Rolling Stones, The Who, and Pink Floyd once filled its warped floorboards with sound.
Today, music has given way to another form of expression. The island is home to a thriving, eccentric community of artists and craftspeople. More than two dozen studios—some tucked into converted boatyards, others scattered among ivy-clad sheds and hidden courtyards—buzz with creative life. Painting, sculpture, photography, ceramics, and textiles are all practiced here, behind doors that swing open to the public only twice a year, in June and December. This weekend happened to be one of those rare occasions.
I had recently visited a friend’s studio on Johnson Island, another tiny Thames islet not far from here, and that memory lingered warmly. So when I heard that Eel Pie Island was opening its studios, I persuaded my dear friend Alfy to come along.
We both found it utterly enchanting. The rain fell as we wandered between studios, ducking beneath awnings and listening to the patter on tin roofs. Somehow, the weather only deepened the island’s peculiar magic. The artists were welcoming, the work inspiring, and the island itself felt like something from a dream: half-forgotten, half-invented.
We ended our afternoon with cream tea on the riverbank, steam rising from our cups as the Thames flowed silently past. What a day!

My favourite Chinese novels

People often ask me about my favourite Chinese novels — a seemingly simple question that never quite gets the same answer twice. It depends on the day, the mood, the weather, or perhaps what I had for breakfast. Still, when a literary website invited me to share my top five picks, I accepted gladly. After much hand-wringing, rereading, and second-guessing, here they are.

https://fivebooks.com/best-books/the-best-20th-century-chinese-fiction-lijia-zhang/