The Sichuan I know

At an Air China's check-in counter at Shanghai Pudong Airport, the agent took a look at me and asked: "Why? Sichuan? Now?" "Yes," I nodded, "That's home." Yet never have I had such a heavy heart on my way home.

I used to travel by train from Beijing to Sichuan for my summer breaks in college. It's a thirty-two hour ride, starting from the dry and gray industrial north and sweeping horizontally to the arid and sandy west before heading south. When the train started streaking through one after another long tunnels, I knew home was close. The air smelled damper and the sight outside of the window became greener. My heart was instantly filled with joy.

Sichuan sits in a basin, surrounded by giant mountains. The mountains are its bless and its curse. They lock in moist and give the basin abundant rain, which nurtures its rich soil. The Chengdu Plain on which the provincial capital Chengdu sits has been an important grain-producing base since ancient times. Yet the mountains, in older times, isolated Sichuan from the rest of the world. An ancient poet famously lamented: " Roads to Sichuan are harder than the path to the sky." Nowadays, Sichuan is reachable by plane, by train, and even by bus. Curvy and narrow roads are carved on the faces of the rocky mountains. However, those are treacherous rides. The wheels have to navigate between straight down cliffs on one side and occasionally falling rocks on the other, all the while responding to sharp turns. The earthquake shook loose the mountains and caused landslides. After the first wave of tremors, all roads to the epicenter were blocked off.

Despite the difficulty to climb the mountains, Sichuan people spread far and wide, some escaping abject poverty and hardship brought by isolation, others curious about the world on the other side of the mountains. Sichuanese outside of Sichuan are seen as some of the most industrious people. They bring Sichuan cuisine with them wherever they go (which does not, however, include General Zuo's Chicken). Almost all Sichuan dishes are dominated by flaming spiciness and an indescribable fragrance that causes a numbing and tingling sensation on the tongue. Sichuan chefs can blend those two strong flavors seamlessly with a variation of many other spices and bring out the natural flavors of the ingredients. Sichuan people always try to replicate the perfect Sichuan dishes they remember. Yet they are forever lamenting that nothing is as authentic as those they can have at home.

Strangely, just as Sichuanese migrants are known as a hardworking bunch, life in Sichuan is famously slow. Chengdu, with its mild weather, scenic landscape, delicious food, and leisurely pace, is one of the top cities to retire into.

So as the train rumbled through the mountain's endless tunnels, I felt stress gone and heart lighter. There at home, I would meet my childhood friends. Our days were filled with visiting our favorite restaurants and looking for new ones, strolling aimlessly through streets and alleys, tasting all kinds of fruit-flavored drinks, napping, playing poker games or trekking to the countryside. When night came, a breeze chasing away the humid and stifling heat, we would find a roadside grill stall, drink icy beer, munch spicy kabobs and chat deep into the night.

It's no longer the same. The earthquake changed everything. Luckily, family and friends are unhurt, but they are shaken. Tens of thousands have perished. The living are terrorized by aftershocks, fear of nearby dams collapsing, nuclear plants leading, diseases, and tortured by rumors of more strikes to come.

This time, I'm not going back to the Sichuan I know.