Lijiang: The Unfading Portrait in the Depths of My Heart

Prologue: An Obsession with the Faraway

In everyone's youth, there are certain places that, like seeds soaked in moonlight, quietly take root and sprout in the depths of the heart. For me, Lijiang is exactly that kind of place.

The starting point of this memory is a television drama called One Meter of Sunshine. In those scenes, the cobblestone streets were polished to a gleam by time, the ancient Naxi courtyards echoed with the crisp sound of camel bells, the peak of Jade Dragon Snow Mountain was perpetually draped in a silver-white veil, and heart-wrenching love stories flowed quietly against this backdrop. Back then, even through the screen, I felt I could already smell the air of Lijiang—that blend of floral and woody fragrances.

I was captivated by those old towns that bore the marks of time. Little bridges over flowing water, bright blossoms peeking out from corners of walls, red lanterns hanging under eaves—these images were like keys, unlocking all my imaginings of distant places. For a long time, I knew I would go to Lijiang someday. That thought grew like a vine, winding into my bones, etched deep into my mind.

Some say there are two things every woman must do in her life: fall in love recklessly and take a trip on a whim. When I dragged my suitcase out of Kunming Airport late one night in September, I knew—my journey had finally begun.

First Encounter: Kunming at 3 AM and Lijiang at Dawn

September 3rd, 1 AM, Kunming Changshui Airport. The vast terminal was brightly lit but eerily empty. Scattered travelers were sprawled here and there—some dozing against chairs, others staring blankly at their phone screens. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the twinkling lights on the tarmac, and suddenly felt a strange sense of calm wash over me. So, there are many others in this world, just like me, traveling alone and savoring the journey.

At 8 AM, when the plane touched down at Lijiang Airport, I experienced the震撼 of being "above the clouds" for the first time. Through the window, those cotton-candy clouds were right there, seemingly within reach. For someone flying for the first time, it felt like a dream. Stepping out of the cabin, I was greeted not by the chill I expected, but by a crisp, fragrant breeze carrying the scent of plants. I took a deep breath, and a thought struck me: the air here smells so good.

Slow Time: Lijiang's Morning and a Dreamlike Age

At just past 9 AM, Lijiang was as quiet as a child still asleep. Few people were on the streets, and most shops were closed. I hailed a taxi, and the driver smiled, saying, "Miss, the shops in Lijiang don't open until ten o'clock." In that moment, I suddenly thought, what a wonderful life it must be to live here—far from the exhaustion of overtime, far from the city's clamor, far from the burnout of modern life. No wonder people say Lijiang is a place to "waste" time.

The guesthouse I had booked online was called "Dreamlike Years" (梦里年华). Just the name filled me with longing. When I pushed open the door and stepped into that small courtyard surrounded by flowers and greenery, I knew I had made the right choice. Every room exuded a refined laziness, with a faint scent of aged wood lingering in the air. Among the pavilions and corridors, water murmured and flower shadows swayed. I climbed to the third-floor terrace, spread my arms wide, and felt as if I could embrace the entire sky over Lijiang.

The guesthouse had two adorable little dogs, one named Mengmeng and the other Didi. I couldn't tell them apart, but that didn't stop me from being charmed by their languid demeanor. In the afternoon, sunlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, spilling onto their fluffy bodies. I sat on a nearby rattan chair, watching them nap, and felt a long-lost sense of peace wash over me. For a moment, I felt like a stone warmed by the sun—needing to think of nothing, needing to do nothing.

That night, lying alone on the big bed in the guesthouse, my thoughts began to drift. I thought of people and things from the past—moments that made me happy, sad, regretful, or hard to let go. I let myself sink into this soft place, crushing unhappy memories like kneading dough, then gently blowing them away. Lijiang seemed to have a magic that could strip away all your defenses.

Getting Lost: The Right Way to Lose Yourself in Lijiang

On September 4th, I began exploring the old town in earnest. Soon, I discovered a truth: Lijiang is a place where it's easy to get lost. The narrow alleyways crisscrossed in every direction, each looking much like the next. Stone-paved roads, ancient stone bridges, old canals, Naxi courtyards, and the ubiquitous Dongba script all conspired to confuse your sense of direction.

But as others say, Lijiang isn't meant for walking—walking requires direction, requires a destination. Lijiang is meant for getting lost. Everyone who visits Lijiang inevitably experiences two things: one, walking and finding they can't find their way back; two, losing themselves. And I, well, I did both.

At the Banbu Book Bar (班布书吧), I stopped to listen to the music. The singer on stage was earnest. He sang a song called "I'll Wait for You in Lijiang," which he said was dedicated to his girlfriend and her boyfriend—they were getting married. The melody was beautiful, and the lyrics were touching. I sat in a corner, listening, and suddenly thought: Is there someone out there for whom I could sing my love so tenderly, and then quietly wait?

In a little shop in the old town, I found a white hat. It was soft to the touch and warm to wear. I looked at myself in the mirror and smiled. Sometimes, the meaning of travel is this simple—finding a small thing you love, and then carrying it with you as you continue on.

Blue Moon Valley: A Conversation with the Soul

On September 5th, I went to Jade Dragon Snow Mountain. But what completely captivated me wasn't the mountain itself—it was the Blue Moon Valley (蓝月谷) at its foot.

When I first saw that lake, I was stunned. I had never seen water so blue—a blue like a meticulously polished gem, or like the sky had accidentally spilled its paint. The water was so clear you could see the stones and water plants at the bottom. Sunlight danced on the surface, creating shimmering ripples of light, breathtakingly beautiful.

I walked slowly along the shore, watching the lake's color change with the shifting light. From light blue to deep blue, from emerald green to dark green, every shade was so pure, so exquisite. I crouched down, dipped my hand into the water, and felt a cool sensation spread from my fingertips through my entire body. In that moment, I felt my soul might also lose itself here. If I could settle here for the rest of my life, I would.

The Ancient Tea Horse Road and Lashi Lake: A Final Farewell

On September 6th, I visited the Ancient Tea Horse Road (茶马古道) and Lashi Lake (拉市海). Riding on horseback along the old caravan route, I could almost hear the jingling of bells from the caravans of old. The surface of Lashi Lake was perfectly calm, reflecting the blue sky and white clouds like a giant mirror. I sat by the lake, gazing at the distant mountains and the nearby grass, and felt an indescribable sense of contentment.

During these days in Lijiang, I found many things—a long-lost peace, forgotten joy, and the version of myself that had been smoothed over by city life. I also lost many things—my sense of direction, my concept of time, and my attachment to the past.

Epilogue: Lijiang, You Are Deep in My Mind

On the day I left Lijiang, I sat in the car heading back, watching the scenery recede through the window. The white clouds, snowy mountains, old town, flowing water, and those lazy afternoons of warm sunlight—all played back in my mind like scenes from a movie.

Some say travel is going from a place you're tired of living in to a place others are tired of living in. But I think the meaning of travel goes far beyond that. It's a conversation with yourself, a journey of the soul, a re-examination of life.

Lijiang, you are deep in my mind. Not because your scenery is beautiful, but because in you, I found the version of myself I had lost—the one who pauses for a flower, is moved by a cloud, and cries over a melody.

If you want to go to Lijiang, remember this: don't bring a guidebook, don't rush through the sights, don't be in a hurry. Lijiang is for getting lost, for wasting time, for making peace with yourself. There, you can do nothing at all—just sit, daydream, and soak up the sun.

Because Lijiang itself is the best journey.

Travel Tips: - Best Season: September to November, with clear skies and pleasant temperatures - Must-Do Activities: Get lost in the old town at least once, sunbathe and daydream at your guesthouse, visit Blue Moon Valley to see the lake - Things to Note: Lijiang has a large temperature difference between day and night, so bring a jacket; UV rays are strong, so sunscreen is essential - Recommended Experiences: Listen to live music at Banbu Book Bar, ride a horse along the Ancient Tea Horse Road, wait for sunset by Lashi Lake

Travel is never about escape—it's about returning better than you left. May you also find the forgotten version of yourself in Lijiang.