Freedom Is a Date with Yourself: A Record of the Beautiful Scenery, Kind People, and Another Self I Met in Yunnan

Introduction: A Solo Journey, a Conversation with the Soul

Some people say that travel is an escape; but I believe travel is a pursuit—a pursuit of unknown landscapes, of unfamiliar faces, and, more than anything, of that true self buried beneath the weight of daily routines. In September 2025, I dragged a nearly 20-kilogram suitcase, lugged a heavy backpack and a drone, and trekked across the highlands of Yunnan for 11 days. From Lijiang to Lugu Lake, from Shangri-La to Kunming, I traveled through four destinations—and also through the fear, loneliness, and growth deep within myself. This journey had no companions, no leisurely plans, yet unexpectedly gifted me with the most stunning scenery, the warmest people, and that long-lost, free-spirited version of myself.

Departure: An Adventure That Began in Chaos

The Airport Fumble and the Fear of Flying

On the day of departure, I dozed off in the ride-sharing car. Waking up groggy, I followed a group of international travelers into the airport, only to realize after circling around that I couldn't find the check-in counter. A staff member asked me whether my departure point was Terminal 2 or Terminal 3. I stared at my booking confirmation for ages without finding the answer, earning me a "you must be an idiot" eye-roll: "This is Terminal 3. You need to go to Terminal 2." I snapped awake instantly, grabbed my luggage, and sprinted—faster than my high school 800-meter dash—all the way to Terminal 2. Even the shuttle bus couldn't keep up with me.

But that was just the beginning. Once aboard the plane, fear washed over me like a tide. Afraid of heights, afraid of dying, afraid of a panic attack—I had been anxious for two months in advance. I tried watching videos, listening to music, reading books—all useless. In the end, I could only sit still and feel the fear engulf my body, enduring until the moment the plane landed, feeling reborn.

The Warmth of a Yi Ethnic Driver

Taking a taxi from Lijiang Airport to my hotel, the driver turned out to be a Yi ethnic woman with deep-set eyes and a high-bridged nose. Her voice was loud, her speech fast, like a chattering sparrow. She juggled phone calls, chatted with me, and cursed the GPS for giving wrong directions all at once. Yet this warm and lively woman told me she didn't dare travel alone, was terrified of flying, and when she did fly, she'd grip her husband's hand so hard it hurt. It dawned on me: human fears are often alike—just different in degree, and they have nothing to do with personality.

Lijiang: First Impressions of Beauty and Surprise

The Relaxed Warmth of Shuhe Ancient Town

After dropping off my luggage, my first stop was Shuhe Ancient Town. Fresh figs, Yunnan tamarind, and Pu'er tea sold by the "cake"—everything felt new. Feeling hungry, I grabbed two freshly baked flower cakes (flower-shaped pastries filled with edible roses), hot and flaky, crispy and crumbly, cheap and delicious.

At a small, empty shop selling flower-shaped earrings and tie-dye earrings, a voice drifted in from the doorway: "This shop is mine too. Let me know if you need anything." I looked up—it was the flower cake shop owner, who then ducked his head back inside. Kind of cute. Busy guy.

I walked into a stylish little store selling hand drums, coffee, and alcohol. It looked expensive. The shop assistant, a girl with a cool haircut, was minding her own business while interacting with a large dog in the store. I asked if the hand drum was a local ethnic minority instrument. She replied in a Taiwanese accent, "The hand drum comes from Indonesia." Then she asked if I was interested. A few casual exchanges, and I could feel her relaxed vibe—running a shop like this must be a happy life.

Passing by a restaurant, I heard a gentle, refined voice asking a customer how the food was, explaining that they hadn't added too many mint leaves for fear out-of-towners wouldn't like it. I followed the voice—it was a chef in an apron chatting with diners. I walked straight in. A chef who loves his work and cares about the customer experience could never make bad food. I ordered a chicken curry rice set meal—costing just over a dozen yuan and came with a free glass of fresh juice. The curry had a distinctive aroma, and the mango juice was pure and authentic. My instincts were right.

After eating, I got something stuck in my teeth and was awkwardly picking at it with a tissue. A waitress noticed and proactively handed me floss, telling me a singer would be performing in ten minutes and not to rush off. What a thoughtful, angelic staff member!

The Night and Loneliness of Lijiang Old Town

After dark, the rain came, and it turned chilly. I bought a plush shawl and planned to wander back to my hotel from the north gate of the old town. At first, I was enjoying myself—buying a "瓦猫" (roof-tile cat figurine), a little tiger ornament, plant-based perfume, and tie-dye hair ties. Many clothing shops were lovely too—flowy fairy-like dresses, cool tomboy styles. If my luggage weren't already full, I'd have bought an outfit. I was wondering why I'd already accumulated so many little trinkets on day one, until I saw a couple—the girl asked the boy if something looked good, and he shook his backpack saying, "It really can't fit any more!"—and it hit me: it's because there was no one around to kill my joy!

Later, the crowds grew thicker, louder, and more suffocating. I accidentally wandered into Bar Street, with all kinds of music and dancing blaring from every direction. It was too noisy. I just wanted to escape. Head down, rushing along, I suddenly heard a song that sounded like it might be by the band Black House (a Chinese indie rock band). I stopped outside a bar, listened for three or four seconds, realized it wasn't them, and felt disappointed. The male singer on stage smiled and waved at me. Startled, I quickly waved back and hurried on.

Jade Dragon Snow Mountain: Loneliness and Awe in the Clouds

Waking Up Early, Seeing Only Fog

I hadn't slept well the night before, waking up frequently. At just past five in the morning, I decided to stop trying and head to Jade Dragon Snow Mountain early, hoping to catch a glimpse of the "golden sunlight on the snow peaks" at sunrise. At the bus stop, a woman pestered me to share a taxi, claiming I'd already missed the public bus. I ignored her—how could I be late when I was this early? A nearby man gave me a concerned look. I asked him how to catch the bus and managed to board the first one.

On the way, the driver said, "Now, on your left, that's Jade Dragon Snow Mountain." I looked over. All I saw was fog. My heart sank—forget the golden sunlight, I couldn't even see the mountain.

The Loneliness and Beauty of Yunshanping (Spruce Meadow)

Because of the season, the snow mountain had no snow, and worried about altitude sickness, I chose to visit Yunshanping (Spruce Meadow) and Blue Moon Valley. Riding the cable car, I stayed calm—no panic.

At Yunshanping, sheep, cattle, and horses roamed everywhere. A black goat jumped onto the boardwalk and nearly lunged at me, scaring me into dodging quickly. A light drizzle fell from the sky. For a brief moment, the clouds parted and sunlight streamed down, illuminating the meadow in a blend of green and gold. It was beautiful—but fleeting.

Watching couples pose for photos together while I stood alone with a selfie stick, sunglasses, glasses, shawl, umbrella, backpack, and other odds and ends—even taking a selfie was awkward. A wave of loneliness washed over me. Finally, I spotted a small empty spot and asked a passing woman to take my picture. Clumsily climbing onto a railing, facing a stranger's camera with a crowd of people waiting behind me—the pressure was intense. I posed quickly from the side, jumped off the railing, and nearly lost my footing. That was the loneliest moment of the entire trip.

But the mist-shrouded Yunshanping had a unique, ethereal beauty. I thought of the lyrics from Black House: "Don't forget the weather that day, it may never come again." Cherish every day, every moment, for its uniqueness.

The Purity and Surprise of Blue Moon Valley

After finishing Yunshanping, Jade Dragon Snow Mountain finally revealed part of its face through the clouds. Mist rose among the peaks, eagles circled overhead—it looked like a traditional Chinese ink painting.

Arriving at Blue Moon Valley, the water shimmered in shades of blue, green, and white—pure and stunning. At one spot, the sky cleared, and the lake sparkled brilliantly under the sunlight. I set up my selfie stick and started spinning 360 degrees. Then it rained again. White clouds reflected on the lake surface, vaguely resembling the shape of China's map.

At another spot, I was stunned by the water's clarity—for the first time, I could so clearly see the shape of the current, flowing like smooth, soft silk. So beautiful!

I carried an oxygen canister with me. When I walked too fast or climbed stairs, my heart pounded. A few breaths of oxygen or a short rest fixed it. On the trail, I saw someone vomiting. At high altitudes, you have to listen to your body and pace yourself.

Yuhu Village and Baisha Ancient Town: From Disappointment to Despair to Hope

The Raw Authenticity and Boredom of Yuhu Village

Another night of frequent waking, eyes swollen—the plan for a photo shoot fell through. I headed straight to Yuhu Village. In the ride-sharing car, the driver was Naxi ethnic. I launched into conversation mode again. He said that although minority groups were fierce fighters, they were outnumbered by the Han Chinese, so they fled to these remote mountain crevices. He also explained what a "玛尼堆" (mani stone pile) means—it's for making wishes and praying. Anyone, anywhere, can add a stone to it, but you mustn't step over it or knock it down.

He was a former military officer turned civil servant, then worked at a state-owned company. Because he spoke bluntly, he offended his boss and was transferred to Dali. Unwilling to accept that, he quit and started a wedding photography business. He ran it for seven or eight years, earned enough for two apartments and a car. Later, the wedding photography market became too competitive—you always had to buy new dresses, costs were high—so he stopped. Listening to him, I fell into thought: so this is how life can be lived! Leaving the stability of the system, trying so many different jobs, exploring your potential and interests—the richness of such a life is completely different from staying in a bureaucratic cage forever. There was no trace of exhaustion or helplessness in him—just a calm, leisurely, and passionate attitude toward life. His state of mind puts most young people today to shame.

But Yuhu Village itself disappointed me. The stone houses looked pretty much like the ones in Enshi's rural areas back home. The site management was poor—no signs for shuttle buses or routes, and vendors pestered you nonstop about horse riding. The experience was terrible.

The Rain at Dragon Girl Lake and the Terrible Chicken Wings

Arriving at Dragon Girl Lake (Longnü Lake)—so small! The sky was gloomy, and the view was far from beautiful. Just as I was about to leave, a heavy downpour trapped me. I decided to eat before going. Looking at the exorbitant menu, I finally ordered a 45-yuan grilled chicken wing. Expensive, okay—I can understand tourist prices—but this was the worst chicken wing I've ever eaten in my life. How can a chicken wing be this bad? How? I'm baffled.

Watching a craftsman in the shop sanding a piece of wood, completely absorbed in his work, I felt a surge of envy. Immersing yourself fully in your own art—that process must be so healing, a state of flow. I kept feeling like I'd chosen the wrong career, always envying other people's jobs but lacking the courage to tear everything down and start over.

The Fright at Baisha Ancient Town and the Phone Failure

From Yuhu Village to Baisha Ancient Town, the road was remote and nearly empty. Sitting in the back seat, I accidentally caught a glimpse of the driver's face—there was a scar. He glanced up at me through the rearview mirror with a look that felt unfriendly, almost aggressive. The whole ride was silent. I clutched my phone, ready to call for help or run. I arrived safely at Baisha Ancient Town. It was just my overactive imagination.

At Baisha, I heard a long-haired singer performing a song by the band Painful Anthem (痛仰). He poured himself a beer, lit a cigarette, and played his guitar with headphones on, completely lost in his own musical world. It was pretty cool.

Just as I was enjoying the peaceful moment, I suddenly realized my phone wouldn't charge. The power bank had juice, but the phone wasn't responding. I asked a shop owner to try their charger—still nothing. Panic set in. My phone had worked fine for years without a single issue—why did it have to break now, when I was traveling alone?

With a sliver of battery left, I searched for nearby repair shops and called them one by one. The first said it was inside a school, inaccessible. The second said it was still open. I quickly hailed a taxi, but my battery was down to 5%. At the intersection, I spotted two taxis—both were snatched up by others just as they approached.

Finally, I saw a taxi slowing down. I sprinted like a hundred-meter dash champion and jumped in. I told the driver the repair shop's name and headed toward hope. On the way, the sky darkened and rain began to fall. The shop was in a market where cars couldn't enter—I had to walk a short distance. After paying the fare, my phone died. I confirmed the directions with the driver several times before getting out.

Inside the shop, the owner was busy, surrounded by a few people. Nervously, I handed him my phone. He took a look and said the charging port was broken. Replacing it would cost 180 yuan. Hearing that the problem was simple and the price reasonable, I breathed a sigh of relief. But then he started rummaging through drawers and boxes, searching for the part. He couldn't find a charging port for a Huawei Mate 40 Pro. He explained that the parts were tiny, and he wasn't sure if his kid had thrown them away... He kept searching. I stood there, holding onto a 0.1% hope, not knowing what else to do.

I stepped out to use the restroom. The market was a maze of cramped stalls covered with tarps, all looking alike. Coming back, I took a wrong turn and almost got lost. Cold, thirsty, hungry, helpless—I really wanted to cry! But I told myself this wasn't the time. I forced it down.

Back in the shop, the owner still hadn't found the part. He called around to see if anyone else could supply one, but no luck. At the depths of despair, a strange calm settled over me—what could I do? Go back to the hotel and sleep. My original plan to head to Lugu Lake the next morning now had to become a desperate trip to an official repair shop. The one silver lining: I usually never carry cash when I go out, but this time I had 200 yuan in my pocket. That lifesaving money could at least buy me some food and get me back to the hotel. Otherwise, I'd have to call the police for help.

Leaving the market, the road was dark and nearly empty—few people, few cars. I stood in the cold wind and rain for over ten minutes before an empty taxi finally came. Exhausted, I stared blankly out the window, not wanting to think about anything. Then I spotted a small repair shop with its lights still on—should I get out and gamble? If I won, I could still go to Lugu Lake tomorrow. If I lost, I'd have to wait who knows how long for another taxi. After a brief hesitation, I decided to get out.

Epilogue: Freedom Is a Date with Yourself

This journey brought beautiful scenery and kind people, but also fear, loneliness, and unexpected challenges. Yet it was precisely these experiences that allowed me to meet another self—a self brave enough to face fear, resourceful enough to find hope in hardship, and strong enough to face everything alone.

Freedom is not about doing whatever you want. It's about having the ability to choose the life you desire and bearing all the consequences that come with it. It is a date with yourself—meeting your true self on unfamiliar ground.

If you're planning a trip to Yunnan, remember: bring cash, take care of your phone, and keep an open mind. Beautiful scenery will find you. Kind people will meet you. And that authentic self—you will surely meet them too.