Everyone knows Chongqing for its mind-bending, neon-drenched cityscape, a forest of skyscrapers erupting from the hills, bisected by the mighty Yangtze and Jialing rivers. It's a metropolis of hotpot, of spicy aromas filling humid air, and of a dizzying, futuristic energy. But what if I told you that just beyond the reach of the city's sprawling light pollution lies another Chongqing? A Chongqing of quiet stone pathways, of moss-covered courtyards, and of whispers from centuries past. This is the Chongqing of its forgotten ancient villages, and exploring them is one of the most rewarding travel experiences in China today.
This isn't just about seeing old buildings. It's about time travel. It's about understanding the human story that predates the explosive growth of the megacity. These villages, often tucked away in dramatic river gorges or perched precariously on mist-shrouded hillsides, are living museums. They are the keepers of memories, of traditions, and of a slower, more deliberate way of life that is rapidly disappearing. For the discerning traveler, they offer an antidote to the urban frenzy and a profound connection to the soul of this region.
Most journeys into Chongqing's past begin, ironically, at its most famous "ancient" town: Ciqikou. Perched on the banks of the Jialing River, Ciqikou is your introductory course. Once a crucial commercial port known for its porcelain production (hence the name "Porcelain Village"), it's now a bustling, vibrant, and admittedly touristy collection of narrow streets.
Walking the main street is a sensory overload in the best possible way. The air is thick with the scent of freshly ground chili, Sichuan pepper, and simmering broths. Vendors call out, offering samples of local snacks like Chen Ma Po tofu (though the original is in Chengdu, Chongqing's version is fiercer), and sticky rice cakes. Teahouses, their interiors dark with age and smoke, spill out onto the streets, filled with the clatter of mahjong tiles and the low hum of conversation. It's chaotic, it's crowded, and it's incredibly alive.
The real magic of Ciqikou, however, lies in veering off the main drag. Take a random turn up a steep, worn stone staircase, and you'll find yourself in a different world. Here, laundry hangs from bamboo poles, old residents play chess in silent concentration, and the noise of the commercial strip fades to a distant murmur. The Baolun Temple, hidden at the highest point, offers a moment of profound peace and a stunning panoramic view of the river and the modern city skyline in the distance—a perfect juxtaposition of old and new. Ciqikou teaches you the skill you'll need for the villages to come: the ability to look past the obvious and find the quiet, authentic moments.
To truly get off the beaten path, you need to head south of central Chongqing, into the districts like Qijiang. Here, the villages are less restored and more raw, their history etched deeply into every crumbling wall and sagging roof beam.
Dongxi is not so much a village as a fortress of stone. Built during the Ming and Qing dynasties, its entire existence was shaped by its role as a strategic point on a ancient salt transportation route. The architecture is severe and magnificent. The main street is a long, flagstone-paved corridor flanked by towering, fortress-like buildings constructed from massive stone blocks. Elaborately carved wooden windows and doors provide the only ornamentation.
Walking through Dongxi feels like walking through a canyon. You can almost hear the echoes of merchants and salt porters from centuries past. Unlike Ciqikou, there are few souvenir shops here. Life unfolds as it likely has for generations. An old man slowly sweeps his doorstep; a woman washes vegetables in a stone trough fed by a natural spring. The sense of history is palpable and undisturbed. It’s a photographer's dream and a historian's playground.
If Dongxi is a fortress, Zhongfeng is an eagle's nest. This village is famous for its Qinglong Bridge, an impressive, humpbacked stone bridge from the Ming Dynasty, but its real charm lies in its precarious location, clinging to the side of a mountain. The houses are built directly into the cliff face, using the natural rock formations as foundations and walls. Wandering its labyrinthine alleys and countless stone steps is a physical workout, but every turn reveals a new, breathtaking view of the lush valley below.
Zhongfeng feels abandoned in parts, which only adds to its haunting beauty. Vines creep over deserted courtyards, and ferns grow from tiled roofs. Yet, in other sections, life persists stubbornly. It’s a powerful reminder of the resilience of these communities and the challenging environments they mastered. Here, you aren't just a spectator; you are an explorer uncovering a lost world.
To appreciate these villages fully, you must look beyond the buildings. They are repositories of intangible culture and culinary heritage.
The teahouse is the beating heart of any traditional Sichuan and Chongqing community. In the ancient villages, they remain largely unchanged. These are not the stylish, minimalist tea rooms of the city. They are dark, smoky, and filled with the aroma of decades of tea and tobacco. The floors are often littered with sunflower seed shells. Old men spend their entire days here, sipping on hua cha (a strong, fermented tea), reading newspapers, and discussing everything from local politics to their grandchildren.
Sitting in one of these teahouses, perhaps in a village like Tiaoshi or Anju, is to participate in a timeless ritual. Time slows down. For the price of a cup of tea (a few yuan), you can sit for hours, observing the gentle flow of village life. It’s one of the most authentic cultural experiences you can have, a direct window into the social fabric that has held these communities together for centuries.
The food in these villages is a world away from the commercial hotpot chains of downtown. This is where you find the roots of Chongqing cuisine. Look for small, family-run eateries where the menu is whatever was fresh at the market that morning.
You must try La Rou, a smoked and cured bacon that hangs in dark, fragrant strips from the rafters of village homes. It's a preservation method born of necessity and perfected over generations. Suan Cai Ya, a pickle made from the tender shoots of mustard greens, provides a sharp, tangy counterpoint to the rich, smoky bacon. In riverine villages, look for freshly caught fish from the Yangtze tributaries, steamed with pickled chilies and douchi (fermented black beans). Every meal is a lesson in local history, geography, and resourcefulness.
The existence of these villages is precarious. Younger generations are migrating to the cities for education and jobs, leaving behind an aging population. The traditional wooden and stone structures require constant, expensive maintenance. The question of how to preserve these cultural treasures without turning them into sterile museum pieces or overly-commercialized tourist traps is a complex one.
The rise of "slow travel" and cultural tourism offers a potential solution. Travelers are increasingly seeking meaningful, immersive experiences over checklist tourism. This creates an opportunity for community-based tourism. Imagine staying in a carefully restored traditional guesthouse in a village like Zhongfeng, eating meals with a local family, and learning a traditional craft from a village elder. Your tourism dollars go directly into the community, providing an economic incentive for the younger generation to stay and preserve their heritage.
Homestay programs, guided tours led by village residents, and local artisan workshops can become viable economic models. The key is controlled, respectful tourism that values authenticity over volume. It’s about being a guest, not an invader.
As travelers, we have a responsibility. When visiting these fragile places, we must be mindful. We must respect the residents' privacy, tread lightly on the ancient stones, and support local businesses. Buy a bag of hand-ground chili from a village elder, eat at the small family restaurant instead of bringing a packed lunch, and learn a few words of greeting. Our curiosity and respect can be a powerful force for preservation, showing both the residents and local authorities that these places hold immense, irreplaceable value. The forgotten villages of Chongqing are not just relics; they are living, breathing communities with stories to tell. It’s up to us to listen, to explore, and to help ensure their whispers are not lost to the roar of the modern world.
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