再见，桥咖啡
这篇是我第一次模仿《经济学人》讣告板块练笔，献给挚爱的桥咖啡。
A farewell to Bridge
Bridge Cafe, a beloved Beijing coffee bar, announced its closure on June 29th
"A top floor terrace is a pleasant retreat in the spring and summer," so highlighted The Beijinger, an English website. TimeOut, another local portal, praised its paninis for being "the best for miles in any direction". In Wudaokou, a bustling neighborhood (also comically known as "the center of the universe") home to over a dozen coffee shops, staying in business for several years is notoriously hard, let alone standing out for over a decade. But that is precisely what Bridge Cafe had achieved and for what it had long been known. Until its sudden shutdown two weeks ago.
Something spectacular that is not said about the terrace is the view. The coffee shop sat about 50 meters across from an overpass. When the subway train slowed down and pulled in, you could see it. You might have some thoughts about movement and velocity, or simply indulge yourself in a few moments of trance. Ingmar Bergman would have loved to sit at one of the window stables and stare at the arriving train. The Taiwanese film director Hou Hsiao-Hsien, too, would have been intrigued.
Much less known is the story of Bridge. It opened in a sweltering July day of 2003, three years after major community-wide renovations in Wudaokou, by Kang Wei, an American who then just finished a Johns Hopkins University-Nanjing University joint program. It started out as a cafe-cum-English language school. More activities soon came: lectures, concerts, speaking contests, poem readings. So did more fans. It flourished as the neighborhood flourished.
Its big fat bilingual menu was the magnet that drew a steady flow of regulars. Yet people did not show up for the food alone; many would spend hours and secretly feel guilty about it. (My British roommate once politely asked me whether it would be fine to order a coffee and sit for more than two hours.) Customers came, ate, drank, read, doodled, painted, debated, gossiped. They just enjoyed being at Bridge, the only cafe in the neighborhood that operated 24/7.
Bridge was a self-styled international village where people from diverse countries clustered. It was not uncommon to see a poster on the Bridge bulletin board that read "Hebrew-Chinese Language Exchange" or "Indonesian Film Screening". A ponytailed Chinese playwright wrote his way to popularity. A black former Miss Nebraska who won the most prestigious Mandarin speaking competition in China toiled over her master's thesis on China-Taiwan relations. A South Korean commentator quaffed Americano and read piles of English, Korean, and Chinese newspaper. A sophomore from Spelman College and her Jamaica-born cousin from Mount Holyoke College discussed the matters of their niche association serving US- and UK-born Africans living in Beijing. An Albanian exchange student was in and out of the cafe all the time. A bespectacled stocky Taiwanese middle-aged man ate breakfast every day, rain or shine. Bridge was never short of familiar strangers.
Building bridges between Beijingers (and beyond)
People took advantage of Bridge to build meaningful relationships and intellectual communities. ThinkInChina, "an informal 'agora'" that invites intellectuals and brings together curious minds, credits its start to Bridge. Similarly, Comedy Club China evangelized stand-up comedy and rescued countless souls from smartphones. Joe Wong graced Bridge with his presence and ever-funny observations. Painters and venture capitalists united too at Bridge.
Eat. Drink. Think. At Bridge.
(Photo courtesy of ThinkInChina)
The coffee bar was far from perfect, however. Over the years, the quality of its coffee had remained mediocre, much to the disappointment of the new generation of gourmet coffee lovers who would defect to such new favorites as Metal Hands and Voyage Coffee. For some time, its service was a let-down. Understaffed, it kept people waiting for more than a quarter of an hour before a menu was presented and a glass of water poured.
People stayed nevertheless. It is like a marriage. You do not walk away because of the other’s flaws; you love the person the way he/she is. The business was good, but the skyrocketing rent was pushing Bridge out of the center of the universe. When the news of closure broke among its VIP members in a WeChat group, a sentimental tsunami ensued. Fans shared thousand-word long reviews and photos shot at various tables over the years. Some mourned the fall, others offered to help.
When Kang Wei cycled around looking for the perfect spot for his venture many summers ago, not much was around. Subway Line 13 had only been completed. He was probably not aware that the cafe he had envisioned was to become an intellectual hub serving the nerds, geeks, expats, and travelers. Without Bridge, Wudaokou will never be the same. The Beijinger and Timeout may concur. The fans surely will.
孟庆伟 Justin
中英双语写作者
《经济学人》11 年研究者
雅思写作 8 分，口语 8 分
Banner: Bridge Cafe.
本文是第二版，最终版会在一周内发布。谢谢 Peter 和 Along 提供的头图和照片。谢谢杨小飞先生提供的桥咖啡介绍文档。谢谢 Colum Murphy 先生的反馈。
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