Like any good Shanghai resident, I am more or less terrified by the China that exists outside of metro line 3. However, I had been obsessing for months about the municipality of Chongqing, a radically unusual city even by the standards of contemporary China. When I found that I had a spare weekend, I finally took a trip there to explore. Instead of describing my trip, or offering a journalistic take on the city à la Christina Larson, whose piece in Foreign Policy does that more competently than I could hope to, what follows is a series of meditations on Chongqing’s urbanism, in text and images. A Buenos Aires to Shanghai’s Paris, Chongqing has the air of being a forgotten or undiscovered metropolis, completely overshadowed by a more worldly and prominent counterpart. Shanghai’s new cityscape has received thorough attention from photographers such as Greg Girard, but Chongqing hasn’t yet been the focus of such work. Here, I’ve tried to initiate such an exploration of the city

Dreyer, Jacob

English

DigitalCommons@University of Nebraska

University of Nebraska - LincolnDigitalCommons@University of Nebraska - LincolnThe China Beat Blog Archive 2008-2012 China Beat Archive2011Memories of Hyperdevelopment: Chongqing TripReportJacob DreyerFollow this and additional works at: http://digitalcommons.unl.edu/chinabeatarchivePart of the Asian History Commons, Asian Studies Commons, Chinese Studies Commons, andthe International Relations CommonsThis Article is brought to you for free and open access by the China Beat Archive at DigitalCommons@University of Nebraska - Lincoln. It has beenaccepted for inclusion in The China Beat Blog Archive 2008-2012 by an authorized administrator of DigitalCommons@University of Nebraska -Lincoln.Dreyer, Jacob, "Memories of Hyperdevelopment: Chongqing Trip Report" (2011). The China Beat Blog Archive 2008-2012. 911.http://digitalcommons.unl.edu/chinabeatarchive/911Memories of Hyperdevelopment: Chongqing Trip Report January 26, 2011 in Uncategorized by The China Beat | Permalink By Jacob Dreyer Like any good Shanghai resident, I am more or less terrified by the China that exists outside of metro line 3. However, I had been obsessing for months about the municipality of Chongqing, a radically unusual city even by the standards of contemporary China. When I found that I had a spare weekend, I finally took a trip there to explore. Instead of describing my trip, or offering a journalistic take on the city à la Christina Larson, whose piece in Foreign Policy does that more competently than I could hope to, what follows is a series of meditations on Chongqing’s urbanism, in text and images. A Buenos Aires to Shanghai’s Paris, Chongqing has the air of being a forgotten or undiscovered metropolis, completely overshadowed by a more worldly and prominent counterpart. Shanghai’s new cityscape has received thorough attention from photographers such as Greg Girard, but Chongqing hasn’t yet been the focus of such work.  Here, I’ve tried to initiate such an exploration of the city. The development of Chongqing is unprecedented in modern Chinese history: for its scale, for the ambition of its planning, for the rapidity with which it has sought to transform the rural into urban. Not an urban melting pot, Chongqing is a boiling cauldron of energy, analogous to the local specialty, hotpot.  Chongqing hotpot, originally developed by the bangbang men, those whose duty it is to haul loads up endless stairs, froths with heat. The heat setting on this was intermediate. This incarnation of Chongqing (on a scale so much larger than even that of its earlier heyday as a wartime capital for the Guomindang) is a city seemingly summoned entirely from the imagination, a reflection of the most pressing desires of the urbanizing multitudes of China’s hinterland. From the Jiangbei airport, I taxied downtown, staring out of the car’s windows all the while. Out of the mist and fog, a million steeples and towers arose—the metropolitan region of Chongqing has approximately 32 million inhabitants. Sliced away from Sichuan province in 1997, it is part of the central government’s attempt to develop the west. There are so many poor people in China that it would be incomprehensible for all of them to come to Beijing, Shanghai, or the booming factory towns of the Pearl River Delta that include Guangzhou and Shenzhen. Therefore, the government is trying to develop inland metropolises, most notably Chongqing, in order to provide the urban structure perceived as necessary for development. The result is a ghost city, one rendered more ephemeral by the cloud of smoke hovering over the city, one of the most polluted in the world. In Chongqing, myriad phantom possibilities are left half-realized in the form of architecture.  Chongqing skyline on a clear day. A dream zone, a purgatory, a vast terrain linked by every manner of transportation—cablecars, monorails, and boats.  Wharfside. Chongqing is, like Southern California, a series of independent and discreet urban centers that converge around a megalopolitan core (although this core itself is difficult to recognize as such). The city’s culture seems deliberately perverse: a mountain city, the central metaphor is of stairs, and endlessly climbing to reach a new and essentially meaningless place.  Hongyadong public art installation, recalling the history of the city. The intense air pollution means that sunlight is scarce—ironically a benefit, as white skin is deemed beautiful in Chinese culture. I alternately walked and drove past the endless tower blocks, jostling down the pavements seeping with mud. It was hard to comprehend the reality of 32 million separate destinies playing out within a one-hour radius of Jiefangbei (the liberation monument—liberation here from the Japanese, though I like to consider the possibility of a city as a form of liberation). This toxic realm, the food repulsively spicy and oiled, the air unbreathable, cigarette smoke everywhere, even inside of taxicabs—Chongqing was a poisonous hive, swarming with beauty. The thickness of the air, a naturally occurring climactic condition augmented by human activity, made the streets full of misty wraiths—as in Dickens’ London, the fog was so heavy that some days during my visit, I could see no more than 3 feet ahead, even in broad daylight. In the never-ending labyrinth built around a Yangtze littoral, millions of devious plots were incubating—strange glances, ramshackle residences, the pavement periodically interrupted by bonfires. The murky air made it hard to know where the city ended and the countryside began; perhaps nobody knows, for it is constantly in flux. The urban blankness of highways and tower blocks quickly fades into the monotony of the rural without a beat.  Residence seen from the platform of the Jialing cablecar. It becomes clear how the government's advocated “forest Chongqing” can take shape: the city and the junglish mountaintop merge into one in the architecture of Chongqing. Chongqing is a vicinity, a concept of organization. As Jacques Derrida wrote of LA, “[this city] is not anywhere, but it is a singular organization of the experience of ‘anywhere.'” [1] As such, its expansion will be continual and multiple, as the space continues to contort itself into an ever more complex form, one that even as it seems to be a simulacra of other cities (Chongqing, like Shanghai, has a Xintiandi; it even has two Wangfujing’s, one more than Beijing) resembles nothing in particular—a smudge on the horizon, a boiling cloud, a city that proffers utopia and dystopia at every corner. [1] Referenced in Messianic City: Ruins, Refuge, and Hospitality in Derrida, Puspa Damai, Discourse 27.2 and 27.3, p. 68. Wayne State University Press:Detroit, 2007. All images taken by the author. Jacob Dreyer is a writer and photographer based in Shanghai. His work can be found online at www.dreyerprojects.info. Be Sociable, Share!  

Memories of Hyperdevelopment: Chongqing Trip Report

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University of Nebraska - Lincoln
DigitalCommons@University of Nebraska - Lincoln
The China Beat Blog Archive 2008-2012 China Beat Archive
2011
Memories of Hyperdevelopment: Chongqing Trip
Report
Jacob Dreyer
Follow this and additional works at: http://digitalcommons.unl.edu/chinabeatarchive
Part of the Asian History Commons, Asian Studies Commons, Chinese Studies Commons, and
the International Relations Commons
This Article is brought to you for free and open access by the China Beat Archive at DigitalCommons@University of Nebraska - Lincoln. It has been
accepted for inclusion in The China Beat Blog Archive 2008-2012 by an authorized administrator of DigitalCommons@University of Nebraska -
Lincoln.
Dreyer, Jacob, "Memories of Hyperdevelopment: Chongqing Trip Report" (2011). The China Beat Blog Archive 2008-2012. 911.
http://digitalcommons.unl.edu/chinabeatarchive/911
Memories of Hyperdevelopment: Chongqing Trip Report 
January 26, 2011 in Uncategorized by The China Beat | Permalink 
By Jacob Dreyer 
Like any good Shanghai resident, I am more or less terrified by the China that exists outside of metro 
line 3. However, I had been obsessing for months about the municipality of Chongqing, a radically 
unusual city even by the standards of contemporary China. When I found that I had a spare weekend, 
I finally took a trip there to explore. Instead of describing my trip, or offering a journalistic take on the 
city à la Christina Larson, whose piece in Foreign Policy does that more competently than I could hope 
to, what follows is a series of meditations on Chongqing’s urbanism, in text and images. A Buenos 
Aires to Shanghai’s Paris, Chongqing has the air of being a forgotten or undiscovered metropolis, 
completely overshadowed by a more worldly and prominent counterpart. Shanghai’s new cityscape 
has received thorough attention from photographers such as Greg Girard, but Chongqing hasn’t yet 
been the focus of such work.  Here, I’ve tried to initiate such an exploration of the city. 
The development of Chongqing is unprecedented in modern Chinese history: for its scale, for the 
ambition of its planning, for the rapidity with which it has sought to transform the rural into urban. 
Not an urban melting pot, Chongqing is a boiling cauldron of energy, analogous to the local specialty, 
hotpot. 
 
Chongqing hotpot, originally developed by the bangbang men, those whose duty it is to haul loads up endless 
stairs, froths with heat. The heat setting on this was intermediate. 
This incarnation of Chongqing (on a scale so much larger than even that of its earlier heyday as a 
wartime capital for the Guomindang) is a city seemingly summoned entirely from the imagination, a 
reflection of the most pressing desires of the urbanizing multitudes of China’s hinterland. 
From the Jiangbei airport, I taxied downtown, staring out of the car’s windows all the while. Out of the 
mist and fog, a million steeples and towers arose—the metropolitan region of Chongqing has 
approximately 32 million inhabitants. Sliced away from Sichuan province in 1997, it is part of the 
central government’s attempt to develop the west. There are so many poor people in China that it 
would be incomprehensible for all of them to come to Beijing, Shanghai, or the booming factory towns 
of the Pearl River Delta that include Guangzhou and Shenzhen. Therefore, the government is trying to 
develop inland metropolises, most notably Chongqing, in order to provide the urban structure 
perceived as necessary for development. The result is a ghost city, one rendered more ephemeral by 
the cloud of smoke hovering over the city, one of the most polluted in the world. In Chongqing, 
myriad phantom possibilities are left half-realized in the form of architecture. 
 
Chongqing skyline on a clear day. 
A dream zone, a purgatory, a vast terrain linked by every manner of transportation—cablecars, 
monorails, and boats. 
 Wharfside. 
Chongqing is, like Southern California, a series of independent and discreet urban centers that 
converge around a megalopolitan core (although this core itself is difficult to recognize as such). The 
city’s culture seems deliberately perverse: a mountain city, the central metaphor is of stairs, and 
endlessly climbing to reach a new and essentially meaningless place. 
 Hongyadong public art installation, recalling the history of the city. 
The intense air pollution means that sunlight is scarce—ironically a benefit, as white skin is deemed 
beautiful in Chinese culture. 
I alternately walked and drove past the endless tower blocks, jostling down the pavements seeping 
with mud. It was hard to comprehend the reality of 32 million separate destinies playing out within a 
one-hour radius of Jiefangbei (the liberation monument—liberation here from the Japanese, though I 
like to consider the possibility of a city as a form of liberation). This toxic realm, the food repulsively 
spicy and oiled, the air unbreathable, cigarette smoke everywhere, even inside of taxicabs—Chongqing 
was a poisonous hive, swarming with beauty. The thickness of the air, a naturally occurring climactic 
condition augmented by human activity, made the streets full of misty wraiths—as in Dickens’ London, 
the fog was so heavy that some days during my visit, I could see no more than 3 feet ahead, even in 
broad daylight. In the never-ending labyrinth built around a Yangtze littoral, millions of devious plots 
were incubating—strange glances, ramshackle residences, the pavement periodically interrupted by 
bonfires. 
The murky air made it hard to know where the city ended and the countryside began; perhaps nobody 
knows, for it is constantly in flux. The urban blankness of highways and tower blocks quickly fades 
into the monotony of the rural without a beat. 
 Residence seen from the platform of the Jialing cablecar. It becomes clear how the government's advocated “forest 
Chongqing” can take shape: the city and the junglish mountaintop merge into one in the architecture of 
Chongqing. 
Chongqing is a vicinity, a concept of organization. As Jacques Derrida wrote of LA, “[this city] is not 
anywhere, but it is a singular organization of the experience of ‘anywhere.'” [1] As such, its expansion 
will be continual and multiple, as the space continues to contort itself into an ever more complex form, 
one that even as it seems to be a simulacra of other cities (Chongqing, like Shanghai, has a Xintiandi; 
it even has two Wangfujing’s, one more than Beijing) resembles nothing in particular—a smudge on 
the horizon, a boiling cloud, a city that proffers utopia and dystopia at every corner. 
[1] Referenced in Messianic City: Ruins, Refuge, and Hospitality in Derrida, Puspa Damai, Discourse 
27.2 and 27.3, p. 68. Wayne State University Press:Detroit, 2007. 
All images taken by the author. 
Jacob Dreyer is a writer and photographer based in Shanghai. His work can be found online 
at www.dreyerprojects.info. 
Be Sociable, Share! 
 


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