How To Stay Cool in Beijing Summer Like a Local

Beijing summers are not for the faint-hearted. The heat wraps around the city like a heavy cotton quilt, thick with humidity, dust and the occasional scent of grilled 串儿 chuan'r (skewer) wafting from a roadside stand. For those new to the capital, the onslaught of July might feel relentless. But for Beijingers, enduring the summer is less about suffering and more about rhythm — an age-old dance with the sun that involves herbal remedies, seasonal rituals, and a profound respect for shade.

Let's begin with the most sacred of all: 凉茶 liángchá, or cooling tea. In every corner of a local market, you'll find large glass jars of barley tea, chrysanthemum infusion, and sour plum soup — 酸梅汤 suānméitāng, a tart-sweet, deep red drink that's as symbolic of Beijing summers as cicadas in the trees. Traditionally brewed with smoked plums, hawthorn, rock sugar and licorice root, this ancient beverage is believed to clear internal heat and calm the liver. You don't just drink suanmeitang; you recalibrate with it.

Then there is green bean soup, the humble elixir served cold by grandmothers and noodle shops alike. Boiled with rock sugar and sometimes flavored with dried tangerine peel, this deceptively simple soup carries deep cultural weight — a folk remedy to “clear summer heat” (祛暑 qù shǔ) rooted in traditional Chinese medicine. Locals don't need scientific confirmation; they've trusted it for generations.

But the true cultural crown jewel of Beijing's summer survival guide is none other than the “Beijing bikini.” For the uninitiated, this is not swimwear. It refers to a time-honored practice in which older men, and sometimes their slightly younger counterparts, roll their T-shirts up above their bellies. With remarkable confidence, they expose their midsections to the open air, as if daring the sun to do its worst. And yes, it's every bit as bold and brilliant as it sounds. 

At first, you might laugh. Then you might wince. But during a 39 degrees C heatwave, when your shirt clings to your back and your will to live begins to evaporate, you'll suddenly understand. You'll find yourself wondering if these men have unlocked a secret the rest of us are too self-conscious to accept. 

To the men of the Beijing bikini brigade, this is far more than a way to cool down; it's a philosophy of summer living. You'll see them perched on low stools beneath hutong grapevines, sipping mung bean soup, slapping down playing cards, and fanning themselves with paper fans that look like antiques. Each proudly revealed belly gleams in the afternoon light like a quiet rebellion against fashion norms. They make no apologies. They need none. And if truth be told, they might just be the coolest men in Beijing, both literally and figuratively.

As the sun finally dips behind the skyline and the asphalt stops simmering, the 遛弯儿 liùwǎnr, or evening stroll, begins. Entire neighborhoods seem to reawaken. Grandparents emerge with folding fans and measured steps. Children light sparklers. Couples hold hands and walk the lotus-ringed paths of Tiantan Park or linger beside the lazy waters of Houhai. Somewhere, someone plays a bamboo flute. In another corner, someone sets up a karaoke speaker and begins belting out Teresa Teng beneath a streetlamp.

Swimming may technically be discouraged in most lakes, but it continues to thrive as a kind of urban myth whispered among locals. Depending on whom you ask, it is either a rebellious secret or a widely accepted tradition. In places like the Liangma River, or in the more hidden corners near the Summer Palace, the brave and the overheated slip into the water, accompanied only by dragonflies and the occasional security guard who looks the other way.

When all else fails, escape the city altogether. A trip to Mentougou, Miyun Reservoir, or any mountain where your phone loses signal will do just fine. Bring a watermelon, a deck of cards, and someone whose company you don't mind in the heat. Stay until the evening air turns soft and the cicadas begin their rhythmic applause.

To survive a Beijing summer like a local, you must learn to stop resisting. Let the heat fold around you. Sweat a little. Sip something bitter. Lift your shirt if you're feeling brave. There is a strange and sticky kind of beauty in the rituals, in the resilience, and in the unhurried rhythm of a city that refuses to slow down yet somehow never rushes.

After all, you are not melting. You are marinating.

READ: Mandarin Monday: Essential Vocab To Survive the Beijing Summer

Images: Canva, the Beijingers, Hannah Feldshuh, Tracy Wang