Hidden Corners of Shanghai: Small Joys That Locals Love in 2025

Walking down a narrow lane in the old French Concession, you catch the faint smell of roasted beans drifting from under the shade of plane trees. The street outside feels still, except for the crunch of bicycle wheels and the clink of porcelain cups inside a tucked-away café. It’s not the Shanghai most visitors picture. Forget the glare of the Oriental Pearl or the Bund’s neon skyline for a moment. This is another Shanghai—slower, softer, built from the details you stumble upon when you step off the main streets. These hidden corners show the city’s small joys, the ones locals keep close yet don’t mind sharing if you wander far enough.

I had my favorites, but you can see what caught other eyes here.

The Back Alley Cafés Near Fuxing Park

Behind Fuxing Park, the side alleys are lined with cafés no bigger than living rooms. Their prices often come in cheaper than a Starbucks latte, but the care is obvious. Owners pour hand-drip coffee slowly, often chatting about beans as if they were old friends. You sit on a mismatched wooden chair, the sunlight filtering through iron-grilled windows, and time feels less rushed.

What makes these cafés special is how they balance Shanghai’s dual personality. Step outside and you’ll see tall glass towers catching the sun; step back in, and the old wooden doors and stone-framed shikumen remind you of a slower city that still lingers. Locals come here to read, to work quietly, or just to sit with nothing but a notebook and a coffee cup.

For many, these cafés aren’t about caffeine at all but about belonging. They reflect Shanghai’s softer side, where global trends meet local nostalgia. It’s a corner of the city that reminds you it’s not only about scale but about texture, too.

Late-Night Baozi in Yangpu

Around one in the morning, in a back street of Yangpu, a small steamer pushes out clouds of white vapor. A line forms—construction workers still in their dust-stained jackets, students fresh out of late study sessions. Each baozi costs just 2 RMB, still warm enough to sting your fingers. Bite in, and the broth inside spills, rich with pork and ginger.

This isn’t the Shanghai you see in glossy restaurant guides. There are no menus in English, no waiters in suits, no skyline view. But here, under buzzing streetlights, you feel the heartbeat of the city. The baozi vendor works quickly, folding dough with muscle memory, and customers lean in close just to stay warm.

It’s a reminder that Shanghai’s best meals aren’t always found behind high glass doors. Sometimes, the truest flavor of a place is in a paper bag, eaten standing on the curb at midnight. Tourists chase rooftop bars, but locals know the joy of hot food at a cold hour.

I’ve wrapped my walk, but you can catch the rest of the list I found here.

A Rooftop View That Outsiders Miss

Most visitors head straight to The Bund for skyline shots. But the view that sticks in your memory often comes from the less polished rooftops. In Hongkou, an old apartment block has a rooftop that looks almost unfinished—pipes exposed, concrete chipped. Yet from there, the city spreads out raw and unfiltered. You see the glittering towers in Pudong, yes, but also the laundry lines sagging between balconies, and the railway tracks slicing through neighborhoods. It feels like a double exposure: Shanghai polished and Shanghai lived-in.

One evening I climbed up just before sunset, carrying a cheap beer from a corner store. The sky shifted from pale pink to bruised purple, and the sound of traffic below blurred into something steady, like a background track. A neighbor watered plants in cracked pots, barely glancing at the skyline everyone else travels thousands of miles to see. That moment—ordinary, even messy—was more honest than any glossy postcard. And honestly, that’s the Shanghai that lingers with you.