Wang Wei: From Tour Guide to Van‑Cafe Hero
What Happened to Wang’s 80,000‑Yuan Dream?
When the COVID wave hit, Wang Wei’s tourism business in Tianjin hit the brakes. His life‑savings— 80,000 yuan (about S$16,240)—became the fuel for a new venture: selling coffee from a green Suzuki micro‑van right in the heart of Beijing.
Why a Van?
- Tourism, hospitality, and tutoring were all hit hard by China’s lockdowns.
- The pandemic stopped big tours, including a trip to watch the aurora borealis that could have raked in hundreds of thousands of yuan.
- Omicron kept the backcountry tours off‑track, ending Wang’s plans for scenic coffee trips.
From Car‑Boot Fairs to “Glamping” Coffee‑Co
Since June, Wang has swapped the fixed storefront for a mobile café that pops up at car‑boot fairs in places like Chengdu, Chongqing, and Guangzhou, now extending that vibe into Beijing.
Under a canopy stretched over his van, customers lounge on camping chairs, sip hand‑brewed coffee laced with liqueurs, and enjoy soft lights that give the whole scene a glamping feel.
The Daily Grind
Wang’s rough estimate is about 1,000 yuan a day—a modest but steady cash flow that keeps him afloat during these tough times.
Lessons From the Road
Wandering from cars, markets, and mountains, Wang proves that even when the world closes its doors, a smuggled cup of coffee can open a new path to survival.
Jobless youth
China’s Sluggish Growth & a Spark-Driven Startup
A Frightening Snapshot of Youth Unemployment
China’s economy barely pushed forward from April to June, and the country’s youth market looks like it’s stuck on a revolving door. In July, the unemployment rate for people under 30 hit a staggering 19.9 %, a record‑breaking number for the fourth month in a row. It’s a stark reminder that the spark of ambition can easily be snuffed out by bureaucratic red tape and global economic hiccups.
From Debt to Debut – Pan’s Road to Liquor‑on‑Tour
- Set‑back: Pan, 25, had recently shut his Shenzhen bar after a COVID outbreak in March. The closure left him with a mountain of debt – more than 100,000 yuan – which felt like an endless slow burner.
- Turning point: One gloomy night, his fiancée Annie draggles him to a cozy, dim‑lit watering hole. Around the corner, a small street vendor sells liquor from an outdoor stall. “Who knew a booth could be so promising?” Pan chuckles.
- Capital injection: His buddy pitched in 3,000 yuan – that’s the seed money that made the idea pop and the pop‑up pop of vino and spirits.
- Initial grind: Within a week, they had drained their cash again. The day‑to‑day revenue hit a jaw‑dropping 7,800 yuan, turning a near‑bankrupt dream into a buzzworthy reality.
- Future plans: Pan envisions a cross‑country tour in their Tesla, serving refreshment straight from the car’s boot to city dwellers who crave a bottle with a side of adventure. “Travel. Sell. Celebrate.” That’s the slogan.
From a bar’s cracks to a road runner’s dreams, the story of Pan demonstrates how a pinch of exposure, a dash of borrowed capital, and a pinch of sheer persistence can transform a looming death‑knell into a trail‑blazing success. Keep the spirit high and the shelves stocked – the road ahead might just be a little less steep.
‘Penniless’
When City Rules Meet Street Sales: The Rise of the Car Boot Revival
In a move that feels like an unexpected twist in Beijing’s bureaucratic playbook, policymakers have quietly signed off on one of the city’s oldest “gig” traditions: car boot sales. It might not scream elegance, but the reality of jobs slipping through the cracks has pushed many to lean into the informal economy.
“We’re All Just Trying to Keep the Lights On”
- Shanghai’s once-storied markets are finally getting a nod from higher-ups.
- City officials admit that formal job openings can be a real hurdle.
- So they’ve opened the floodgates to more flexible, on‑the‑spot kinds of work.
Liu’s Coffee‑Van Journey
Liu, 30, had taught Beijing students how to notch a Rubik’s Cube before the pandemic shut down face‑to‑face classes. After the lock‑down hit, her cheer‑up workshops became a thing of the past, and she found herself living on a financial tightrope.
With a small van parked beneath the city’s invisible canopy, Liu now hustles coffee to anyone with a passing curb. “I’m still burning money,” she admits, “some days I barely scrape ¥100 a day – that’s barely enough for a meal and a taxi to the bus stop. But I relish being kept busy.”
One Cup at a Time
It’s not a booming business yet, but the scent of fresh brews and the sound of a bell‑clanged bootline bring a smile—an urban pivot that feels both resilient and funny. As the city reshapes its labor land, Liu’s story reminds us that even when the official deck is stacked, there’s room for improv in the streets.
