It always pays to read the small print on an overseas package tour, this is doubly critical if the small print on the brochure is solely in a language you have zero mastery of. I signed up for a Lvshunkou district history tour which turned out to be a Lvshunkou district history-lite tour.
When we got to the Lüshan/Port Arthur area, because of time constraints, we never got to see the Russian fort, the historical battlefields of the Russo-Japanese War or the Russian-Japanese prison site, let alone the site of the historic Manchurian Railway Depot. As things transpired all we were able to fit in was a whistle-stop tour of the Lüshun Museum.
First we had to join a lengthy queue to get in to the museum, a popular site (we spent 10-15 minutes in the hot late summer sun alternately admiring the elegantly attractive edifice of the museum and snapping pictures of the nearby phallic-suggestive Friendship Tower).
Once inside though, it was worth the temporary discomfort, it was a neat and compact little museum of Lüshun art history and archaeological pre-history. I was drawn to the museum’s collection of regional artefacts, ceramics, figurines, statuettes, vases, Buddhist artworks and its anthropological holdings. But what took my eye in particular were a couple of large, very ancient-looking stone writing tablets. I also took a shine to the large and very dramatic historic battle painting in one of the rooms.
Outside again, we were given enough time to use the close-by, rusty old Russian-era gun emplacements as a mood-capturing backdrop for half-a-dozen selfies. After that, we barely had time to admire the site’s well-maintained gardens before we were whisked off back to the tour bus to explore other, less historically significant parts of the district.
After a busman’s lunch (on the bus!), the next time-wasting activity on the agenda at Lǚshùn was a boat ride arranged for its own sake. We filed out of the tour bus and aboard an old boat and handed a slim satchel of sausage (prompting an instant misunderstanding: I thought the paltry offering of protein was for us to consume on the ride). The boat, carrying fifty or sixty Chinese nationals and myself, charted an oblong-shaped course, going out one side of the harbour and then returning the other thirty minutes later.
I have no notion of, nor was I enlightened as to what the purpose of the boat ride was. We were shown no notable sights or landmarks, saw nothing but empty stretches of water inhabited by other passing vessels some engaged in the same futile, unspecified mission as ourselves. All this leads me to conclude that the purpose was a nihilistic one, an existential muse on nothingness…or perhaps the real reason lay in the small portion of meat we were all given at the start. Everyone else on the boat quickly divested themselves of their piece overboard where it was gratefully snapped up by the swarming flock of seagulls which had been shadowing our boat’s course. With nothing else to do I duly followed suit. Clearly, the the boat trip was part of a supplementary feeding program for the local colony of seagulls in Lǚshùn.
In a twinkle we shape-shifted from clueless, futile wanderers in the Yellow Sea to gimlet-eyed consumers on a warehouse shopping junket. We were enticed with sparkling opals, beads and precious other gemstones. In a showroom an adolescent Chinese “Joe the Gadget Man” sales dude went through a “show and tell” routine demonstrating how either genuine the precious stones were or how expensive they, I couldn’t be sure which. The Chinese tour party seemed quite engrossed by his highly animated showy spiel, to me it was all a bit ho-humdrum. We moved to the food section of the building where we inspected rows of the dried fish delicacies and all manner of other comestibles that Chinese consumers like to stock up on in large quantities. 
Our final Lǚshùn stop to waste an hour or so was the saddest experience of the day. It involved a trip to a Chinese “drive through” zoo. Not an enlightened zoo like Western Plains Zoo which places the animals’ welfare and happiness at a high premium by allowing them the distance, space and relative freedom to move – as only an open plains environment can do. No, this was more like the bad old western zoos of the 1960s which doubled down on confinement and captivity, corralling the creatures, mainly here Eurasian bears of various kinds and a few tigers, into tiny, unsanitary cages, so they could be stared at through the bars. Bored and immobile, they were pathetic sights.
The only animals given a bit of space and exercise were the zoo’s Bengal tigers and tigresses. These big cats were allowed to prowl round a dusty strip of turf, albeit a fairly restricted one. We, the humans, were permitted to take photos as we circled round the mainly listless tigers from a good, safe distance. Occasionally an attendant would throw them slabs of meat from a truck.
The last of the animals on display for the public’s enjoyment were a pair of large brown bears. Ostensibly, they were better off than their caged compatriots because they were sitting in a large pond of water. But I think that was just for the benefit of paying customers, so they can see them frolicking in a riverine environment. When the gates close for the day I suspect they get shuffled back into their 4 x 3 cages. In any case the water quality in the pond didn’t look all that flash, it looked a bit dirty, and this was not helped by visitors in the buses chucking water bottles into the pond to get the Ursus arctos to stand up so they can take better photos. 
Having wasted enough time in Lǚshùn, some enjoyable, some so-so, we started back to Dalian and our digs at the ubiquitous Jinjiang Inn.
Lǚshùn, Lüshan, Lvshunov (旅顺) – variations of nomenclature for a settlement with a long, multinational history as highly prized first-rate port and a key strategic location on the Northeast coast of Asia. For some tourists, Lǚshùn is merely a peninsula appendage to a trip to Dalian, Liaoning’s second city. Popular for visitors from China, Russia and Japan – at the crossroads of the three differing cultures – and for anyone, anywhere, interested in the modern history of the region.
But for those less interested in the story of the North Asian powers’ struggle for supremacy in Port Arthur (Lǚshùn’s former name under the Russians), there are plenty of other diversions and attractions to fill in a day in the Lǚshùn area. Crossing that spectacular, breathtaking bridge that separates Dalian from Lǚshùn, passing some impressive modern residential monoliths (obviously a lot of new estates cropping up recently), we made not for Lǚshùn’s history-soaked prison or museum…our first stop was at a submarine base at the ports with a large aged submarine in pride of place. On first sighting the displayed veteran U-boat I was initially under the misapprehension that it was a Japanese World War 2 sub left behind by the Japanese Navy or perhaps captured by the Chinese at the war’s end (a sort of spoils of war on show won from the vanquished foe). 
On taking the tour through the permanently moored submarine (opened for inspection at both ends of the craft), I soon realised I was wide of the mark. This was in fact a Chinese naval submarine, a Type-033 submarine actually (which is probably quite significant detail to your average, obsessed submarine aficionado)※. And the whole enterprise, known as the Lushun Submarine Museum (established 2015), is a new feature for China (the country’s first museum to exhibit naval military culture). 
The other attraction at the museum vying with the ex-service sub is a submarine simulation exhibit, a room devoted to recreating a realistic'(sic) submarine cruise. Severe looking naval servicemen man the entrance, herding waves of visitors in and out in regimented fashion. The tightly packed paying punters in the room jockey for the best posy to take pictures of the ‘demo’: comprising the virtual submarine, with its commander barking orders to his crew, steering a safe sea-course between a host of pop-up enemy frigates while notching up the odd warship ‘kill’ itself…in effect a large scale video game on a super-wide screen with all the bells and whistles, not to mention the “real-life” sound and lighting effects to conjure up the appropriate atmosphere.
After the Submarine Centre we were ready for a more hands-on 3D animation (or at least that was the view of the tour organisers). We piled out of the bus and into what ostensibly was a commercial building. Inside we were led to a room to indulge our inner-nine-year-old in a video game. We were equipped with sonic “ray guns” (or whatever the equivalent current millennial term is) and invited to pretend that we were riders on an out of control roller coaster. Our seats rocked and rolled violently tossing us to and fro…we sat there immovable, gaining what vicarious pleasure we could muster by ‘zapping’ 10,000 demons each, only to find ourselves desperately trying to dodge the infinite number of remaining malevolent dragons, zombies and other miscellaneous monsters hurtling towards us without respite. Most of the adult Chinese tourists seemed to be totally captivated by the virtual “make-believe” alternate universe, whereas for me it was, at the least, a novel, “one-off” experience, considering I am someone with no interest in ‘civilised’ computer games, let alone ever contemplated visiting a fantasy arcade venue to play games of a unrelentingly violent nature.
Russian Street (Russian Lu), or as it is sometimes rendered, Russian Style Street or Russian Custom Street, is a lingering reminder of the days the city of Dalian was an outpost of Moscow. Today the connexion to an erstwhile Russia is most visually embodied in this single street to the north of Shengli Qiào (Shengli Bridge), near Dalian’s Xigang district.
The start of the street is marked by (what I imagine was once a very grand but what is these days) a large, aged Russian mansion. A sign in front of it proclaims the Russian heritage, русский. Russian Street is a longish, commercial street (with a short side lane appended to it) near the city ports. Rows of stalls line up on the inside of the street in front of the bricks and mortar shop buildings. It’s a street restricted to pedestrian traffic, although this in no way hinders the bike and scooter riders and the odd delivery van with its Russian goods. 
Virtually all of Russian Street’s gift shops sell more or less identical merchandise – moon cakes in highly decorative boxes, inexpensive bars of Russian chocolate (going at 10CN¥)
Half-way down there’s a authentic Russian pectopaH (restaurant)…a lot of visitors don’t venture much further than this point and it’s a good deal less busy than than the Shengli bridge end. Russian Custom Street ends at a roundabout with a large official-looking building of state, there are a couple of small coffee shops and a number of food outlets spread out along the thoroughfare. 
