Beijing, China

Beijing became a brief stop on my long route from Spain to Australia, a familiar city that I’ve now visited three times but still manages to surprise me. I knew it would be cold in January, but stepping out into minus six degrees was a shock I hadn’t quite prepared for. Even holding the camera felt like a small battle, and taking photos turned into a test of how long my fingers could last before retreating into my pockets.

With only about eighteen hours in the city, I focused on places I hadn’t seen before. The CCTV Tower, with its bold, impossible geometry, looked even more dramatic against the crisp winter sky. Later, the Olympic Park felt almost otherworldly in the cold, its wide open spaces quiet and still, the Bird’s Nest and Water Cube standing like monuments to a different era of ambition.

There wasn’t time for much more, but that was fine. This visit wasn’t about ticking off sights; it was a day to break up the long journey, stretch my legs, and reconnect briefly with a city I’ve come to know in fragments. Even in the freezing air, Beijing offered its own kind of energy, a reminder that some places stay interesting no matter how short the visit.