Almost Lover: A Solo Journey Through Yunnan

Destination: Yunnan Province, China
Travel Dates: May 16–19, 2014
Duration: 4 days
Travel Style: Solo
Photography: iPhone + Instagram, Canon 5D Mark II

Introduction: When Heartbreak Meets the Open Road

There's a peculiar magic to Yunnan—a place where broken hearts go to mend, where the air is thin enough to make you forget, and the sun is bright enough to remind you that life goes on. I've heard it said that all wounds come from love, and all joy does too. Perhaps that's why so many of us wanderers find ourselves here, searching for something we can't quite name.

I spent three days in a darkened room, curtains drawn, listening to Jasmine Thompson's Almost Lover on repeat. When I finally pulled back the fabric, the sunlight hit me like a revelation—so brilliant it hurt. That's when I knew it was time to go.

This wasn't my first trip to Yunnan. Six months earlier, in November, I had fled here after a heartbreak, hoping distance would heal what proximity couldn't. That escape failed spectacularly. The wounds lingered, the strings remained attached. But this time felt different. On the morning of my departure, the person I loved—the one who had caused both my deepest joy and my sharpest pain—looked at me and said, "Remember last time? We put on quite a show at Hongqiao Airport."

"I remember," I replied. "And Pudong too."

"Looks like our melodrama is taking over all of Shanghai."

In that moment, I knew. This journey would be our final goodbye.

Day 1: Arrival and the Promise of Solitude

The Flight to Lijiang

My flight departed Shanghai at 4:25 PM. A friend drove me to the airport—and promptly got a parking ticket while seeing me off. Classic. I, true to form, had forgotten something essential: my phone charger. Not just once, but on a multi-day trip. My brain has a habit of going on vacation without me.

By 8:40 PM, I touched down in Lijiang. A local friend whisked me away for a late-night snack—because nothing says "fresh start" like noodles at 10 PM.

The Hidden Sanctuary: Guiyin Inn

My home for the next two nights was a place I secretly christened "Guiyin Mountain Villa" (though its official name is Guiyin Inn, Branch 2). Tucked at the entrance of Dayan Ancient Town, it was everything I needed: quiet, peaceful, and wrapped in an air of mystery.

The pathway leading to my room felt like a passage into a secret garden—narrow, winding, and lined with the promise of discovery. I've always been drawn to corners and hidden spaces, and this place understood that instinct. The innkeeper clearly had a passion for tea; there were tea sets in the lobby, in the courtyard garden, and even in my room. Every detail whispered thoughtfulness.

My room was a Garden View King, priced at 620 RMB per night. I'm admittedly a bit of a clean freak, but this place passed every test. The bed felt like home—not like a hotel at all. I sank into it and didn't want to leave.

Day 2: Wandering Without a Map

The Big Waterwheel and a Wish

Morning came with a familiar sight: the iconic Big Waterwheel of Lijiang. I'd seen it before, but this time, I found myself making a wish. Maybe I'd make the same wish at every landmark I visit around the world. Stubbornness, I've learned, isn't always a virtue—but I can't seem to shake it.

When locals asked, "Where's your Duan Yu?" (a playful reference to a love interest from Chinese martial arts lore), I laughed and said, "His Lightness Skill isn't working well today." The truth was simpler: I was still chasing a ghost, still waiting for a prince who might never come.

A Discount Card and a Smile

I stumbled upon a gem: a discount card called "69" that offered 60 to 90 percent off at participating restaurants and shops. For 69 RMB, it was a steal for someone like me—a self-proclaimed foodie and shopaholic.

My first stop? A café called Old Love Music Bar. I chose it purely for the chair—a sun-drenched spot perfect for lazy afternoon daydreaming. The cake was divine, the coffee strong, and the view panoramic. Sometimes, people say this kind of leisure is superficial, a band-aid on a bullet wound. But how many of us have the courage to sit still and let the sun heal us?

Retail Therapy and Sweet Temptations

I bought a set of local ethnic clothing—because nothing lifts a woman's spirits like new clothes. (Pro tip: If you're going through heartbreak, make sure you have enough savings for a shopping spree. It's the practical side of being an independent woman.)

I couldn't resist the Jiahua Flower Cakes—rose-flavored pastries that are a Lijiang specialty. The shop had walls lined with tea cakes, reminding me of a dear friend who collected them. It's funny how memories surface when you least expect them.

Dinner: A Feast at Rumu

By 7 PM, I was ready for "real" dinner—though I'd already eaten enough to feed a small army. Rumu Restaurant was a revelation. The fish, the tofu, the atmosphere—everything was perfect. The owner, like so many in Lijiang, wasn't a local. He'd come here on vacation and never left.

"I brought my parents here too," he said. "We've been here over a decade. Only went back twice. This is home now."

I thought about that. When the people you love are with you, anywhere can be home.

Nightlife: A Quiet Bar, a Quiet Heart

Lijiang's bars get a bad reputation—people assume it's all about hookups and drunken chaos. But the small bars here are perfect for reflection. I found one with live music, ordered a glass of plum wine, and let my thoughts drift. No expectations. No agenda. Just a girl, a song, and a city that understands sorrow.

Day 3: Mountains, Meadows, and Letting Go

Jade Dragon Snow Mountain

The morning started early. We passed the Qingxi Reservoir, its waters so clear they looked like a mirror for the sky. This was my second time at Jade Dragon Snow Mountain (Yulong Xueshan). Last November, I'd climbed solo to the highest point the cable car could reach—4,506 meters—and then hiked further to 4,680 meters. Every step felt like ten. The altitude is no joke.

This time, I met a group of cheerful elderly tourists and shamelessly joined their photo session. I also finally got a picture with the resident alpaca—a fluffy creature I'd seen on my previous visit.

The show "Impression Lijiang" was a highlight. Set against the mountain backdrop, it was a powerful reminder of the region's rich culture.

The Hidden Gem: Wenhai

After an hour's drive, we reached Wenhai—a meadow that felt like a secret world. I ran through the grass like a madwoman, my friends laughing at my transformation. "First impression: goddess," they said. "After five minutes: complete lunatic."

I embraced it. Sometimes, being a little crazy is the only sane response to heartbreak.

Dinner: Salmon and Smiles

Back in town, I was treated to freshwater salmon (a Lijiang specialty) at a restaurant called Dreamer on Huama Street. The fish was served three ways: sashimi, crispy skin, and in a hot pot. I lost count of how many plates I ate. The raw beef and yak meat were equally delicious.

Warning: The UV rays on the mountain are brutal. Regular sunscreen won't cut it. Use glacier-specific sunscreen, or you'll end up looking like a boiled lobster—as I did.

Evening in Shuhe Ancient Town

Shuhe is quieter than Dayan, more authentic. I wandered into a bookstore run by a man from Gansu Province—another traveler who'd found his home here. The walls were covered with photos from Nepal, Cambodia, Thailand. Postcards of the "Eye of Nepal" stared back at me.

I bought some Dongba paper (a traditional Naxi craft) and wrote a letter. In the end, I didn't send it. Some words are meant to stay unsaid, saved for the right person—the soulmate you haven't met yet.

The Luxurious Lijiang Lisiman Inn

My final night was at Lijiang Lisiman Boutique Inn in Shuhe—a five-star experience for 1,280 RMB. The room was enormous, the bathtub deep enough to drown in, and the courtyard so peaceful I could hear my own heartbeat. I soaked in the tub until my fingers pruned, thinking about everything and nothing.

Day 4: The Long Goodbye

Morning in Shuhe

I woke early, before the tourists arrived. Shuhe at dawn is a different world—the cobblestones still damp from the night, the air carrying the scent of woodsmoke and flowers. I walked the empty streets, saying goodbye to corners I'd grown fond of.

The Last Meal

A simple breakfast of local noodles and tea. The innkeeper asked if I'd be back. "Maybe," I said. "Yunnan has a way of calling people home."

The Flight Out

At the airport, I checked my phone. No messages from him. That was the answer I needed.

As the plane lifted off, I watched Lijiang shrink below me—the ancient town, the snow mountain, the meadows where I'd run like a madwoman. I thought about the letter I'd written but never sent. About the wish I'd made at the waterwheel. About all the ghosts I'd chased across this province.

The woman who arrived in Yunnan four days ago was not the same woman leaving. She was lighter. Freer. Ready to stop waiting for a prince who might never come and start being her own hero.

Practical Tips for the Heartbroken Traveler

Where to Stay

• Guiyin Inn, Branch 2 (Dayan Ancient Town): 620 RMB/night. Quiet, clean, tea-centric. Perfect for solitude.
• Lijiang Lisiman Boutique Inn (Shuhe Ancient Town): 1,280 RMB/night. Luxury splurge. Worth it for the bathtub alone.

What to Eat

- Jiahua Flower Cakes: Rose pastries that taste like edible poetry. - Freshwater Salmon: Three ways—sashimi, crispy skin, hot pot. Find it at Dreamer Restaurant on Huama Street. - Rumu Restaurant: Fish and tofu dishes that will ruin you for all other food.

What to Do

• Jade Dragon Snow Mountain: Go early. Bring glacier sunscreen. The altitude is real.
• Wenhai Meadow: An hour's drive from Lijiang. Run through the grass. It's therapeutic.
• Shuhe Ancient Town: Quieter than Dayan. Better for reflection.
• Dongba Paper Workshop: Buy some. Write a letter. Don't send it.

What to Pack

• Glacier sunscreen (SPF 50+)
• A good book
• An open heart
• Enough savings for retail therapy

Final Thoughts

Yunnan doesn't promise to fix you. It doesn't offer easy answers or quick solutions. What it offers is space—space to breathe, to cry, to laugh, to run through meadows like a lunatic. Space to remember that you were whole before them, and you'll be whole after.

The road doesn't heal all wounds. But it gives you the distance to see them clearly. And sometimes, that's enough.

"All wounds come from love, and all joy does too."

This time, I left Yunnan with both.