Chengdu, 2004

I invented that translation myself: this must be the sharpest cuisine in China. It had taken four days to get here from home, by train, plane and train. I breathed in the hot, spicy air and understood that this city alone was worth the journey.

I had expected a remote province and people in straw hats. Instead: plum branches painted the full height of skyscrapers, shrubs clipped into the shape of characters, rickshaws, neon and antique shops. An Asian city inlaid with modern technology. The only provincial thing was the price: ten dollars for a room for two.

In a cheap dumpling house the reusable wooden chopsticks stood in a grubby cup, visibly chewed. We sterilised the most decent ones over a lighter and pushed our squeamishness down into the subconscious.