China

Beijing was the first shock: the moment China stopped being a place on a map and became distance, stone, air, and the strange joy of being very far from home.

The Summer Palace felt like a softer opening, but Jinshanling made the trip physical. The stairs were rough enough to make me pay attention. I was excited, a little worried, and very happy when the climb finally turned into memory.

Pingyao was the old-city pause. I remember it more by day: walls, alleys, stone, and a quieter kind of history. I slept there, so it did not feel like a place I only passed through.

It was calm, historical, and a little solitary in a good way. Less shock than Beijing, less electricity than Shanghai, but with a texture that stayed.

Xi’an was my favorite city in China. The Terracotta Warriors hit hardest: bigger, stranger, and more impressive than the version I had in my head before standing there.

The Muslim Quarter gave the city its noise: lights, crowds, skewers, food stalls, and the feeling that the street itself was moving. Xi’an was not just something to see. It was something to stand inside.

The Bell Tower at night gave the city a final image: old center, lights, movement, and that feeling that the trip had become very real.

Shanghai felt like another trip inside the trip. After older, slower, heavier places, it arrived with a different register: social, cinematic, electric.

The Bund at sunset and at night made the city feel staged without being fake. Shanghai did not replace the old China from the first part of the trip. It added another layer.