China Tour - Chongqing

Johnson Zhang

On 9th July 2025, I travelled to Chongqing.

Stepping into Chongqing is like entering a fantastical world, where the city weaves an unforgettable travel experience with its distinctive landscape of mountains and rivers, profound historical heritage, and spicy, vibrant food culture. With undulating mountains and crisscrossing rivers, it boasts a unique topography. The urban area is built along the mountains and rivers, with winding and uneven roads. The buildings, stacked layer upon layer, seem to form a giant three-dimensional scroll against the backdrop of mountains and water. Chongqing, a city full of vitality and charm, combines the prosperity of a modern metropolis with the charm of ancient traditions. It offers both astonishing natural landscapes and mouth-watering cuisine that lingers in your memory. Every exploration uncovers new surprises, and every encounter deepens your affection.

Let's talk about what I did in my travel log for Chongqing. I spent four days in the enchanting city of Chongqing, and it left an indelible impression on me that will last a lifetime. Join me as I take you on a virtual tour of the city's iconic spots, beginning right from my arrival on 9th July 2025. When I touched down in Chongqing that afternoon, the sun was still high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the city. First, I had to check in the hotel to have some rest. After few hours rest, I decided to step out of the hotel. The air in Chongqing felt thick with humidity, carrying the faint scent of Sichuan pepper and river mist—a signature of this mountainous, river-kissed city. My itinerary for the day was packed with four iconic spots, each promising to unravel a different thread of Chongqing's tangled, vibrant story. My first destination was Kuixing Building, a structure that feels like a love letter to Chongqing's penchant for defying gravity. Perched on a steep slope, this historic building is a maze of staircases and overlapping floors, a physical manifestation of the city's "3D" reputation—where a street level can suddenly become a rooftop, and an elevator ride can transport you from a bustling market to a quiet residential lane in seconds. As I climbed the stone steps leading to its entrance, I passed vendors selling candied hawthorns and locals chatting on benches, their voices echoing off the surrounding buildings. The building itself, with its red-brick facade and traditional Chinese roof, stands in playful contrast to the modern skyscrapers towering nearby. I wandered its corridors, pausing at a window to gaze out at the jumble of rooftops below, where laundry fluttered in the breeze and the distant honk of a ferry on the Yangtze River drifted up. Kuixing Building isn't just a landmark; it's a microcosm of Chongqing's soul—layered, unexpected, and full of hidden nooks. By the time I left, I'd already lost count of how many times I'd climbed up or down, but that disorientation felt part of the fun. From Kuixing Building, I made my way to Jiefangbei, the beating heart of Chongqing's commercial district. If Kuixing Building was a whisper of history, Jiefangbei was a roar of modernity—a square surrounded by glittering shopping malls, neon-lit department stores, and streets teeming with people. The centrepiece of the square is the Jiefangbei Monument, a tall, Art Deco-style structure commemorating Chongqing's role in World War II. Around it, crowds surged: tourists snapping photos, couples holding hands as they window-shopped, street performers in colourful costumes drawing crowds. I joined the throng, ducking into a nearby alley to try small noodles, a Chongqing staple—spicy, numbing, and so flavourful it made my eyes water (in the best way). Jiefangbei is where Chongqing shows off its ambition, its streets a showcase of luxury brands and local craftsmanship side by side. Even the air felt charged, as if the city itself was racing toward the future without ever forgetting its past. As afternoon turned to evening, I headed to Qiansimen Bridge, a sleek, modern structure that spans the Jialing River, connecting the Yuzhong Peninsula to Jiangbei District. This isn't just a bridge—it's a viewpoint, a meeting place, and a symbol of Chongqing's ability to blend function and beauty. I paused to lean against the railings and took photos in the view. Below, the Jialing River glistened like a ribbon of silver, with ferries and cargo boats gliding past. On either side, the city's skyline rose—an impressive jumble of skyscrapers, ancient temples, and hillside neighbourhoods. As the sun set, the bridge's lights flickered on, turning it into a string of pearls against the darkening sky. By nightfall, I arrived at Hongya Cave, the final spot on my itinerary—and easily the most surreal. Modeled after the traditional "stilted buildings" of the Ba and Yu cultures, this complex of 11 floors cascades down a hillside like a fairy-tale village, its wooden facades and red lanterns glowing against the night. And there were so many people! The lanes teemed with a throng of visitors, shoulder to shoulder, their voices merging into a lively hum that echoed off the wooden structures. Tour groups with flags weaved through the crowd, families chased after excited children, and friends paused to snap selfies with the glowing lanterns as a backdrop.
Navigating the maze of pathways felt like a joyful adventure—ducking around street vendors selling hand-painted fans and spicy street noodles, pausing to watch a group of musicians playing traditional instruments, their melodies cutting through the buzz. Even the air felt alive with energy, a mix of laughter, the clink of bowls from nearby restaurants, and the sweet-savory aroma of (braised snacks) from a stall that had drawn a long line. Hongya Cave is Chongqing's magic trick, a place that feels both ancient and fantastical, its chaos part of its charm. By the time I left, my bag was heavier with a small, hand-painted fan, and my heart was full—of flavors, of sights, of the sense that I'd only just scratched the surface of this extraordinary city. As I walked back to my hotel, I thought of the day: Kuixing Building's history, Jiefangbei's energy, Qiansimen Bridge's views, and Hongya Cave's wonder. Four spots, one day—and each had shown me a different side of Chongqing, a city that defies easy description. It's chaotic, beautiful, and utterly unforgettable—a place that doesn't just welcome you, but wraps you up in its stories, leaving you eager to return. The next day for visiting Chongqing on 10th July 2025 was super early. The sky was still a deep indigo when I slid into the car, the air thick with the promise of a long, full day—one that would take me from ancient cultural hubs to scenic river views, with four iconic spots on the itinerary. By the time the first hints of sunlight gilded the city's hills, we were already on the way to the first destination, the car winding through mist-kissed roads that felt like a preview of the adventures ahead. Our first stop, Chiyou Jiuli City, emerged from the morning fog like a scene from a myth. Dedicated to the legendary Chiyou, a tribal leader revered in Chinese mythology, this cultural complex is a vibrant tribute to the diverse ethnic heritage of the region, with architecture that blends Miao, Tujia, and Dong styles—stilted wooden houses with upturned eaves, colourful murals depicting ancient battles, and plazas where traditional music seemed to linger in the air.

I spent two hours strolling through its lanes, and I was lucky enough to wear the Miao attire for exploring. The costume was a masterpiece: an indigo-dyed jacket embroidered with intricate patterns of butterflies and flowers, silver ornaments that jangled softly with each step, and a headpiece that caught the morning light like a constellation. As I wandered, locals smiled and nodded, some even calling out phrases in the Miao language that felt like warm greetings.

As I left Chiyou Jiuli City, the good experience was I watched a group of dancers perform a Miao ritual dance, their movements synchronized to the beat of drums and the trill of a flute. By the time I reluctantly changed back into my clothes, the sun was high, and the city's energy had shifted from misty calm to lively bustle—a perfect introduction to the day's rhythm. From Chiyou Jiuli City, we drove to Gongtan Ancient Town, a riverside settlement that has stood for over 1,700 years. Unfortunately, the weather wasn't friendly—by the time we arrived, dark clouds had rolled in, and a steady rain began to fall, turning the stone paths slick and misting the air with a fine drizzle. But if anything, the rain added a moody charm to the town, making its wooden houses and stone archways look even more timeless. Gongtan is built along a steep hillside overlooking the Wujiang River, its lanes a labyrinth of steps and alleys that wind past old teahouses, ancestral halls, and shops selling pickled vegetables and handcrafted bamboo baskets. I huddled under a borrowed umbrella, ducking into a small tea house to escape the rain. The owner, an elderly woman with a face lined like the river's currents, poured me a cup of hot tea and told stories of the town's past—as a busy port on the Silk Road water route, where merchants from across China once traded goods and tales. Through the rain, I could see the Wujiang River below, its waters churning a deep gray, and the silhouette of old stone bridges that arched over the town's streams. Even with the weather, there was a quiet beauty to Gongtan—its resilience evident in the way locals went about their day, chatting under awnings or hurrying with baskets balanced on their heads.
By the time I left, my shoes were soaked. In the late afternoon, the rain cleared, leaving the air fresh and the sky a brilliant blue—perfect timing for my visit to Wujiang Gallery. I explored it by going on a boat, gliding along the Wujiang River as it cut through towering karst mountains, their peaks still wreathed in leftover mist. The gallery's name is no exaggeration: every bend in the river revealed a new vista—cliffs where goats clung to ledges, waterfalls that tumbled into the river like silver ribbons, and caves with names like "Dragon's Palace" that locals say hold ancient secrets. I spent the entire boat ride taking plenty of pictures of the amazing river, but no photo could capture the scale of it—the way the mountains seemed to rise straight from the water, the way the light shifted from gold to pink as the sun began to set, the way the river's current carried us smoothly past scenes that felt unchanged for centuries. Other passengers pointed out landmarks: a rock formation that looked like a sleeping Buddha, a stretch of water where the river glows green in spring, thanks to algae. A guide on the boat explained that the Wujiang River has long been called China's painting gallery, and as I watched the landscape unfold, I understood why. It was nature at its most dramatic, a reminder of the power and beauty that have shaped Chongqing's geography—and its people. Finally, in the late evening, I visited 18 Steps, a historic neighbourhood in Chongqing's Yuzhong District. As its name suggests, it's a series of 18 stone steps that connect two streets, flanked by old houses and small shops that have changed little over the decades. By this time, I was tired from the day’s adventures, so I didn't do much strolling around—instead, I found a bench at the top of the steps and sat, watching the world go by. The steps were lit by warm, yellow streetlights, casting long shadows that stretched down to the street below. From somewhere nearby, I could hear the sound of a radio playing old Chongqing folk songs, their melodies mixing with the hum of evening traffic. 18 Steps felt like a microcosm of Chongqing—its layers of history, its blend of the ordinary and the extraordinary, its ability to make even a simple set of steps feel like a place worth savoring. As I sat there, I thought of the day: the colour and energy of Chiyou Jiuli City, the moody charm of Gongtan in the rain, the grandeur of Wujiang Gallery, and now this quiet moment at 18 Steps. Four spots, one long day—and each had added a new brushstroke to my picture of Chongqing. By the time I stood to leave, the stars were starting to come out, and the steps felt like a gentle goodnight from the city itself. Then a day later on 11th July 2025, the pace slowed—a welcome shift after the whirlwind of the previous day. There was no need for an early start; the sun was already warm when I rolled out of bed, and the plan was simple: visit two iconic spots, savoring each without the rush. Chongqing, it seemed, was ready to reveal a softer side. My morning began at Ciqikou Ancient Town, a riverside settlement that has retained its charm despite the passage of centuries. Unlike the misty start at Chiyou Jiuli City, today unfolded in bright sunlight, casting a golden glow over the town’s stone lanes and wooden houses. Ciqikou is famous for its ceramics (its name literally means "Porcelain Mouth"), and as I wandered in, the first thing I noticed was a shop with shelves stacked high with blue-and-white bowls, vases, and figurines—each piece hand-painted with scenes of the Yangtze River or local life. The town's main street is a lively thoroughfare, lined with vendors selling spicy lotus root noodles, sesame balls, and silky tofu pudding topped with brown sugar. The air hummed with the chatter of locals and tourists, the clatter of bowls from open-air eateries, and the occasional honk of a bicycle weaving through the crowd. I ducked into a small ceramic workshop, where an artisan sat at a wheel, shaping clay into a bowl with deft movements. "This craft has been here for 1,000 years," he said, not looking up from his work. "Ciqikou was once a busy port, and our porcelain sailed all over China." Beyond the main street, narrower lanes led to hidden gems: a quiet temple with a courtyard filled with bamboo, a teahouse where elders played mahjong, their tiles clacking like a secret code, and a view of the Jialing River, its waters glistening in the sun. By noon, I'd sampled enough snacks to count as lunch, and my bag held a small ceramic cup—its rim imperfect, a reminder of the human touch behind every piece. Ciqikou felt like a warm hug of a town, where history and daily life coexist as naturally as the river and the shore. In the afternoon, I made my way to Liziba, a neighborhood famous for one of Chongqing's most iconic (and quirky) landmarks: the Liziba Light Rail Station, where the train passes directly through a residential building. It's a testament to Chongqing's "3D city" reputation—where infrastructure and daily life collide in unexpected, delightful ways. The neighborhood is a maze of steep stairs and elevated walkways, with small shops selling cold drinks and street food. A woman in her 60s who works as a vendor said: "When they built the station, everyone thought it would be noisy. "But now? We don't even notice the trains. They're part of the neighborhood.” I arrived at the viewing platform just as a green light rail train approached, its horn blaring softly. A crowd of tourists (and a few locals, amused by the fuss) raised their phones, and then—whoosh!—the train slid into the building, vanishing for a few seconds before emerging on the other side, as if magic. The building itself is an ordinary residential complex, with laundry hanging from balconies and potted plants on windowsills, making the sight even more surreal. After watching a few trains pass, I explored the area around Liziba. By late afternoon, I headed back to my hotel, my feet less tired than the day before, my mind full of images: the glow of ceramics in Ciqikou, the whoosh of the train at Liziba, the warmth of a city that feels like a collection of stories, each one waiting to be heard. Two spots, one relaxed day—and yet another layer added to my love letter to Chongqing. And finally, to wrap up my self-exploration and strolling around Chongqing, which ended on 12th July 2025, I visited one more iconic spot—and that was the Yangtze River Cableway. It felt fitting to conclude my journey with this ride, a symbol of Chongqing's relationship with the rivers that cradle it, offering a view that would stitch together all the places I visited over the past few days. The cableway station was bustling when I arrived, with a line snaking out the door—locals and tourists alike eager for the 4-minute ride that spans the Yangtze River, connecting Yuzhong Peninsula to Nanan District. As I waited, I watched the cable cars glide across the water, their red and white cabins looking like toys against the backdrop of Chongqing's towering skyline. The air smelled of river mist and the faint scent of street food from nearby stalls, a familiar aroma that had become part of my Chongqing experience. After four days of exploring Chongqing on my solo journey, it's finally time to bid farewell to return to Shanghai. The taxi to the airport wound through the city's familiar hills, and I rolled down the window, letting the humid air—tinged with the scent of Sichuan pepper and river mist—brush my face one last time. As the plane taxied down the runway, I pressed my forehead to the . The city shrank below, its skyscrapers and hills blending into a patchwork of gray and green, the Yangtze and Jialing Rivers glinting like silver threads. It wasn't a goodbye, I realized. It was a "see you later". Chongqing isn't the kind of city you visit once. It's the kind you carry with you, in the way you notice a steep staircase and smile, or crave a bowl of spicy noodles, or catch yourself looking for light rails in unlikely places. My self-exploration had come to an end, but Chongqing? It would stay with me. Farewell, Chongqing. Not forever—just until the day I find myself craving your rivers, your chaos, your heart. Until next time.