- August in Nanjing defies expectations: extreme heat replaces mild warmth, disrupting normalcy and comfort.
- Nanjing’s summer is unbearably hot, surpassing other global hotspots with its intense, humid 38ยฐC (feels like 48ยฐC).
- Winter in Nanjing offers little relief, as indoor heating makes it feel hotter than summer, creating a paradoxical climate.
- The essay reflects on Nanjing’s heat as a metaphor for global stress, climate change, and life’s relentless pressures.
Arriving in August in a new city in the Northern Hemisphere should be a well-judged exercise: quieter, as most holidays are over; the weather should be warm, the delectable sighings of early autumn beginning to peak through some cooler days.
8ๆๆต่พพๅๅ็็ไธไธชๆฐๅๅธๅบ่ฏฅๆฏไธๆฌก็ป่ฟๆทฑๆ็็ปไน ๏ผๆดๅฎ้๏ผๅ ไธบๅคงๅคๆฐๅๆ้ฝ็ปๆไบ๏ผๅคฉๆฐๅบ่ฏฅๅพๆๅ๏ผๅ็ง็็พๅณๅนๆฏๅจไธไบๅ็ฝ็ๆฅๅญ้ๅผๅง่พพๅฐ้กถๅณฐใ
It should. But Nanjing decides, like a spoilt middle child throwing a tantrum, like a violent spark creeping up on dry grass, that a normal and happy summer is not for enjoyment.
ๅบ่ฏฅ็ใ ไฝๅไบฌๅณๅฎ๏ผๅฐฑๅไธไธช่ขซๅฎ ๅ็ไธญ้ดๅญฉๅญๅ่พๆฐ๏ผๅฐฑๅๆดๅ็็ซ่ฑๅจๅนฒ็ฅ็่ๅฐไธ็ฌ่กไธๆ ท๏ผไธไธชๆญฃๅธธ่ๅฟซไน็ๅคๅคฉไธๆฏไธบไบไบซๅ็ใ
For it is safe to say that arriving in Nanjing in August is HOT.
ๅ ไธบๅฏไปฅ่ฏๅฎๅฐ่ฏด๏ผ8ๆๅฐ่พพๅไบฌๅพ็ญใ
For those who have never experienced a summer in a furnace city, let me again repeat, without any elaboration or tautological exaggeration or hyperbolic imagination, that Nanjing is Hot; Nanjing is Scorching, it is Boiling, it is Sizzling and Blazing and Sweltering; it is Fiery and Burning and Boiling and Torrid.
ๅฏนไบ้ฃไบไปๆชๅจ็ๅๅบฆ่ฟ่ฟๅคๅคฉ็ไบบๆฅ่ฏด๏ผ่ฎฉๆๅๆฌก้ๅคไธ้๏ผๆฒกๆไปปไฝ้่ฟฐๆ้่ฟฐ็ๅคธๅผ ๆๅคธๅผ ็ๆณ่ฑก๏ผๅไบฌๆฏ็ญ็๏ผๅไบฌๆฏ็ผ็ญ็๏ผๆฏๆฒธ่ พ็๏ผๆฏๅถๅถ็๏ผๆฏ็ฝ็ญ็๏ผๆฏ็ผ็ญ็๏ผๆฏ็ผ็ญ็๏ผๆฏๆฒธ่ พ็๏ผๆฏ็็ญ็ใ
Reflecting on this heat over this winter, I wonder if it is just a warped nostalgia taking hold in my mind, trying to recall the baking of one’s soul; surely I embellish. Indeed, it was not that unpleasant my cognitive dissonance argues. Perhaps I am like Scout in To Kill a Mockingbird, wistfully reflecting that โSomehow, it was hotter thenโ. Yet, like a sizzling nightmare, I have no doubt the heat will return as a destroyer of our comfortable worlds.
ๅๆ่ฟไธชๅฌๅคฉ็็็ญ๏ผๆๆณ็ฅ้่ฟๆฏๅฆๅชๆฏไธ็งๆญๆฒ็ๆๆงๅจๆ่ๆตทไธญ๏ผ่ฏๅพๅๅฟ่ตทไธไธชไบบ็ต้ญ็็็ค๏ผๆๅฝ็ถไผ็พๅใ ็็กฎ๏ผๆ็่ฎค็ฅๅคฑ่ฐๅนถๆฒกๆ้ฃไนไปคไบบไธๅฟซใ ไน่ฎธๆๅฐฑๅใๆๆญปไธๅช็ฅๆด้ธใไธญ็็ซฅๅญๅ๏ผๆทๅทๅฐๅๅฟ็โไธ็ฅๆ็๏ผ้ฃๆถๆด็ญโใ ็ถ่๏ผๅฐฑๅไธๅบ็ผ็ญ็ๅฉๆขฆไธๆ ท๏ผๆๆฏซไธๆ็๏ผ็ญ้ไผๅๆงๆฏๆไปฌ่้ไธ็ไธๆ ทๅๆฅใ
Because Nanjing in Summer is Hot.
ๅ ไธบๅไบฌๅคๅคฉๅพ็ญใ
We are fairly well-travelled and have experienced a fair amount of hot summers. We have sweltered through the humidity of a Durban and New York and a Caribbean Coast and a Russian Summer; humidity that clings and claws at your pores. We have been to Death Valley and Kruger National Park and the Namibian desert; all dry, all scorching, all around the 40 Celsius mark.
ๆไปฌ็ปๅธธๆ ่ก๏ผไน็ปๅ่ฟ็ธๅฝๅค็็็ญๅคๅคฉใ ๆไปฌๅจๅพท็ญๅ็บฝ็บฆใๅ ๅๆฏๆตทๆตทๅฒธๅไฟ็ฝๆฏๅคๅคฉ็ๆฝฎๆนฟไธญ้ท้ทไธ่ฟ๏ผๆนฟๆฐ็ฒๅจไฝ ็ๆฏๅญ้ใ ๆไปฌๅป่ฟๆญปไบก่ฐทใๅ ้ฒๆ ผๅฝๅฎถๅ ฌๅญๅ็บณ็ฑณๆฏไบๆฒๆผ ๏ผๅ จ้จๅนฒ็ฅ๏ผๅ จ้จ็ผ็ญ๏ผๅจๅด้ฝๆฏ40ๆๆฐๅบฆใ
And yet, they never came close to the heavy heat of a Nanjing Summer. A 38 humid heat (real-feel of 48) where a 100-metre walk destroys any vestige of what is normal.
็ถ่๏ผไปไปฌไปๆชๆฅ่ฟๅไบฌๅคๅคฉ็้ ทๆใ 38ๅบฆ็ๆฝฎๆนฟ็ญ้๏ผ็ๅฎๆ่งไธบ48ๅบฆ๏ผ๏ผๆญฅ่ก100็ฑณไผ็ ดๅไปปไฝๆญฃๅธธ็ถๆ็็่ฟนใ
Any outside activity becomes, to echo Gatsby, a reality where โin this heat, every extra gesture feels like an affront to the common store of lifeโ.
ๅผๅบGatsby๏ผไปปไฝๅค้จๆดปๅจ้ฝ่ฎๆไบไธๅ็พๅฏฆ๏ผๅณใๅจ้็จฎ็็ฑ็ๅคฉๆฐฃ่ฃก๏ผๆฏไธๅ้กๅค็ๅงฟๆ ้ฝๆ่ฆบๅๆฏๅฐ็ๆดป็ๆฎ้ๅๅบ็ไพฎ่พฑใใ
This heat means that if one could enter Nanjing into Greek mythology, Helios would be the name with which our stifling myths and legends concur. Nanjing personified would be standing inside a stuffy bar, steamily dragging on a cigarette with a smouldering intensity, feverish eyes promising both passion and peril, leaving delirium and desire in their wake.
่ฟ็ง็ญๅบฆๆๅณ็๏ผๅฆๆไบบไปฌๅฏไปฅ่ฟๅ ฅๅไบฌ่ฟๅ ฅๅธ่ ็ฅ่ฏ๏ผ่ตซๅฉไฟๆฏๅฐๆฏๆไปฌไปคไบบ็ชๆฏ็็ฅ่ฏๅไผ ่ฏด็ๅๅญใ ๅไบฌ็ไบบๆ ผๅฐ็ซๅจ้ท็ญ็้ ๅง้๏ผ็ญๆฐ่ พ่ พๅฐๆฝ็็๏ผ็ญๆฐ่ พ่ พ็็ผ็ๆฟ่ฏบ็ๆฟๆ ๅๅฑ้ฉ๏ผ็ไธ่ฐตๅฆๅๆฌฒๆใ
Once again: Nanjing in Summer is Hot.
ๅไธๆฌก๏ผๅไบฌๅคๅคฉๅพ็ญใ
And what does Nanjing offer in the way of refreshing oneself amid this kiln? Nanjing offers Heat. Hot beer. Hot Water. Hot Pots. There is a romanticist elegy waiting to be written about heroically surviving a Nanjing summer walk and finally arriving at an oasis of a restaurant, gasping for something to drink, and having warm beer served to remind you that, like life, one should never expect comfort in this level of heat.
ๅไบฌๅจ่ฟไธช็ช็ไธญๆ็ฅ็ๆนๅผๆฏไปไน๏ผ ๅไบฌๆไพ็ญ็ซใ ็ฑๅค้ ใ ็ญๆฐดใ ็ซ้ ใ ๆไธไธชๆตชๆผซไธปไน็่ผๆญ็ญๅพ ็ๅ๏ผ่ฎฒ่ฟฐไบๅจๅไบฌ็ๅคๅญฃๆฃๆญฅไธญ่ฑๅๅฐๅนธๅญไธๆฅ๏ผๆๅๅฐ่พพไธๅฎถ้คๅ ็็ปฟๆดฒ๏ผๅ็็ฒๆฐๆณๅ็นไธ่ฅฟ๏ผๅนถๅไธ็ญๅค้ ๏ผๆ้ไฝ ๏ผๅฐฑๅ็ๆดปไธๆ ท๏ผไบบไปฌๆฐธ่ฟไธๅบ่ฏฅๆๆๅจ่ฟ็ง้ซๆธฉไธๆๅฐ่้ใ
To be fair, there is a Winter to provide respite. And this winter should be cold. And yes, indeed, experiencing my first Nanjing Winter, I have seen these gleams of coldโmy thin South African blood has struggled on walks and duties outside in the frigidness; my multiple, and multiplying, clothing layers are a source of amusement to those born in lands where snow is their right.
ๅ ฌๅนณๅฐ่ฏด๏ผๆไธไธชๅฌๅคฉๅฏไปฅๆไพๅๆฏ็ๆบไผใ ่ฟไธชๅฌๅคฉๅบ่ฏฅๅพๅทใ ๆฏ็๏ผ็็กฎ๏ผ็ปๅไบๆ็็ฌฌไธไธชๅไบฌๅฌๅคฉ๏ผๆ็ๅฐไบ่ฟไบๅฏๅท็ๅ ่โโๆ็ฆๅผฑ็ๅ้่ก็ปๅจๅฏๅท็ๅคฉๆฐ้ๅจๅค้ขๆฃๆญฅๅๅผ็ญๆถๆฃๆ๏ผๆ็ๅคๅฑ่กฃๆๅฑๅ ๅ ๅ ๏ผๆฏ้ฃไบๅบ็ๅจ้ชๆฏไปไปฌๆๅฉ็ๅๅฐไธ็ไบบ็ๅจฑไนๆฅๆบใ
However, this cold is survivable. It is, actually, more than survivable because, to reiterate a point, Nanjing is Hot. Part of the irony of Nanjingโs heat is that getting cold can almost feel impossible.
็ถ่๏ผ่ฟ็งๆๅๆฏๅฏไปฅ็ๅญ็ใ ไบๅฎไธ๏ผ่ฟๆฏๅฏไปฅ็ๅญ็๏ผๅ ไธบ๏ผ้็ณไธ็น๏ผๅไบฌๅพ็ญใ ๅไบฌ็็ญ็้จๅ่ฎฝๅบๆฏ๏ผๅคฉๆฐๅๅทๅ ไนๆฏไธๅฏ่ฝ็ใ
It is as if the latent summer heat does not actually disappear, but instead seems to seep into every air-conditioner and radiator and underfloor heating, waiting for an opportunity to expel its feverish breath once more.
ไปฟไฝๅคๅญฃ็้ๆง็ญ้ๅฎ้ ไธๅนถๆฒกๆๆถๅคฑ๏ผ่ๆฏไผผไนไผ่ฟๅ ฅๆฏไธช็ฉบ่ฐใๆฃ็ญๅจๅๅฐๆ๏ผ็ญๅพ ๆบไผๅๆฌกๆๅบๅฎ็็ญ็ๆฐๆฏใ
Because Winter in Nanjing is Hot.
ๅ ไธบๅไบฌ็ๅฌๅคฉๅพ็ญใ
Dare I say that, at times, Winter is hotter than the summer, as you struggle to cool down in any indoor place. Entering a building after a brisk walk makes one feel attacked; you will be roasted alive. Everywhere, no thermostat is set at a pleasant temperature (let’s say, 22) but on a โNanjing Summer Maxโ. While you sweat and struggle in your thermals and beanie, a Didi trip reminds you there is such a thing as too much hot air. Double glazed windows that donโt open; malls and trains that forget one needs to breathe; a clothing heat, a clanging heat; jackets and jerseys and jumpers over arms and carried around echoing the irony that it is all-day-hot as the snow approaches outside.
ๆๆข่ฏด๏ผๆๆถๅฌๅคฉๆฏๅคๅคฉๆด็ญ๏ผๅ ็บไฝ ๅจไปปไฝๅฎคๅ ้ฝๅชๅ้ๆธฉใ ่ฝปๅฟซๅฐ่ตฐๅฎๅ่ฟๅ ฅไธๆ ๅปบ็ญ๏ผไผ่ฎฉไบบๆๅฐๅๅฐๆปๅป๏ผไฝ ไผ่ขซๆดปๆดป็คๆญปใ ๅจไปปไฝๅฐๆน๏ผ้คไบโๅไบฌๅคๅญฃๆๅคงๅผโไนๅค๏ผๆฒกๆๆๆธฉๅจ่ฎพ็ฝฎไธบๅฎไบบ็ๆธฉๅบฆ๏ผๆฏไน๏ผ22๏ผใ ๅฝไฝ ๆฑๆตๆต่๏ผ็ฉฟ็ไฟๆ่กฃๅ่ดๅฐผๅธฝๆฃๆๆถ๏ผๆปดๆปดไนๆ ๆ้ไฝ ๏ผ็ฉบๆฐ่ฟ็ญใ ๅๅฑ็ป็็ชๆไธๅผ๏ผๅๅบๅ็ซ่ฝฆๅฟ่ฎฐไบไบบไปฌ้่ฆๅผๅธ๏ผ่กฃๆ็็ญ้๏ผ็ ฐ็ ฐ็็ญ้๏ผๅคนๅ ใ็่กฃๅๆฏ่กฃๆซๅจๆ่ไธ๏ผๅๅคๆบๅธฆ๏ผๅผๅบ็่ฎฝๅบ็ๆฏ๏ผๅฝๅค้ข็้ชไธด่ฟๆถ๏ผไธๆดๅคฉ้ฝๅพ็ญใ
Nanjing is Hot. I Should, therefore, want to highlight that the best metaphors write themselves and allow a mixing of idioms and anecdotes and some hyperbolic resonances to the everyday figurative language that life can buy.
ๅไบฌๅพ็ญใ ๅ ๆญค๏ผๆๆณๅผบ่ฐ็ๆฏ๏ผๆๅฅฝ็้ๅปๆฏ่ชๅทฑๅ็๏ผๅนถๅ ่ฎธๅฐๆ่ฏญๅ่ฝถไบไปฅๅไธไบๅคธๅผ ็ๅ ฑ้ธฃไธ็ๆดปๅฏไปฅ่ดญไนฐ็ๆฅๅธธๅ ท่ฑก่ฏญ่จๆททๅๅจไธ่ตทใ
I Should want to mention how, when Shakespeare wrote of โhot daysโ leading to โmad blood stirringโ, we can all picture the moment: tempers up, anger swelling, and sweat drenching.
ๆๆณๆไธไธ๏ผๅฝ่ๅฃซๆฏไบๅๅฐโ็็ญ็ๆฅๅญโๅฏผ่ดโ็ฏ็็่กๆถฒๆ ๅจโๆถ๏ผๆไปฌ้ฝๅฏไปฅๆณ่ฑก้ฃไธๅป๏ผ่พๆฐๆด่บ๏ผๆคๆ่จ่๏ผๆฑๆตๆต่ใ
I Should, accordingly, begin to mention the global situation we find ourselves in; how we are indeed, living in a world of growing heat, beyond the vestiges of the temperature we live.
ๅ ๆญค๏ผๆๅบ่ฏฅๅผๅงๆๅฐๆไปฌๆๅค็ๅ จ็ๅฑๅฟ๏ผๆไปฌ็กฎๅฎ็ๆดปๅจไธไธช่ถๆฅ่ถ็ญ็ไธ็้๏ผ่ถ ่ถไบๆไปฌ็ๆดป็ๆธฉๅบฆ็็่ฟนใ
The growing scorch of wars and rumours of wars drive in some way the despair and loneliness epidemic of worry and stress, making us frogs slowly seeing ourselves boiling alive.
ๆฅ็็็็ๆไบๅๆไบ่ฐฃ่จๅจๆ็ง็จๅบฆไธๆจๅจไบๆ ๅฟงๅๅๅ็็ปๆๅๅญค็ฌ็ๆต่ก๏ผ่ฎฉๆไปฌ้่ๆ ขๆ ข็ๅฐ่ชๅทฑๆดปไบใ
I Should write of the fires plaguing so much of the world, the climate growing hotter and hotter, which ties in with the fury of the modern worldโs driving-fire for success.
ๆๆ่ฉฒๅฏซ้ๆผๅฐๆพไธ็ๅคง้จๅๅฐๅ็็ซ็ฝ๏ผๆฐฃๅ่ถไพ่ถ็ฑ๏ผ้่็พไปฃไธ็ๆๅไน็ซ็ๆคๆ่ฏ็ตกๅจไธ่ตทใ
I Should metaphorically speak of Nanjing; the paradoxical mix with this coldness echoing the story of history emerging amid modern globalisation. A hot high-speed train running parallel to glacial Ancient tombs; forgotten iced artefacts over 3000 years old, available to touch with a hot hand.
ๆๅบ่ฏฅ้ๅปๅฐ่ฐ่ฎบๅไบฌ๏ผ็็พ็ๆททๅไธ่ฟ็งๅทๆผ ๅผๅบไบ็ฐไปฃๅ จ็ๅไธญๅบ็ฐ็ๅๅฒๆ ไบใ ไธ่พไธๅฐๅทๅคๅขๅนณ่ก่ฟ่ก็็ญ้ซ้ๅ่ฝฆ๏ผ่ขซ้ๅฟ็ๅฐๆ็ฉๆ3000ๅคๅนด็ๅๅฒ๏ผๅฏไปฅ็จ็ญๆ่งฆๆธใ
I Should segue to my previous article about how the life of fastness drives the heat within oneself. We Should discuss how this heat leads to the deeper, hotter questions we ask: are we good enough; do we have enough time? This questioning heat rises metaphorically, and in what we experience, we all eventually look upwards to see eternal flame.
ๆๅบ่ฏฅไปๆไธไธ็ฏๆ็ซ ไธญ่ฏด่ตท๏ผๅ ณไบ็ดงๅบ็็ๆดปๅฆไฝ้ฉฑๅจ่ชๅทฑๅ ๅฟ็็ญ้ใ ๆไปฌๅบ่ฏฅ่ฎจ่ฎบ่ฟ็ง็ญๅบฆๅฆไฝๅฏผ่ดๆไปฌๆๅบๆดๆทฑๅฑๆฌกใๆด็ญ็้ฎ้ข๏ผๆไปฌ่ถณๅคๅฅฝๅ๏ผๆไปฌๆ่ถณๅค็ๆถ้ดๅ๏ผ ่ฟ็ง่ดจ็็็ญ้้ๅปๅฐไธๅ๏ผๅจๆไปฌ็ปๅ็ไบๆ ไธญ๏ผๆไปฌๆ็ป้ฝๅไธ็๏ผ็ๅฐๆฐธๆ็็ซ็ฐใ
I Should.
ๆๅบ่ฏฅใ
I Should be querying these questions, forging these links, and starting these sparks of discussion.
ๆๅบ่ฏฅ่ฏข้ฎ่ฟไบ้ฎ้ข๏ผๅปบ็ซ่ฟไบ้พๆฅ๏ผๅนถๅผๅง่ฟไบ่ฎจ่ฎบ็็ซ่ฑใ
But Nanjing is Hot. And all the above โShouldsโ require energy; and energy means work; and work means sweat; and sweat reminds me that Nanjing is Hot.
ไฝๆฏๅไบฌๅพ็ญใ ไธ่ฟฐๆๆโๅบ่ฏฅโ้ฝ้่ฆ่ฝ้๏ผ่ฝ้ๆๅณ็ๅทฅไฝ๏ผๅทฅไฝๆๅณ็ๆฑๆฐด๏ผๆฑๆฐดๆ้ๆๅไบฌๅพ็ญใ
So today I Shanโt; instead, I will just quietly close my laptop, wander in hope of an oasis of cold and try my best to find an icy beer.
ๆไปฅไปๅคฉๆไธไผ๏ผ็ธๅ๏ผๆไผๆๆๅฐๅ ณไธๆ็็ฌ่ฎฐๆฌ็ต่๏ผๅจๅฏๅท็็ปฟๆดฒไธญๅพๅพ๏ผๅนถๅฐฝๅๅฏปๆพๅฐๅค้ ใ
