It’s 9.30pm on my 5th and final night in Shanghai.
Like a crazy woman on a mission, I ditched my cosy dorm room bed, ran out into the street and strode around the block to Jing’An Temple in my neon orange pyjama top, jeans and my freshly washed hair slapping against my face.
I looked insane.
Not even the warm hue of the Gucci neon signs or the ultra-chic locals, fresh from after-work drinks, could drown me out.
Because I’ve eaten too many dumplings and my brain is clouded with oodles of that oh so delicious baozi bread…?
Nope. I think I’ve fallen for Shanghai.