I’m not sure whether it was the allure of the city’s futuristic architecture, booming population, or infamous Sichuan flavours, but I decided Chongqing would be an interesting place to celebrate my 21 years of life. I certainly wasn’t wrong; it was within approximately two minutes of leaving my hostel on the first day that a shocked child prodded his mother, pointed at me, and shouted ‘Laowai!’ (foreigner). So much for my plans of living in harmony with the locals for the next few days.
Having arrived at 9pm the previous evening, I’d already experienced my fair share of challenges. As I navigated Jiefangbei Pedestrian Street with a whole page of translated instructions on how to find my hostel, it was me and my 28-litre carry-on against the world. I breathed a sigh of relief upon locating the entrance – albeit on the 31st floor of a rickety, half-abandoned apartment block. I quickly learned, however, that ‘hostel’ was perhaps false advertising; I was to be the only resident for the next three nights. Dinner for one, it was!
As a vegetarian, I was well-accustomed to gaslighting myself into reframing every meal as a fun game. But on this day, Google Translate and a strong assertion of ‘méiyǒu ròu’ (no meat) weren’t enough: my translations of what I suspected were noodle dishes came back as ‘Family Portrait’ and ‘Clear Your Hands’. Naturally, I was inspired by neither. Like a guardian angel, the lady at the stand took matters into her own hands; I was promptly served a delicious bowl of noodles, chickpeas, and what could only be described as a portion of chillies fit for an army. My mouth may have been completely numb, but my heart was happy.
The noodles in question
With no fellow hostel-goers to worry about, my alarm went off bright and early the next day. As if in a trance, I made my way through a list of key attractions, from the Kuixing Building (a centuries-old plaza which is also, somehow, a rooftop) to Liziba Station (a train stop that runs through a 19-story block of flats). I began to understand why Chongqing is also known as ‘The 8D City’; what looked like a small distance on Apple Maps was actually an hour-long detour involving multi-level navigation. Though I got lost about 17 times trying to find it, I did quite enjoy watching the train carriage effortlessly glide through the building in front of me. As did the hundreds of Chinese tourists standing next to me, phones-in-hand and ready to capture it on video. Just a bunch of people living in the moment, really.
Evidence of me also living in the moment
Having refuelled with a delectable bowl of tomato egg noodles and a warm milk tea, I trekked to Eling Park for a free panoramic view of the city. Even shrouded in a gauze of fog, the skyline was spectacular. A few families came and went as I gazed wistfully over the Yangtze and Jialing Rivers which cut through the glinting skyscrapers (feeling like the main character but most probably looking like a weirdo). In fact, I became so lost in the scenery that I failed to notice not only was my phone dead, but my portable charger had also stopped working.
If I didn’t look strange before, I certainly did as I hurried down the viewing platform and breathlessly searched for the park’s exit in the darkness. After an unknown amount of time, I was eventually reunited with civilisation and managed to make it back to my eight-bed dormitory in one piece (a challenging feat in a city where locating the ground floor becomes a near-impossible quest). I waited until 11:30pm to eat dinner at the same old lady’s stall, who unknowingly inaugurated my 21st year with an another bowl of outrageously spicy noodles and a smile.
As I set out for the next day of sightseeing the following morning, I realised that I had completely sidelined my birthday amidst the chaos of planning my solo trip to China. The only natural response was to kick-start the morning with a brown sugar bubble tea (100% sugar, extra toppings) and make my way to the next attraction – Zhongshu House. Mesmerised by the images online, I took a chance on this remote bookstore and travelled 40 minutes to see its expansive collection first-hand.
Like everything in China, one has to expect the unexpected. Nevertheless, I was dumbfounded to arrive at an abandoned mall of empty stalls rather than the shining shelves of Zhongshu House. It seemed I had missed the bookstore’s prime – by at least a few years. Trepidatiously walking up the frozen escalators, I finally found the library, illuminated like a gem in a pile of rubble. It was odd to see its employees working diligently, undeterred by this strange situation. This was just business as usual in the Mainland.
I spent my afternoon wandering through Huangjueping Graffiti Street, eating jianbing (savoury pancake), and exploring temples. As if this wasn’t enough indulgence, I hunted down a café that looked straight out of a Studio Ghibli animation and ordered a matcha latte accompanied by the most perfect slice of cake I had ever seen. As it turned out, my first lesson of 21 was that looks are deceiving: the ‘Siren Cake’, as I later christened it, tasted absolutely horrendous.
My birthday ‘treat’
Undiscouraged by the failed café experience, and having saved the best until last, I ventured back into the city to see the infamous Hongya Cave. Nothing could have prepared me its enchanting appearance; dozens of hut-like structures illuminated the night sky. I walked around this marvellous structure, teeming with crowds, until my feet hurt. This was a birthday wish come true.
On my way back to the hostel, I enjoyed another 11pm bowl of noodles just because I could, but not before the restaurant owners inquired about my youth and independence with surprised faces. ‘I turned 21 today!’, I translated for them on my phone. They rejoiced and clapped in a way that made me feel immensely grateful to be alive, before interrupting my noodle-slurping to offer a free bowl of tangyuan (glutinous rice balls) – a dish that put the Siren Cake to shame. I ended the day full and happy, with plenty of anecdotes to tell family and friends back home, and a deep appreciation for the generosity of my Chinese acquaintances.
The magnificent Hongya Cave