A Hidden World in Taizhou
As the saying goes, 'When three walk together, one can learn from the others.' When it comes to food and travel, I've always been good at—and happy to—draw on the strengths of others.
Taizhou. Ever since seeing the photos from my bestie's trip, I'd been utterly captivated by that fairy-tale, rainbow-colored little village.
The Cinque Terre in Italy has long been a must-see on my European wish list. In recent years, for various reasons, long-haul travel has been off the table, so this Chinese version of Cinque Terre had to muscle its way to the top of our couple's getaway, shoving aside all other destinations!
'Spring Festival travel rush' is a uniquely Chinese term. As locals who've never had to join the great migration, we weren't about to fritter away the eight-day holiday eating and drinking ourselves into a stupor. Taizhou it was—we'd go and experience China's mass migration firsthand!
Taizhou lies on the southeastern coast of Zhejiang Province. The high-speed train from Beijing takes nearly eight hours—too long for my husband, so we decided to break the journey: a day in Hangzhou on the way there, and a day in Shanghai on the way back.
Hangzhou, here we are again.
Hangzhou holds a special place in our hearts. Years ago, it was the destination of our very first trip together after we met. Since then, we've returned a few times—how many exactly, I'd need to sit down and count by year. Hangzhou's beautiful scenery and delicious food are the simple, straightforward reasons we keep coming back.
To give ourselves more time in Hangzhou, we caught the earliest train. We registered for a Hangzhou transit card on the train, then hopped on the metro as casually as if we were heading home. After dropping our bags at a hotel near Hubin, we headed straight out for lunch. The entrance to Hangzhou Restaurant was packed. I squeezed through to get a number, only to be told they'd stopped giving them out. So we went next door to Zhiweiguan and kept it simple: xiaolongbao, crab soup dumplings, and wontons. Familiar flavours, familiar surroundings. Even at two in the afternoon, the dining hall was full—no need to hover at someone's table, but you did have to hunt for a seat.
After lunch, we made a beeline for West Lake. Of all our encounters with the lake, this was the most overwhelming crowd we'd ever seen. A human wall encircled it; you couldn't see the water until you pushed right to the front. Prime photo spots had queues, boat tickets had queues. Taking a solo shot that wasn't actually a group photo felt like a real achievement. We shuffled south with the crowd from near the musical fountain. Electric carts inched through the throng, every one of them packed. Around a corner, we spotted that familiar little pavilion that's appeared in so many of our West Lake photos.
The usually modest road along the shore had turned into a car park, vehicles crawling along centimetre by centimetre. I gave silent thanks we hadn't been lazy and had chosen to walk.
Passing the Qian Wang Temple, with cars and people tangled into chaos at the gate, we abandoned the idea of seeing the plum blossoms and carried on to Orioles Singing in the Willows. The park was just as crowded. The willows hadn't yet sprouted leaves; their branches, some held high and others drooping low, traced another patch of blue sky in the creek below. Even winter scenes held a soft beauty.
We followed the path to the lake edge. Tour boats crisscrossed the water as if every vessel on West Lake had been called into service—a scene of a hundred sails vying for the waves.
Shared bikes are so handy; no traffic jams. We cycled back to the hotel for a rest.
Learning from our lunchtime experience, we set off early and, like old hands, walked to Hangzhou Restaurant. We managed to get a number, which informed us there were 164 tables ahead. Not far away, 'Old Man's Oil-Bursting Prawns' had already stopped giving out numbers at just past five. Resigned, we went back to Hangzhou Restaurant. The entrance was packed with people sitting and standing. I eventually claimed a round stone block someone had just vacated and sat down to wait. We'd eaten a McDonald's cone when we were still warm from walking; now, as the sky darkened and the chill set in, I watched number after number being called inside, envious, wondering what time those people had arrived.
After waiting two hours—the longest I can ever remember waiting for a meal—we were finally seated. We ordered a few of their specialities: West Lake vinegar mandarin fish, Longjing shrimp, oil-bursting prawns, delightfully sweet peas, West Lake water-shield soup, that West Lake lotus root starch I'd been craving, and pine-needle xiaolongbao as a staple. The long wait had made us ravenous; we ordered so much. Thankfully, Jiangsu and Zhejiang portions aren't huge, and every dish was properly, purely delicious. We polished off the lot.
A half-day in Hangzhou, and we'd had a thoroughly satisfying meal of authentic Hangzhou cuisine.
Hangzhou is always beautiful, no matter when you go.
Ever since the idea of going to Taizhou had taken root, I'd paid it even more attention. I'd stumbled on the fact that the main venue for CCTV's New Year's Eve Gala was Taizhou. And then, that this was the third year running. A Baidu search explained: at 00:00 on 1 January 2000, the first light of the new millennium to touch mainland China fell on Shitang in Wenling, Taizhou—a place symbolising light and hope. Holding the gala here was meant to pass those good wishes on to audiences nationwide.
For our Taizhou trip, we'd planned to rent a car in Wenling and return it in Linhai, balancing time and distance with the most efficient route to save energy.
Train tickets from Hangzhou to Wenling: all we could grab were second-class seats in a carriage that had been converted from a sleeper. I'd been curious the whole way what this would be like in the age of high-speed trains. Once aboard, we found each compartment held two facing rows of three seats. The seats were actually roomy and comfortable. The train was a slow local service, stopping at small stations. The scenery was striking—fields, then clusters of small towns, mostly three- or four-storey detached houses, some in terraces. The houses followed a similar layout: a wide double door on the ground floor, with tables and chairs inside, serving as the living room; the upper floors were the living quarters. Each family's house revealed its personality in the details—the walls, the decorations, some understated, some lavish.
What I was most looking forward to was the rainbow-coloured Xiaonu Village in Shitang Town, Wenling. Its unique architecture had made it an online sensation.
After picking up the car at Wenling's high-speed station, we headed straight there.
As soon as the village came into distant view, traffic slowed to a crawl. Incoming cars were being diverted around detours. We inched forward, one side of the road a harbour dotted with fishing boats big and small. Thankfully, we found a space in the car park below the village. And suddenly, this rainbow-coloured little village was right there before my eyes. I was instantly dazzled, not knowing where to begin.
It was almost noon, so we decided to have lunch before delving into the village for a leisurely stroll.
We picked a little waterfront restaurant that looked buzzing. The small round tables outside were full, piled high with empty seafood shells, gloriously messy—just the right seaside atmosphere.
Inside, we chose a small table. The owner recommended some specialities. Steamed little yellow croakers, their flesh tender and delicate, arranged in a circle on a big plate, which we patiently devoured one by one. Red prawns, sweet and bursting with freshness. Two flowery crabs, simply stir-fried with spring onion and ginger, their original flavour beautifully preserved. And rock anemone with niangao. Ever since trying crab with niangao in Ningbo, I'd been won over by the combination of seafood and these chewy rice cakes. Rock anemone is a sea anemone that grows on rocks, a Taizhou speciality. It has a slightly crunchy bite, and the rice cakes, drenched in the seafood sauce, were fragrant, soft and utterly moreish—we extravagantly made them our staple for the meal. Our first seafood feast in Taizhou left us deeply satisfied.
After lunch, we properly stepped into Xiaonu Village. Here, the stone houses have been painted every colour of the rainbow, layered randomly up the hillside in a riot of chance combinations. Meander anywhere, and you feel like you could take a magazine-worthy shot from any angle or corner. Between the lanes, multi-coloured steps concentrate all that dazzling colour. Walking through the village, it felt like stepping into a dreamy fairy tale. Those macaron shades were a pure joy to the spirit.
The village nestles between mountains and sea. Fishermen's boats are moored along the shore. Through the gaps between houses, you can glimpse the ocean and the boats. Here, you can wander wherever your heart takes you; beauty is everywhere. Suspended colourful wish cards formed another gorgeous sight. I couldn't resist picking two to take home and hang up with my own wishes written on them!
Step by step, I kept looking back, reluctant to leave, snapping more distant views of the village. Xiaonu Village is beautiful both from afar and up close.
We returned the way we'd come. The stream of cars heading in was even heavier now, the long queue inching along, stretching far, far into the distance.
We'd originally planned to visit the nearby Millennium Dawn Park, built to commemorate that first light of the new millennium. It features the monumental 'Millennium Dawn Stele' and a viewing platform: two tall pillars stand facing each other, like vertical door panels, symbolising the opening of a new century. Or we might have gone to Dongxia Beach to sunbathe and zone out. But the festive crowds put paid to those lovely ideas. The 'car park mode' that started kilometres away was enough to make anyone think twice.
Back to the hotel early to rest. The hotel was one I'd picked after much searching, with good facilities and service. Right next door was a locally quite famous restaurant. But it was so wildly popular—no phone reservations, and they didn't even take walk-in queues. Worse, there were no other restaurants around to choose from. Over two hours later, after my husband had tried every trick in the book, we finally got dinner—more of Taizhou's signature seafood.
A day trip from Wenling to Linhai
Both Wenling and Linhai are county-level cities under Taizhou. Scenic spots like Tiantai Mountain and Shenxianju are easier to reach from Linhai. Today, we'd play and travel, moving our base from Wenling to Linhai.
Our first stop: Changyu Dongtian. Part of the northern Yandang Mountain range, the hills here roll on and on. The site features man-made cave landscapes—reportedly 28 groups of caves in various shapes and forms. We randomly chose one cave group. The artificial traces were too obvious, and there wasn't much natural scenery to admire. We just ticked it off and moved on, not even leaving many photos.
The previous night, while planning the route, I'd seen a video of a village cultural centre where plum blossoms were in full bloom, drawing crowds to take photos. It was near our planned route, a perfect way to enrich the day.
What I hadn't expected was that this village cultural centre would be... up a mountain! Visitors were streaming in; those coming downhill were all panting for breath. I already felt daunted. I sent my husband ahead to scout, giving myself licence to slack off and steal his photos. Wandering up unhurriedly, I was surprised by a few plum trees halfway, my first proper sighting of plum blossoms. In Beijing, spring meant peach blossoms everywhere, but I'd never made a special trip to admire plum flowers.
After much internal debate and several rest stops, I finally made it to the summit and the plum garden. A vast sea of plum blossoms, so beautiful. I wasted no time resting, rushing in to take photos among the blooms. In the winter light, the magenta flowers looked even more enchanting. Bees flitted from tree to tree; nearly every one had them. I was a little nervous, and ended up forgetting to get close and smell the fragrance. The sky was generous that day—blue skies, white clouds, distant mountains, and a sea of plum blossoms: a perfect winter tableau.
Even with the tough climb, seeing such beauty made it all worthwhile. This wasn't just a cultural centre; it was a sports centre too!
Changyu Dongtian had been a disappointment, but the plum garden more than made up for it, bringing an unexpected delight.
Morning itinerary done, we headed straight to our hotel in Linhai. After settling in, it was nearly two o'clock. Time for lunch. But from the hotel restaurant to the street-side eateries, everything was closed. Restaurants here generally stop their lunch service at two o'clock, and they won't take customers even if you show up. That's just how they roll. We had to make do with some bread and milk from a convenience store.
After a comfortable nap, we went out again, this time to the ancient city wall and Ziyang Street. The Taizhou Prefectural City Wall, originally built in the Eastern Jin Dynasty, served both military and flood-control purposes and is known as the 'Great Wall of the South'. When we arrived, it was already early evening, so we could go up onto the wall without buying a ticket. The thick wall, the grey bricks, were steeped in history. Spring was in the air; branches were already tinged with the pale green of early spring. From the wall, we could see distant mountains and a panoramic view of Ziyang Street—bustling crowds, thriving shops, a real-life version of the Qingming Shanghe Tu.
Stepping into Ziyang Street, Linhai's oldest street, we found its kilometre-long stretch festooned with lanterns, red ribbons and silk flowers at every shop front, the festive spirit in full swing. Not only were there many historic sites, but the place was brimming with everyday life. Stalls and shops selling handicrafts and local snacks were besieged; we could only shuffle along with the crowd.
We decided to have a proper sit-down meal to soothe the day's fatigue. Away from Ziyang Street, we found a steamed fish hotpot place. The broth was wonderfully fresh and the fish silky-tender. Good meal. Back near the hotel after dinner, fruit stalls, restaurants and other shops were already shut. After 8 pm, restaurants really do close. In Taizhou, it seems you have to eat on time.
Tiantai Mountain Waterfall & Jigong's Former Residence
We love natural scenery, so the Tiantai Mountain Waterfall and Shenxianju made it onto our two-day Linhai itinerary.
Tiantai Mountain is where the famous Ming-dynasty geographer and traveller Xu Xiake began his travel diaries. It's the birthplace of the Tiantai school of Chinese Buddhism and the founding place of the Southern School of Daoism. During the Tang Dynasty, it drew many poets, who left behind a wealth of magnificent verse, giving rise to the saying, 'One Tiantai Mountain, half the complete Tang poetry.' The poet Li Bai's line 'Not even dragon towers and phoenix pavilions could keep me; I'm soaring away to Tiantai' sealed its legendary status.
Our Tiantai Mountain visit focused on the Tiantai Mountain Waterfall, China's highest and widest. From the base, you can see a long cascade plunging down in tier after tier, truly majestic.
We climbed step by step up the valley, walking through ravines and along the mountainside, admiring the waterfall from constantly changing angles, getting closer and closer. 'Different at every height, near or far,' each tier presented a unique scene.
My goal was the Water-Curtain Cave; the higher reaches and the Qiongxiang Xiangu beyond were never in my plan. When I stepped into that cave, with spray showering over me and the roaring waterfall within arm's reach, it felt absolutely exhilarating! It fulfilled a wish I'd held for a decade: at Huangguoshu Waterfall, I hadn't made it to the Water-Curtain Cave to feel the cascade up close. This perfectly made up for it.
Back down from the waterfall, we'd learned our lesson and decided to eat early, before the normal meal times slipped away. A restaurant my bestie had recommended was nearby. When we drove up, it was only 11:10 am. We were secretly pleased—this would work. But they told us they'd stopped handing out numbers; there were too many waiting, and they'd finish lunch service by the time those were seated.
We found a place nearby. More Taizhou specialities: steamed ribbonfish, wonderfully fresh and delicate, and red prawns, sweet and tender.
The afternoon started with Jigong's Former Residence, the birthplace of the Living Buddha Jigong and the ancestral home of the Li family. Inside, halls, a prayer room, pavilions and furnishings vividly recreate the Li household during the Southern Song Dynasty. The garden's pavilions and terraces were exquisite, the lake gently rippling, the statue of Jigong so lifelike. A truly beautiful little scenic spot. Trusting that everything is for the best, we paid our sincere respects.
Online videos showed the Sui-dynasty plum blossoms at the thousand-year-old Guoqing Temple were in bloom, and we fancied a look. But two kilometres out, we couldn't follow the satnav any further—the road was blocked, jammed with eager traffic. Police were directing cars to detour and park two or three kilometres away. Walking in was a must, and who knew how crazy it would be inside. We decisively gave up. Holiday fervour is too fiery, and going now would have defeated our purpose of quietly appreciating the ancient temple.
After a nap back at the hotel, we went out early again for dinner. Xinrongji was too extravagant; Rong Xiaoguan is more down-to-earth, and there happened to be one nearby. We cycled over. A little after four, we found the entrance already packed, the waiting area full. I hurried to the desk, only to be told again they'd stopped giving out numbers. I was a little stunned, wondering where to find another reputable place, when a young man walked up with two tickets and told the hostess someone had given him one, so he didn't need this one. 'Could I have that?' I jumped in. And that's how I got a queue number. I secretly felt lucky—to get dinner, you really had to work for it! We sat waiting as one person after another arrived, only to be told numbers were gone and leave disappointed. That young hostess had a tough job. She stood there, patiently repeating the same thing in a soft voice. Three hours later, our number was finally called. Another record-breaking wait.
Once seated, we asked the server and learned that every day, before lunch service even ended, the queue for dinner numbers would already be long. So arriving after four meant we'd never have gotten a number for dinner.
After that epic wait, we went by the menu's top ten signature dishes and ordered sandworm sautéed with vermicelli, beef short ribs, and house-braised deep-sea large yellow croaker—apparently from Dachen Island! We'd watched a documentary about Taizhou's Dachen Island at home; my husband had wanted to go, but I'd nixed it because I hate boats. So this Dachen Island fish was a little consolation for him. The flesh was incredibly fresh and tender; when I tried to greedily scoop up a big piece, it just flaked onto the plate, and I had to use a spoon. Sandworm vermicelli: sandworm is a sea anemone that lives in sand, and doumian is vermicelli. Sautéed together, it's delicious—a signature dish of the Rong restaurants. The beef short ribs were good too, not tough but with a bit of chew. Overall, the three-hour wait was worth it. A trip to Taizhou had to include at least one meal at the homegrown restaurant that started it all, especially since the food really was excellent.
The very first photo I'd seen of Taizhou was of Shenxianju's Ruyi Bridge. Shaped like a Chinese ruyi sceptre, it spans a dizzying chasm between two peaks. The full-bridge view from a distance is visually stunning.
Today's visit to Shenxianju: we entered from the south gate and took the cable car, again feeling the holiday heat—a full hour of snaking queues to finally reach the half-way point. Happily, two long escalators then helped us climb further, saving a lot of energy.
We spotted Ruyi Bridge in the distance. Someone said it was on the north side—it looked so far away! But for the views, we opted to descend from the north, enjoying the scenery as we went.
The mountain trail wasn't too strenuous, mostly flat—my kind of walk.
Deep in the serene valleys, strange peaks and sheer rocks were wreathed in cloud. Every mountain, every stream, every stone and peak had its own unique character, yet they all harmonised—nature's own masterpieces.
Lotus Terrace, like a blooming lotus flower, is a viewing platform that juts from a high peak deep into the valley, a must-snap spot where visitors queue up for photos. We just raised our selfie stick for a scenic shot and skipped the line.
A few glass-bottomed viewing platforms extending into the valley were hugely appealing; visitors could walk out and feel nature's power from a different perspective.
Wolong Bridge, like a giant dragon winding through the valley, with its openwork design and rainbow-coloured walkway, was another photo hotspot.
After nearly three hours, we finally reached Ruyi Bridge. Its sweeping two-tier lines and glass floor were ultra-modern. Pity you can't see its full form from up close.
Standing on the bridge, watching mist drift by, the sea of clouds was dreamlike, intoxicating. The drifting clouds, the blue sky, the layered peaks—all ever-changing, wrapped in an aura of immortal spirits. Truly, a worthy name: Shenxianju, the Dwelling of the Immortals, a place the immortals chose for themselves. It lifted the heart.
Shenxianju was a trip well worth it. It was already three in the afternoon when we got back to the hotel area, where we found a BBQ joint. Thankfully, it was still open, and we feasted. Lunch merged into dinner; we made sure we were stuffed.
Months ago, I'd remarked that it was nearly twenty years since I'd last been to the great Shanghai. Now, just a few months later, here I was again.
Choosing Shanghai as a stopover on the way home—even though I'd been so recently—I was still really looking forward to it.
We stayed at the same hotel as last time, Jinjiang Metropolo, right next to the Peace Hotel, with the Oriental Pearl Tower visible just outside the door.
We arrived at noon. Even taking the metro meant long queues. The hotel was a short walk from the station. After dropping our bags, we headed straight out to eat and wander.
The sky was clear, its blue softening the sleek modernity of the Oriental Pearl and the Lujiazui trio of skyscrapers.
Walking south along the Bund, we reached the Yuyuan Garden shopping complex. Four months ago, it had been free to enter; only the garden and the City God Temple required tickets. This time, being the Spring Festival, there was a lantern festival, and the whole complex was cordoned off, requiring an 80-yuan ticket to enter. The old saying goes: 'Since we're here anyway!' Who knew when we'd meet again? We bought tickets and went in. First, a restaurant for lunch. We ordered crab noodles, xiaolongbao, wontons, and crab roe soup dumplings—all staples, we were quickly full.
Wandering the complex, the ponds on either side of the Zigzag Bridge were filled with huge lantern displays, and the open spaces in front of shops were lavishly decorated. The whole area was dressed up in colourful lights, brimming with festive cheer. After a full circuit, without visiting the garden or temple, we cycled back to the hotel for a rest.
For dinner, we wanted a proper feast. After several rounds of seafood, my stomach felt a bit empty—Jiangsu-Zhejiang cuisine is just more comforting. Between Old Man's Oil-Bursting Prawns and Gui Man Long, we chose the latter for its shorter wait—we'd been thoroughly humbled by Taizhou's dining queues. Oil-bursting prawns, niangao with crab, Yangzhou-style shredded dry bean curd—every dish hit the spot.
After dinner, we officially delved into Nanjing Road to feel the buzz of China's premier pedestrian street. At the M&M's World, we were instantly drawn to the myriad chocolate products and colourful chocolate beans. The self-serve dispensers tempted many, big and small, sparking a strong urge to buy. But seeing the queue at the checkout, we gave it a pass.
Following the crowd all the way to the Bund felt a bit like a parade. The Oriental Pearl Tower kept changing colour. Looking out, the entire opposite bank glittered; on our side, the grand buildings, draped in lights, shed their daytime formality and gained a soft beauty.
The next morning, we were at the Bund early. Today we'd be heading home, so we came to say goodbye to the Bund and to Shanghai. The sky was overcast, thick with clouds, and the place was almost deserted—a stark contrast to the raucous crowds of the previous night. We picked whatever angles we liked and took lots more photos. At Waibaidu Bridge, my husband even stood in the middle of the road to get a shot from the front. The photos with the layered clouds were full of atmosphere.
We couldn't leave without: Dahuichun shengjianbao. In just a few months, the menu had changed—the classic pork-pan-fried buns had been taken off! Only prawn and crab roe ones were left. We ordered one portion of each and packed two more for dinner. But honestly, this time they weren't as good as last time. The skins weren't as crisp, a bit limp.
Four hours on the high-speed train, and we were home. The holiday ended perfectly; I couldn't waste a single day of my precious annual leave. Back to work tomorrow.
February 2024
