Q: What’s your hometown like? Can you introduce it in English?
Of course! My hometown is a quiet, green city nestled along the Yangtze River—Chongqing. Not just any city, but one where the mountains kiss the sky, and every alleyway tells a story. If you’ve ever seen those dramatic street scenes in movies where people climb stairs like they’re in a video game, that’s my neighborhood.
Q: What makes Chongqing special compared to other Chinese cities?
Three words: mountains, hotpot, and memories. Unlike flat cities, Chongqing is built vertically—it has over 100 bridges connecting neighborhoods that feel like islands. I remember as a kid, walking up 150 steps to get to school, passing by old grandmas selling steamed buns with bamboo baskets on their shoulders. The air smells like chili oil and morning rain—a mix of spice and soul.
Q: How do people live there? Is it chaotic or cozy?
Both! It’s chaotic in the best way—like a symphony of horns, laughter, and sizzling woks. But beneath the noise, there’s deep warmth. In winter, neighbors gather around electric heaters in the courtyard, sharing stories and pickled vegetables. I once stayed at my aunt’s house during Lunar New Year—she made homemade rice cakes with sesame and red bean paste. We sat on low stools, watching the snow fall while drinking ginger tea. That’s Chongqing life: loud, spicy, and full of love.
Q: What would you recommend to a foreign visitor?
First, try the hotpot—but not just any. Go to a tiny place near Jiefangbei Square, where the owner knows everyone by name. Second, take the cable car across the river—it’s not just transport, it’s a view of the city glowing like a lantern. Third, walk through the old alleys (called “Laojie”) in Yuzhong District. You’ll find hidden teahouses, antique paper lanterns, and maybe even a local who’ll teach you how to fold dumplings in 3 minutes flat.
Q: Why do you still miss it even though you live elsewhere now?
Because Chongqing doesn’t just exist—it lives. It’s in the sound of my grandmother’s voice calling me for dinner, in the way the mist rises from the river at dawn, in the smell of fresh tofu simmering in broth. Even when I’m in a big city abroad, I dream of climbing those stairs again. It’s not just a place—it’s a feeling. And that’s something no language can fully capture… except maybe in English, if you listen closely.
So yes—I’m proud to say: this is my home. Come visit. Bring your appetite, your curiosity, and an open heart. You’ll leave with more than photos—you’ll leave with a piece of China that only Chongqing can give.
