Chongqing was our last (and rather brief) city stop together. I have to say, it’s rather interesting; sprawling across a couple of rivers (one of which I believe is the Yangtze), a great deal of it seems to have been built on a hill, which makes for some impressive landscapes. Our hostel was not too far out of things on the sort of ‘island bit’ between a couple of rivers, in a lovely traditional-looking building. It was also just in front of the ancient city walls and next to one of two surviving original city gates, not that this fact was advertised in any way. Actually, the government seems to have done the opposite by building a striking red suspension bridge (Dongshuimen bridge) right over it, complete with two layers of crossing – one for cars, one for a subway line.

Shockingly careless treatment of ancient structures aside (although given half of the ‘ancient cities’ in China were built last week by the government as tourist attractions, completely ignoring a genuine artefact does seem rather counter-intuitive), Chongqing was a very pleasant place – one of four municipalities (along with Beijing, Shanghai and Tianjin), meaning it’s technically not in any province. Of course, the locals still consider themselves to be in Sichuan (which means excessive spice, mahjong and hotpot are very popular). The latter was the one thing we were told to get while here, and while we did set out with the intention of getting hotpot before we left, neither of us are huge fans and it’s an excellent way of catching whatever illnesses anyone else who’s eating with you has as well.

Instead we took to sightseeing; right next to our hostel (just inside the gate) was the Huguang Guild Hall. This complex of beautiful temples, museum rooms and even opera halls was possibly one of the best places we’d visited: it was not over-touristy, incredibly interesting to walk around and for the amount there was to see, it was only ¥30 to get in. The halls played host to migrants from all over China hundreds of years ago and were built as a social hub to share their cultures. We also talked to the owner of a calligraphy art school who was selling some of her work there.

After two nights we were up at dawn’s ugly crack to get up to the airport for flights: Calum’s North-West-bound to Ürümqi, and mine going East to Shanghai. Here it was just a case of waiting for the family to arrive a couple of hours later from London. Their plane was on time and they all made it; considerably more tired than me, jet-lag already wreaking havoc with their body clocks, and having to cope with the sights, sounds and smells of a completely different culture (which, I had to remember, I’d had just over six months now to adjust to). Determined to see them first, I waited behind the arrivals barrier watching the exit intently, but at some point I must have got distracted because suddenly they were right there in front of me.

It was a pleasant drive through Pudong (North of the famous view across the Huangpu) to our hotel in the French Concession. I felt distinctly underdressed in my ‘comfortable travel wear’ standing in the hotel lobby as we checked in. Over the next few days they started to adjust to the time zone; what struck me was how normal it felt for me. I had no new country to deal with; I was at home, but even so, seeing them felt (to me) as though I’d only left last week. Sod’s law was that I got ill at this point – despite avoiding the Chongqing hotpot, perhaps the city got me anyway; regardless, I spent a few days in bed before properly going sightseeing.

—TJC

Featured image: Temple tags in Chongqing, reading 福 (fû), ‘blessing’ or ‘luck’.