I wasn’t supposed to return to Beijing. The day I landed at China’s Ningbo Lishe Airport， in the city where my father had been living as an expat for a decade， my itinerary had already been set. I intended to stay with dad for a few days before setting off on a solo backpacking trip across the country： Beijing for a week， followed by Chengdu， Guilin， and then some days trekking through Huangshan （Yellow Mountain）. After three weeks， I’d make my way back to Ningbo for my flight home to Mumbai.
　　However， unplanned trips are often the best ones. Only a week in Beijing –living at a backpackers’ hostel in vibrant Dongcheng District， eating until I could burst， ambling down hutongs （narrow alleys）， taking the subway to far-off neighborhoods， chugging Yanjing Beer on the street at midnight with friends I had made in the city – just wasn’t long enough.
　　The second I boarded my flight to Chengdu， I missed Beijing， and I couldn’t figure out why. Chengdu was so much greener， after all， with cleaner air. It was sunnier， less crowded， and the locals seemed so much more relaxed than Beijingers had been. But still， all through my Chengdu trip， and then again while I was trekking up the Yellow Mountain， I found myself itching to go back， just for a few more days.
　　And then it struck me： Beijing reminded me of home. With its large expat and tourist population， it was， like Mumbai， a melting-pot of cuisines and cultures from around the world. I could eat my fill of zhájiàngmiàn （noodles with fried soy bean paste） one afternoon， and then the same evening， pop into a Tex-Mex place or have shawarma from a Middle Eastern joint if I wanted. Walking down a street meant eavesdropping on conversations in a string of languages. Its energy was palpable， and it was remarkably safe for women. I never thought I’d take a cab to my hostel at 3：30 a.m. in a foreign city， all by myself， but I did in Beijing without a worry.
　　I guess I should have expected that in the capital of a country， I would find the“We’re All In This Together” philosophy and its creation of some of the most generous， helpful people.




　　Staff at my favourite breakfast place would patiently and playfully help me select the usual random assortment of whatever-looks-most-interesting to be piled on my plate each day as I pointed to random items， muttering “zhège” （this） and “nàge”（that one） like a crazy person. A woman sent her sweet daughter to the counter to assist me in ordering the giant dumpling I had been eyeing on their table. Kathy from my hostel gave me her phone charger when mine broke and insisted I keep it. Chang Fung helped me find the restaurant I was looking for by leading me to its front door， despite the fact that it was far out of her way. Such people make a place special， and I was fortunate to meet those who made me feel perfectly at home.
　　Beijing is the kind of city that takes you in and gifts you some lovely memories. It has a modern， fast-growing side as well as parts that recall its long， complex history. Tasting tarantulas and fried snake at the Wangfujing food market， haggling for curios at Panjiayuan antique market， spending birthdays on the Great Wall at Mutianyu， marvelling at the sheer gorgeousness of the Summer Palace， learning to make dumplings from the sweet old Mrs. He – Beijing brought me adventure and a heaping serving of unforgettable stories. My fortnight in the capital still feels too short， and hopefully， I will be able to “Ni hao” again soon.