The Legendary Dali – I'm Here!

Living in a new place, getting used to unfamiliar scenery, understanding languages I don't understand. This is what I love to do. Whether alone, with someone, or in a group, I will keep going—to those beautiful places. With just a DSLR camera and a backpack, unafraid of sunburn or getting lost.

On the early morning of October 1st, after finishing a large bowl of plain congee in the company canteen, I hurried to the train station. And so, my Dali trip began. Once on the train, I realized most travelers were students, each with a long story about travel. As I listened, time flew and the destination seemed to draw near. Seven hours wasn’t as hard to endure as I’d imagined. After getting off, I experienced the wind at Xiaguan firsthand. I’d read online that if you tied a string to yourself in Dali, you could fly like a kite—and that’s no exaggeration. I took a taxi to Dali University, where Xiao Q studies, but couldn’t get in touch with her. So I gave up and wandered the campus alone with my camera, a bit aimlessly. There were so many international students, but why all of them were Black and not White? White people are often better-looking, haha. As night fell, I was exhausted and found a guesthouse just outside the gate to stay. In Dali, they call hostels ‘keshan’—it’s a cultural thing, I guess. Unfortunately, the place wasn’t great; I was on edge all night, waking up several times. My natural wariness keeps me on guard everywhere, even though I know it’s exhausting. I just can’t relax.

On the 3rd, my second day in Dali, I rented a mountain bike for 20 yuan in the Old Town and cycled around Erhai Lake. From 9 a.m. to 5 p.m., it rained, cleared, rained, cleared in a cycle. My clothes would get soaked, then dry in the wind after a while. Amazingly, I didn’t catch a cold. Speaking of illness, it reminds me of my rough academic journey—taking time off, being held back a grade—now I’m an older-than-average student. Health really matters; it means time, money, and so much more. My physical condition has improved, but I shouldn’t have taken such a risk. Maybe this was the last time; I’ll forgive myself. The road around Erhai is newly built; on a blazing sunny day, it would probably give off an unpleasant smell. Occasionally, I saw a few fellow cyclists, fully kitted out, passing by. In them I saw a stubborn determination laced with loneliness—a reminder that travel is, in essence, a wandering of the soul. By the marshy shores of Erhai, half-exposed, leafless old stumps stood, their age unknown. They looked ancient, faded, and gnarled. Year after year, they’ve witnessed countless travelers and the changes here. My wheels never stopped. I spotted the Three Pagodas from afar but it took forever to reach them. A saying I’d read online came to mind: ‘Watching the mountains run the horses to death.’ I truly felt that. Since my wallet was getting thin, I decided not to go in. I snapped a few photos in the square, bought a small bag of macadamia nuts, and without lingering, headed back to the Old Town. Besides its classic romance—wind, flowers, snow, moon—Dali offers another spectacle: the clouds. They are truly beautiful and ever-changing. Looking up while cycling, I always felt they were so close, giving me a sense of safety. So I dared to let go of the handlebars, hearing horns blare from cars behind, laughing and singing without a care. Such joy—it’s been a long time! Looking up at the blue sky, I took a deep breath and exhaled all my pent-up emotions. Along Highway 214, many small lanes lead to villages, lined with neat eucalyptus trees. The villages are so quiet; the gravel crunching under my tires made a clean sound in a clean place. It was rice harvest season; people were bent over in the fields. Suddenly I felt a pang of humility, like a grain falling on the path, unnoticed, never picked up. Am I not just like that grain, blown far, far away by the wind? Getting familiar with one strange city after another, seeing face after unfamiliar face. My joys, my sorrows—no one knows. I write my own story and read it to myself. A few hours later, back in the Old Town, I had a bowl of ersi noodles. It was definitely not my kind of food, but I forced it down anyway. My stomach was upset all night, but only I knew that.

I’d read online that the Old Town is lively at night, and it was true. Vendors selling goods, bars, every street and alley was packed. Even though I didn’t see that old city gate that supposedly embodies ‘love,’ I thought of Bao Er, who had also been here. I like his photos; they capture a different angle yet share the same sensitivity. But memories are like moonlight—if you grasp too tightly, you plunge into darkness. I tried to stop dwelling and just have fun. I managed. In the Old Town, I saw the elegant purple pottery ocarina I’d been dreaming of. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to buy it. I glanced at it, then looked away. Passing a puzzle shop reminded me of how Xiao Ban and I struggled over a nine-linked rings puzzle during our evening math study. That night, everything was a dazzling, dizzying display of materialism. I got back to my lodging at midnight. On the 4th, I overslept and then it poured, so I only reached Butterfly Spring in the afternoon. Hehe, after buying a ticket, I entered like a kid, full of curiosity. I bought three butterfly specimens, but always felt others’ choices were better. I’m like that, so people often tell me, ‘Don’t always assume others’ things are better.’ But I never truly understood that saying. Perhaps one day, when I learn to cherish what I hold, I’ll know what’s most precious. I’d always imagined Butterfly Spring as just a pond, but it’s more like a park. Inside, I saw countless red scented sachets, hung on trees and on the wish wall by the lake. People like to chalk everything up to fate, then live contentedly. Maybe having something to put your faith in keeps weariness at bay.

The water at Butterfly Spring was a strange, gemstone blue, crystal clear to the bottom. No one could tell me why; perhaps I didn’t want to know, deliberately leaving a sense of mystery. The rain continued on and off. I ducked into the Butterfly Museum to learn about butterflies. In the Butterfly World, I found a keychain with a crab specimen—something I’d always liked. I’d seen one at the Golden Temple before, but it was 40 yuan, too dear to buy. This time I stumbled upon it again, and it was cheap, so I bought it without hesitation. Many things, even if you see and like them, don’t need to be obtained immediately. Maybe just around the next corner, you’ll encounter them again—in a more reasonable way, at a better time. That’s why I keep waiting: for the person I’ll love, for those quirky little trinkets. And that’s why I love to travel, to temporarily leave.

Living in a new place, getting used to unfamiliar scenery, understanding languages I don't understand. This is what I love to do. Whether alone, with someone, or in a group, I will keep going—to those beautiful places. With just a DSLR camera and a backpack, unafraid of sunburn or getting lost.