Let Me Tell You About Chongqing

Ladies and gentlemen, have you ever been to a city where even the navigation app cries out for its mother? The trains don’t run along the tracks; they insist on burrowing through the bellies of buildings. When the lights of Hongyadong come on, good heavens, it looks just like Yubaba’s bathhouse from Spirited Away. Then the hot pot arrives, red oil bubbling and Sichuan peppercorns bouncing everywhere. Sweat drips down your chin as you keep yelling, “Bring me another slice of tripe!” This city is Chongqing. The mountains are its bones, the rivers its lifeblood, and its people its soul. Chongqing folks sound like they’re arguing, but really, they’re afraid you won’t hear the warmth in their hearts. When you’re worn out from climbing the slopes and steps, duck into an alley for a bowl of noodles. The owner may shout loud enough to shake the walls, but she’ll quietly scoop an extra spoonful of peas into your bowl. That’s her way of showing she cares. I’ve traveled far and wide for years, but I’ve never seen another city like Chongqing: defiantly surreal, yet buzzing with the warmth of everyday life. Today, I’ve pulled up a little stool and brewed a pot of old yin tea. Let me tell you all about it, nice and slow. Now then, sit back and hear me out.