I sat in my hotel room, peering down at the sweeping cityscape below. The night was old, yet Guangzhou had never been livelier. Distant buildings pulsed with flashing patterns, always slightly clashing and off-beat. Close at hand, the sounds of laughter drifted up from a nearby community center, abound with small children awake and active near midnight. 

The intersection below me, however, was the most curious and extraordinary point of observation. It was filled with a multitude of electric scooters and cars which did not quite obey the lights, signs, or markings on the pavement. Frequently, a large mass of scooters would trundle across the street, rapidly approaching crosswalks filled with pedestrians without a hint of slowing down or altering course. I watched this chaos with bated breath, as the scooters expertly wove between people who appeared unperturbed by the streaming mass of 100 mph bikers in their midst. Everyone made it across safely, with some seeming near-misses, and continued on as smoothly as if they were crossing the beach to their picnic blanket.

The next day, my family and I embarked on our first high-speed train ride. I will never forget the sensation of stepping off the crowded escalator and emerging into the station. It was enormous with a towering, lofty roof and a grand, expansive floor. The sheer magnitude of this structure took my breath away, until we realized that our train was arriving in a mere 10 minutes. If the station was not visually impressive enough, it was rendered more breathtaking (literally) by the intensive exercise required to cross from one side to the other. Our destination — another escalator — was a mere pinprick of vague black in the extreme distance which never seemed to get closer. I tripped several times, dropping my hydroflask with a clang and scampering frantically to retrieve it, before we reached the escalator.

In the Chinese train station system, another obstacle must be overcome: the security checkpoint. In order to pass through, one must push their way through a jumbled crowd, as passengers scramble to heave their belongings onto a conveyor belt X-ray scanner. If there is one thing to be learned in China, it is the ability to hold one’s own. Without a firm sense of one’s place, it is easy to become swept away in the crowd, which smoothly parts like water around any obstacle and rushes to take advantage of any weakness. I once slackened my pace slightly, and a hoard of people overtook me without the slightest hesitation, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

After the security checkpoint, consisting of a chaotic blur of passport checks, long lines, and rapidly-administered scanners, we found ourselves, at last, on the platform. Yet all was not yet over: the last breakneck sprint was required to cross to the opposite end of the platform and board the train. Through the cigarette smoke-filled air we ran, harried and breathless, till at last we reached the car.

The next day, we visited Ocean Kingdom in Zhuhai, which holds the Guinness World Record for largest aquarium in the world. The entrance is grand and just a little bit extra, consisting of a sweeping archway and a mile-long screen broadcasting dazzling, multicolored bubbles and sea creatures. The entire park is a crash course in shock and awe: if the entrance is not sufficiently impressive, the sheer scale of the amusement park is certain to take one’s breath away. In China, one often feels diminutive, dwarfed by the massive scale of the surrounding structures and heaving crowds. Never had I felt this ant-like sensation so keenly. 

Everything was painted in discordant, bright colors, such as the conspicuous fountain of cartoon penguins spewing water from their beaks into a vast pool, surmounted by the unexplained mascot of a tiger. Towering over all, the distant form of a monstrous whale shark statue breached into the sky. A large hotel, painted with prominent pastel colors, featured several Nickelodeon-like penguin figures on the roof. It appeared that everything the imagination might conjure was indeed built. The general atmosphere of excitement and liveliness was infectious, yet quickly burned off by the immense quantity of walking between attractions. I often found myself crossing wide, football-sized fields between aquariums, yet somehow, by an apparent miracle, I never witnessed the opposite side of the park. At the end of a grueling 5-hour day, my father announced that we had only observed one-third of the entire Ocean Kingdom. 

On my plane ride back to the U.S., following another intensive and meticulous security check at the airport, I realized that China is indeed its own massive, one-of-a-kind universe. Never on any other trip had I witnessed such consistently large-scale structures or fought actively to keep my footing amongst monstrous crowds and scooter-filled streets. Undoubtedly, this experience has left an indelible mark in my memory, and I will miss the delightful chaos of the Chinaverse.