2021: A Dreamlike Utopia, the Most Dazzling Red of Beijing’s Outskirts
D1-10.12: Arrive in Beijing, visit Tiantan Park
D2-10.13: Revisit Tiananmen Square, depart from Beijing for Beidaihe, stay at Lu Muzhai Villa
D3-10.14: Explore Beidaihe’s Pigeon Nest Park, Qinhuang Palace, feast on a seafood banquet
D4-10.15: Check into Anlan Hotel in Aranya, wander the Aranya creative community
D5-10.16: Continue enjoying Aranya’s slow seaside life, take a train back to Beijing, drive to Gubei Water Town
D6-10.17: Stroll through Gubei Water Town, climb Simatai Great Wall, admire the town’s dazzling nightscape
D7-10.18: Return journey
Golden October. The northern weather gradually cools, and Beijing enters its most beautiful season of the year—crisp autumn air, sky high and clouds light, maple leaves turning red, ginkgo leaves yellowing. Even though mornings and evenings carry a chill, the afternoon sunshine on your skin is warm and comforting. A friend invited us to visit a retirement community in Beijing and a sojourn community in Beidaihe, and I happened to be keen on visiting the Aranya community and Gubei Water Town. We quickly agreed, gathered in Beijing, and embarked on our eagerly anticipated journey.
October 12
In the afternoon, everyone flew into Beijing Capital Airport from different cities. Without bothering to rest, our friend whisked us off to Tiantan Park. I’ve been to the capital countless times, but rarely took the leisure to step inside its various magnificent imperial buildings. Tiantan Park was one of those. Since we had such a rare opportunity, it was time to pay homage!
Tiantan was first built in the 18th year of Yongle in the Ming Dynasty (1420). The park covers an area four times the size of the Forbidden City. The outer altar is shaded by towering ancient trees; the inner altar bristles with historic structures. To the south stands the Circular Mound Altar, to the north the Altar of Prayer for Grains—solemn, majestic, resplendent, showcasing the supreme nobility of ancient emperors. It served as the exclusive altar for Ming and Qing emperors to worship heaven, pray for rain, and beseech bountiful harvests. It is the largest surviving ancient sacrificial complex in the world and was recognized as a UNESCO World Cultural Heritage site in 1998.
The Hall of Prayer for Good Harvests is Tiantan’s iconic building and its earliest structure. Each year, emperors of past dynasties held heaven-worship ceremonies here, praying for favorable weather and abundant crops. This triple-eaved circular pavilion-style hall is covered with cobalt-blue glazed tiles. The hall sits on a triple-tiered white marble terrace, giving a sense of heaven and earth blending into one. The towering gilded finial at the top seems to declare that this is the closest place to heaven. If Tiananmen has become the symbol of China, then the Hall of Prayer for Good Harvests is the ancient landmark of the immortal city of Beijing. The Echo Wall is the outer enclosure of the Imperial Vault of Heaven, where the emperors’ spirit tablets were kept. The wall top is covered with blue glazed tiles, its curvature perfectly regular, and its surface extremely smooth and neat. If two people stand behind the east and west side halls respectively, with their faces to the wall, and one whispers towards the north against the wall, the sound waves will continuously refract along the wall to the other end. No matter how softly you speak, the other person can hear you clearly and distinctly, with a lingering resonance—a fascinating wonder.
October 13
Another brilliant autumn day. Many years later, I found myself once again standing in the heart of the motherland—Tiananmen Square. Now, entering the square is no longer as freewheeling as it was years ago. You must pass strict security checks within designated areas. The Golden Water Bridge is one-way; once crossed, you cannot return directly to the square. It is still bedecked with flowers, still solemn and stately, and remains the sacred ground that commands the nation’s attention—a place that can instantly ignite patriotic fervor in every Chinese. It brings together an array of grand edifices: the Chairman Mao Memorial Hall, the Great Hall of the People, the Monument to the People’s Heroes, the National Museum, the National Centre for the Performing Arts, and Tiananmen Tower. It was my first time formally entering the Memorial Hall from the north gate to pay respects to Chairman Mao’s remains. The atmosphere was deeply awe-inspiring.
Exiting from the south gate, you are at Zhengyang Gate, which has a history of over 600 years. It was the main southern gate of Beijing’s inner city during the Ming and Qing dynasties, located on the city’s north-south central axis. Among the nine inner city gates of old Beijing, it was the tallest and is regarded as a symbol of the old capital. Embedded here is a bronze-alloy disc marking the Zero Kilometer Point of China’s highways—dignified and majestic. Four bronze characters mark east, west, south, and north, flanked by the patterns of the Four Divine Beasts of ancient China: the Vermilion Bird, Azure Dragon, White Tiger, and Black Tortoise. Radiating outward like wheel spokes is a pattern symbolizing the nationwide highway network, with the capital at its center.
October 14
Talking about Beidaihe—it has been a famed summer resort since ancient times. Many state leaders came here for convalescence, and Western nations built 719 villas here, with over 130 still well-preserved. These villas, with their “red roofs, plain walls, high terraces, and open verandas,” are uniquely and distinctively styled, embodying architectural traditions from around the world. Beidaihe is hailed as an Expo Garden of International Architecture.
In autumn, Beidaihe carries a touch of desolation. The coastal boulevard is nearly deserted. Most guesthouses and sanatoriums are firmly shut, and even many restaurants have closed their shutters. Gone are the surging crowds and steaming heat; only tranquility and leisure remain.
Pigeon Nest Park is not large but is famous for Eagle Horn Rock. Eagle Horn Rock is a gigantic reef, standing proudly by the sea against the cliff, its age exceeding 2.5 billion years. Its patina is green-yellow, strangely shaped and craggy, with sheer rock faces like a hatchet—it resembles a mighty eagle perched by the sea. Over the years, weathering has created many fissures where pigeons often gather to rest at night, hence the name Pigeon Nest. It was here that Chairman Mao, brimming with passion, wrote his immortal poem “Langtaosha · Beidaihe”: “The bleak autumn wind is blowing once again, yet the world has changed.” Today, only the flock of pigeons on the square remains adorable and friendly. As for Qinhuang Palace we passed by, it is just a pseudo-classic architectural complex—plain and unremarkable. What truly stunned us was the seafood feast at lunch. A huge pot was brought to the table, spectacularly loaded with an abundant variety of seafood, though it was not easy to cook everything through evenly.
Compared to Beidaihe’s parks big and small, I much preferred strolling at leisure in the sanatorium compound. Inside, the Lu Muzhai Villa stood—rustic, elegant, mysterious, and unfathomable. Each old villa was like a three-dimensional painting, a wordless poem, a frozen melody. The angels bathing in sunlight seemed to be narrating the history here to us. The ancient verdant trees all around seemed to flaunt the past glories… The Welcome Pine spread its arms to greet visitors from all directions. The octagonal, domed, painted pavilion built over a century ago remained perfectly preserved, gracefully beautiful. The unique double pavilions and the golden ginkgo silently keeping them company formed a delightful contrast. What I loved most was sitting on a rocking chair on the villa’s long veranda under the warm autumn sun, sipping fine tea, and chatting about our past, present, and future—breathing in the faint pine fragrance, seeking out squirrel traces. And of course, I must praise the sanatorium’s cuisine: every dish was outstanding, every meal a seafood extravaganza, worthy of a master chef’s hand.
October 15 – October 16
Today marked the second half of our journey, and the main event was just beginning. From now on, the itinerary was in our hands, and we could be carefree and easygoing as we pleased. Two DiDi cars carried five ladies directly towards a secluded coastal community south of Beidaihe. It bears a very poetic name—Aranya, derived from Sanskrit “aranya,” meaning “a quiet place, a serene retreat far from the madding crowd.” After getting in the car, we had to call the hotel to inform them of the license plate number; only then would the barrier at the community entrance rise automatically to let us in. Once inside, it felt like time-travel—a sense of surreal, dreamlike fantasy. This is an exceptionally successful man-made coastal “utopia,” far from noise, crowds, and pollution, so beautiful it is intoxicating.
Anlan Hotel lies at the heart of the community. Every room has an oversized terrace, and upon check-in, a generous amount of snacks and drinks are given. Our stay coincided with the national premiere of the movie Dune in Aranya, which brought many people from the cultural sphere. After checking in, you could use your stay details to pick up free electronic tickets for the Chapel and the Library on the Aranya App. The hotel offers shuttle buses to every corner of Aranya, which you can summon by phone or simply flag down—a very considerate free service. I greatly liked the Aranya owners’ canteens. There are now six, all fully open to the public except Canteen No. 2, which closes to outside visitors during peak season. The canteens share many similar dishes but each has its own features, offering plenty of choice and great value, catering to all budgets. Canteen No. 3 was right next to the hotel, and we ate almost every Aranya meal there.
Some think Aranya can be called China’s Seto Inland Sea; others feel Aranya is to Beijing what Moganshan is to Shanghai. It is the nearest coastal getaway from the capital, the legendary seaside community most imbued with a humanistic atmosphere in Beijing circles. Here you have the world’s most solitary seaside library, the most beautiful white chapel, the UCCA Dune Art Museum resembling mysterious caves, lively canteens, exquisite coffee houses, trendy grocery stores, boutique seafood markets, modern cinemas and theaters, ubiquitous green spaces, and children’s playgrounds. People stroll, walk dogs, drink wine, read books, zone out by the sea… Art and literature permeate everything, and the core themes of serenity, solitude, poetry, and distant horizons strike a chord with everyone. It feels as if everyone here is enjoying life without having to worry about it. Everything embodies an idealized beauty of “facing the sea.”
The Aranya Chapel, with its pure white walls and blue sea backdrop, has a sharp triangular form where roof and body merge seamlessly. It carries all romance and longing, brimming with a sense of ceremony. It stands like a pure white piano on the shore, or a uniquely shaped music box. The bells on the roof tinkle in the sea breeze, occasionally harmonizing with the rolling waves. With prior reservation, you can enter the chapel. The front features large glass windows and a minimalist concrete terrace frame—perfect for sitting inside and watching the tides ebb and flow. Close your eyes and empty your mind, listening to the deepest voice within (photography is not allowed inside; the photo is borrowed from the internet).
Whether in the spectacular sunrise or the stillness under the starry sky, at different times and from different angles, the chapel reveals different kinds of beauty. I especially loved the deep of dawn, when the quiet beach was still almost empty. The chapel glowed with a warm orange light, set against the deep blue of the pre-dawn, exuding a lofty, cool beauty. I wished I could stand there gazing forever, waiting for the sunrise, communing with the sea—though the late-autumn seaside was a bit chilly.
The Lonely Library shares the same coastline as the chapel. It stands solitarily on the empty beach, as if at the edge of the world. From a distance, it looks like a giant stone forgotten there, baptized by sea winds and waves—lonely and silent. Even when bathed in sunshine, only its shadow keeps it company. There are no roads or shortcuts; you must tread step by step over the sand for several hundred meters to reach it. Its exterior is unadorned, square and upright, even retaining the raw color of concrete, a perfect embodiment of minimalist style. Unfortunately, an exhibition was being set up during our visit, so it was closed to the public. From outside, through the bright floor-to-ceiling windows, you could clearly see the interior layout. The internal space is not large. When open, visitors could pick a favorite window seat and read quietly facing the sea, savoring the precious moment (library interior photos borrowed from the internet).
The UCCA Dune Art Museum was once named by Lonely Planet as the most anticipated art museum of 2019. From afar, it looks like a series of mysterious caves hidden within swirling sand dunes. Although a de-installation was underway, I still wanted to step inside. Entering the cave felt like walking into a white dream. Each exhibition hall faces a different direction, with windows of various sizes. Meticulously designed skylights ensure the halls experience different qualities of light throughout the day. Seaside openings use floor-to-ceiling glass to frame the view in an arc, as if placing the museum between sky and sea. One can quietly feel the shifting light and shadow, the flow of wind and sand—a beauty born from the fusion of art and nature, reminiscent of the Chichu Art Museum on Naoshima during the Setouchi Triennale in Japan (drone photos and exhibition setup pictures borrowed from the internet).
Opposite the Dune Art Museum is the Dionysus Theatre. This semi-circular, beige, ancient Greek-style amphitheater features an open-air stage and semi-enclosed seating, giving the whole venue a sense of openness. Compared to the Roman Colosseum, it is at best a mini, pocket-sized version, but utterly photogenic.
Although we didn’t have time to visit the Aranya Art Center on this trip, its architectural style remains alluring. Its pitch-black façade of textured concrete bricks resembles a chunk of tough rock, yet the building encapsulates two natural wonders: “blue tranquility in summer, ice on the surface in winter.” Light pours through a central courtyard. Standing under a giant wind chime, you clearly hear the wind’s voice; even the softest whispers here cause powerful resonance (art center photos borrowed from the internet).
Pushing open the door of the “Old Objects Store,” a striking line reads: “You go to your future, I return to my past”—healing and familiar. It’s a grocery shop selling retro knick-knacks, a museum that traverses old times. The Seaside Market is a boutique-style seafood supermarket. After you weigh your self-picked seafood, for a table fee of just 10 yuan, you can enjoy a fresh seafood meal right there, experiencing the seaside town’s bustle and the joy of rich flavors. The 1402 internet-famous coffee house, with its beige concrete box jutting out from the street-facing red-brick wall, aroused our curiosity to explore… Aranya—a cluster of exquisitely designed, art-filled buildings. Every year, numerous plays, exhibitions, salons, and forums are held here, creating giant, beautiful life-illusion bubbles for exhausted city dwellers. You know everything is constructed, but every second inside makes you feel relaxed and content. No wonder owning a property in the Aranya community has become almost a status symbol for Beijing’s middle class.
Reluctantly leaving Aranya, we took a train back to Beijing, rented a car at Beijing Railway Station, and headed straight for Gubei Water Town under the night sky. The night at Gubei Water Town was extremely cold. Driving along the Jingcheng Expressway and exiting at the Simatai Great Wall exit, we reached the Gubei Water Town parking lot in two minutes. Self-driving cars can only be parked here. We contacted our guesthouse, and they sent a car to pick us up at the lot and drive us directly to an apartment-style hotel just outside the scenic area. It was at most a five-minute walk from the entrance. Regrettably, the few shops near the entrance all seemed like tourist traps. Whether it was the northwestern noodles and Chinese hamburger from Xiaoxixi Northwest Snack Museum, or the egg crepe with soy milk at the Korean fried chicken shop, or even the mineral water and instant noodles at Duomidi convenience store, everything was outrageously overpriced and unpalatable. The staff were rude, and many unlicensed drivers gathered at the guesthouse entrance attempting to forcibly solicit passengers, leaving a very bad impression. I hope relevant authorities will pay attention and not let this handful of bad apples tarnish Gubei Water Town’s image.
October 17
The Gubeikou area has long been known as the key to the capital. Gubei Water Town lies at the foot of China’s most beautiful and treacherous Simatai Great Wall and sits beside the gentle, tranquil Mandarin Duck Lake Reservoir. It is the first project developed elsewhere by the Wuzhen Tourism Company and is famed as the most beautiful red-leaf spot in Beijing’s outskirts, an Instagram-worthy autumn destination. Unlike the sprawling red leaves of Fragrant Hills, Hongluo Temple, or Pofeng Ridge, the red leaves of Gubei Water Town possess a unique beauty that blends plants with architecture, scenery with culture. The town’s assorted folk dwellings, its winding waterways, and the distant Simatai Great Wall together create layered close, mid, and distant vistas that echo and merge into one. It also draws many groups for treasure hunts and live-action costume role-playing mystery games. In recent years, a grand Red Leaf Festival has been held every autumn.
When the autumn breeze passes through, red leaves gradually creep over Gubei Water Town’s lanes and alley walls. The walls become covered with what we commonly call “Boston ivy” (scientific name Parthenocissus tricuspidata). After prolonged maturing under the summer sun, the lush ivy is brewing a magnificent autumn display. It reveals autumn’s look even earlier than maple or ginkgo. In this town of gray bricks and black tiles, it spreads rampantly over walls, so that red leaves greet your eyes wherever you look, flaunting a striking red, swaying and stretching ostentatiously—making the gray-white buildings come alive with brilliance, imbued with a Zen-like autumn charm. The most beautiful scenes hide in the hutong alleys. Red leaves stretch leisurely along the paths; walking among them feels like moving through a painting. Amid the reds and greens, a golden hue glows; high walls frame the intense autumn atmosphere, awaiting visitors. Especially when sunlight spills across the path and cuts through the entire lane, light and shadow interweave, and the sky peeking through the foliage is the uniquely clear, profound blue of the north—instantly lifting your spirits. Strolling through the town, immersed in it, entering deep, quiet lanes, brushing past mottled stone walls, peeping into courtyards draped in red leaves, watching them crest the roofline and extend into the distance—I finally understood what it means to keep a real red-leaf rendezvous.
A place gains a spiritual quality when enriched by water, and Gubei Water Town is no exception. The town’s water originates from the Mandarin Duck Lake at the foot of the Great Wall. Its color is a mesmerizing emerald green. The waterways wind deep into the town, threading under stone bridges, flanked by rows of green trees and red leaves. Bathed in the autumn sunshine, the emerald and crimson contrast ripples with heartwarming delight. Throughout the town, you can also chance upon whimsical decorations: exquisitely crafted kites, playful giraffes, cute goldfish, various squirrel-themed cartoon wall paintings, and stealthy cats wandering high and low…
The renowned Yongshun Dye House, founded in 1900, became famous for its even dyeing and bright, long-lasting colors. Tucked away in an old street of Gubei Water Town, the gleaming flagstone path leads to this once-famed workshop. After walking along a path steeped in autumn, entering this courtyard, I was immediately struck by the sight. On high poles hung long swathes of floral cloth, fluttering in the breeze, tracing graceful arcs. Visitors wove among the vivid fabrics, capturing their own best moments; children laughed and played in a sea of colors. Climbing to the second-floor terrace to overlook the courtyard, sunlight streamed onto the floral cloth, with mountain silhouettes in the distance and gray walls and red leaves all around. That instant of beauty was memorable enough to etch into the heart.
Walking up the two-hundred-odd steps from the foot to the hilltop, a chapel stands serenely on the peak, guarding a slice of noble purity. This is the best vantage point to overlook the entire water town. The chapel is entwined with red leaves, exuding a touch of mystery amid solemnity. Looking down from on high at the town full of autumn colors, letting the crisp autumn wind tousle your clothes, under the deep azure sky, with distant mountains and emerald water—the mind is instantly cleansed and purified by the beauty before the eyes.
The Simatai Great Wall, a spur of the Yan Mountains, features perilous terrain intersected by countless ravines. It is said to be the only section of the Great Wall retaining its original Ming Dynasty appearance. Built along the rugged mountain contours, it is famed for its peculiarity, unique features, and peril, hailed as the zenith of the Great Wall and the quintessence of the entire structure. In 2012, The Times of the UK rated Simatai as the top “must-see scenery among 25 global destinations.” UNESCO has recognized it as a “world-class treasure,” a superlative-class human cultural heritage site. Here is absolute authenticity, hardly a trace of restoration, just crumbling walls and broken battlements. Climbing is very difficult and extremely steep; in many places, you must use both hands and feet. It’s best to take the cable car round trip. The cable car does not reach the summit; from the cable station it’s still about a 20-minute walk to East Tower 8 watchtower. The higher the tower number, the higher the position; visitors are only allowed up to East Tower 10. Climbing to enjoy the autumn with a couple of friends, the majestic Simatai Great Wall is a uniquely spectacular sight. The ancient wall bears witness to the vicissitudes of long history. Backed by the blue sky, stretching from east to west, under drifting wild clouds—every blade of grass, tree, brick, and stone here is imbued with deep emotion. This is also currently the only section of the Great Wall open for night tours. Imagine this: holding your beloved’s hand, carrying a green lantern, at the crest of endless mountains and ravines, leaning on each other as you stroll on ancient stone steps, embracing together the sunset and the starry sky, and overlooking the town’s myriad twinkling lights.
When tired from walking, try the baked pear of Gubei Water Town. Inside a piping hot enamel mug nestles a large pear, baked to a dark brown. Gently poke it with a spoon, and thick pear syrup flows out. Thin-skinned and sweet, the flesh is tender, and after prolonged baking, it becomes especially soft and delicious. You can even keep the enamel mug as a souvenir. For lunch, the Neighbor’s Inn Riverside Restaurant and for dinner, the Yongshun Inn Riverside Restaurant—both inside the town—were very satisfying. The environment and dishes were excellent, and the prices were not exorbitant despite being in a scenic area. Highly recommended.
As night fell, we checked the performance schedule and hurried to the highlighted drone sky-lantern show and the Wangjing Tower water-dance light show. The drone show at Riyue Island Square (starting at 19:30) employed high-tech sound, light, electricity, video, and audio effects. It was super chic, morphing patterns in the night sky with lifelike 3D effects, dreamlike and illusory. Nearly a hundred drones flying in formation carried sky lanterns, bearing people’s devout wishes, rising slowly as specks of light—like thousands of brilliant stars blossoming, echoing the twinkling lights of the distant Simatai Great Wall as if a golden dragon were awakened by the glow.
The water-dance light show at Wangjing Tower (19:20–19:40, 20:00–20:20, 20:40–21:00) used the latest “virtual reality” water choreography control system, perfectly synchronizing water movements with musical rhythm. It was an interaction of sound and light that filled Wangjing Tower with magic—constantly shifting colors and shapes, flickering in and out. One moment a soaring phoenix appeared, the next a bounding lion, and then an ancient general atop the tower. The vivid 3D effects, like a magic spectacle, were an eye-opener. The musical fountain was no slouch either: water columns surged with the music and lights, occasionally erupting in dazzling flames. The perfect fusion of music and light, the passionate collision of water and fire, drew gasps of wonder from the crowd. Everyone whipped out their phones to capture the magical moment. A truly breathtaking visual feast.
After enjoying the two stunning performances, I climbed alone back up to the chapel to overlook the town’s nightscape. Warm yellow lights reflected in the crisscrossing canals, shimmering gently. The town glowed with flowing colors. Looking up, the moon was bright, and the giant dragon, weathered by 500 years, lay silently on the opposite mountain. The entire water town was quiet and gentle. Standing on the hilltop, it felt as if I were far from the mortal world; the illusion of a fleeting splendid dream made me dazed and entranced.
A chilly autumn wind swept by. I pulled my collar tight and headed along the lanes toward the exit. The crowds had long dispersed. The ancient town at night was peaceful and serene, its daytime clamor gone, restored to its original appearance.
