I live with my grandmother in a Beijing yard house. One day last year, I was surprised to see a big foreigner coming out of the house next door to ours. He was very tall with short brown hair and a pair of glasses. The first time I saw him, I was too shy to speak to him. "My English is too poor!" I thought. My grandmother told me that he had just moved into our yard. "I don't like it!" she said. "Foreigners aren't like us. Maybe he'll play loud music and parties every night! I'm sure he's going to cause trouble." Several days later, I met the foreigner as I was walking home after work. "Hello!" he said (in Chinese!). "My name's Tony. I've just moved into the house next door to yours." While I was wondering what to say, he continued, "There's a nice bar down the road. Why don't you and your family come and have dinner with me?" "Bars are bad places," said my grandmother when I told her, but we decided to go. The bar was not at all what I had expected. It was in a beautiful little yard house, with several large bookshelves and pictures of Tibet on the walls. Several Chinese people and foreigners were sitting drinking or reading books. I noticed that some of the foreigners were speaking Chinese in a low voice to each other! "Oh, what a civilized place!" my grandmother exclaimed. The bar served special "hutong pizzas". As we ate, Tony told us about himself-he is an English expert in environment. He always likes to be quiet. My grandmother said to me, "He really seems like a very nice young man." The best title for this story is  _  .
A Bar in Tibet A Foreigner in Beijing Bars are Bad Places Foreigners Like Bars