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A very berry, merry experience in Beijing's suburbs

By David Drakeford (China Daily)
Updated: 2009-09-09 10:05

Attracted by a breathy and colorful article in a local newspaper, I discovered recently that Beijing now has its first blueberry farm, a place where visitors can pick their own sapphire super fruits to the dulcet crooning of Norah Jones, star of Wong Kar-wai's My Blueberry Nights.

I love blueberries and don't get out of the city enough, so I decided to pack some sandwiches, a Chinese friend and head on out to the countryside.

Getting there was a predictably bumpy journey and I couldn't help but wonder how anyone finds anywhere these days without a mobile phone and a prudently copied-down contact number. Passing your handset to the taxi driver and letting him worry about it is often the best policy.

At the gates of the farm we were stopped by an indolent, tanned lookout. "What do you want? You can't come in!" he barked from his deck chair. Strangely it seemed the farm wasn't open yet, although with negotiations we were finally allowed in to a long outbuilding containing row upon row of squat, potted green bushes and their undeniably attractive berries.

Two young ladies were on hand to provide us with punnets, advice and perhaps to make sure we didn't eat more fruit than we picked - a security issue in any such venture.

My Chinese friend seemed to be an expert picker, selecting only the plumpest of offerings. I was less fussy, feeling guilty that if I plucked it from the plant it should go into the pot. The gruffness of the loafing guard was in stark contrast to the pleasant disposition of our two female farm hands. One of them had no hesitation in pulling out the overripe berries from my poorly filled punnet and casting them aside.

It turned out the farm wasn't due to open for another year or so, although some important officials had visited to take advantage of exclusive VIP access to its rich pickings and enjoy a blueberry-themed fashion show.

The newspaper article, which our helper referred to as an "advert", had been rather premature, it seemed. There was no blueberry juice, blueberry ice cream or even Norah Jones on offer, as promised, but I wasn't too disappointed.

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