Meeting You in Dali and Lijiang, Recalling Our Beautiful Youth

Under a clear blue sky, you were joyful yet wistful,

and in the verdant fields, unrestrained but melancholy,

you ran toward the distance, then looked back.

I was at the end of the road,

quietly guarding that pure stretch of time.

Colorful clouds floated above,

I saw the distant blue-black mountains, and the white village.

The wind lifted your hair and skirt,

in the country breeze, your fragrance filled the air.

In that moment, my world

held only you, a girl like a poem.

The dream of a lifetime

is the unreachable distance and the hometown you can't return to.

When you reach the distance, it becomes home.

You have found the distance, found home,

please remember those

fading memories of verdant youth,

and the way you looked in your younger days.

I'm sending you a letter from afar.

Seeing this letter is like seeing you. How have you been lately?

Do you still remember the intersection in front of Lijiang Ancient Town? We parted in a rush, and it's been over a month already. That day I watched you get into the car and leave, and suddenly felt a sadness in my heart, as if there were still so many words left unsaid, so many sights unseen. We had just met, and then we were separated. I think you must still miss our days in Yunnan. From Dali to Lugu Lake, you had looked forward to it for so long, and finally made the journey. The same goes for me. When I was on the flight back, I suddenly felt the urge to cry—I guess I had too many attachments to letting go. This whole trip was like a dream, or perhaps even more beautiful than a dream.

In the quiet late night, sitting at my desk, I think again of the sky in Dali, sunlight piercing through clouds and spilling over the green wheat fields, clear and warm. I think of the breeze by Erhai Lake, gently brushing your hair, leaving your silhouette standing against the wind by the trees near the shore. I think of the streets of Shaxi, the ancient Tea-Horse Road with its mottled flagstones—I wandered there, as if I had witnessed centuries of prosperity. I think of the night at Lugu Lake, when the wind scattered the clouds at the horizon and wrapped us in a blanket of stars. I fear that many years later, all of this will fade like the night sky that evening. So, I wanted to write you a letter, describing the beauty along the way, and telling our story.

When I walked through the bustling crowds of Dali and met you under the city's abundant sunlight, you were standing beneath the cherry blossoms, silent as ever. You said, I knew we would meet again, in the warm sunshine of the ancient town, under the cherry blossoms. I smiled. In fact, the most beautiful thing in life is anticipation. I anticipate the sunlight of Dali Ancient Town, just as I anticipate you, and this journey.

Dali, I anticipate you like the warm light of an ancient town.

In the days after, I didn't travel again; life remained as ordinary as before. But I still thought about our promise—the one we never made. In the face of time, any promise is pale. But sometimes, time can also bring hope.

As the sun set, those were our most leisurely moments. Sometimes traveling requires no map or destination; that kind of aimless wandering, accidentally stumbling upon a corner no one talks about, and discovering a unique beauty, is the most delightful surprise. Later, we passed by the Confucius Temple and then Yuer Park. These weren't really attractions, but simple and clean places. That day, Yuer Park had very few visitors, which created this special tranquility. Yuer Park not only has cherry blossoms but also the famous camellias of Dali, and more unnamed wildflowers by the roadside. It was early spring, and the garden was full of fragrance. I knew you liked the quiet here, so we sat for a long time in the lingering glow of sunset.

The large round table at the guesthouse was my favorite. When I first saw it, I thought of Werewolf. That night we played Werewolf late into the evening in the dim courtyard. You could never explain your identity clearly and kept getting voted out, while I, as the werewolf, bluffing and leading the whole game. Later when we talked about it, I said your arguments lacked logic, and you complained that you couldn't speak Cantonese to explain yourself, but if you did, no one would understand you, so you were helpless. Those people in our memories came with hope, left with reluctance, adding joy to fellow travelers and leaving beautiful reflections in each other's journeys. But they were, after all, brief passersby in moments of happiness. Looking back, we too are passersby.

That night, you went to bed early, and I stood on the rooftop of the hostel, gazing at the distant night. The lights in the distance were still bright, and I could see the famous Three Pagodas of Chongsheng Temple. I had intended to sit leisurely and watch the stars from the spacious rooftop, but the surrounding bright lights left only a few stars in the sky. No wonder—when the moon is bright, stars are few. Fortunately, I still had the bright moon and a gentle evening breeze for company. I thought of the song "Evening Breeze" by Good Sister, where they sing: Gentle evening breeze, softly blowing, into a lover's dream; gentle evening breeze, softly blowing, across the sky of my hometown; gentle evening breeze, softly blowing, over the city lights; tonight's evening breeze, where are you going? Please tell me.

When it comes to food, I'm probably not as authoritative as you. Yunnan cuisine isn't particularly refined; it can't compare to food capitals like Guangzhou or Chengdu. But I remember those days when you led me around searching for delicacies—a roll of rich roasted milk fan, a fragrant pot of rice noodles, a fresh steam pot chicken—I start to miss them again. Of course, the most memorable was that grilled fish. I knew Cantonese people prefer light flavors, so I emphasized "mildly spicy" to the shopkeeper. But to my surprise, people on the Yunnan-Guizhou Plateau love spicy just as much as those in Sichuan. "Mildly spicy" was already too much for us. It was so spicy that you couldn't speak, but you wouldn't give up, eating nonstop—thinking back, it's quite funny. Oh, and there's Dali's most famous snack. The streets and alleys of the ancient town are full of flower cakes. Freshly baked flower cakes, with a layer of cheese on top, are truly crispy, sweet, fresh, and fragrant. And of course, my favorite Dali yogurt. All the way from Dali to Lugu Lake, I drank a bottle every day; it almost became a kind of faith.

One day later, you said, "We haven't taken a photo together all these days." So we randomly found a corner by the roadside, set up a tripod, and took this picture. Actually, my feelings for you aren't some complicated admiration, nor a heart-thumping stir. We are just fellow travelers on the road, not mentioning the past, nor asking about the future. I often envy you—envy your carefree and relaxed way of traveling, and your courage to venture far; I also sympathize with you, traveling alone with its vulnerability and loneliness. You love to taste local foods everywhere you go, and you search them out at every stop. So traveling with you was a feast for the palate, a great blessing.

I didn't take many photos of these delicacies. Later, when I looked, I only found these two bowls of stewed pork with rice noodles. All those food photos must be on your phone. Remember to send them to me when you have time.

When we rode an electric scooter through the field paths by Erhai Lake, that was what we had always longed for. In March, the weather was already as warm as spring. There was still snow on the top of Cangshan Mountain, but it was no longer as abundant and continuous as in winter. You said those vast white patches were Cangshan snow; I said, no, they were just clouds gathering on the mountaintop, as white as snow. We took a long detour, missing the seagulls at Majiuyi, missing the transparent hanging balls and white benches, and only stumbled upon this patch of blooming flowers. The sea and sky merged in the distance, reflecting the deep reds and light reds along the shore—this was the Erhai Lake I had always yearned for.

At that time, you insisted on riding the scooter to look cool, so I stopped and switched to the back seat. But I was too heavy, couldn't sit steadily, and wobbled. After riding a short while, we switched back. You teased me for being fat, and I laughed at you—clearly a girl, but insisting on being a tough gal. Along this stretch of the West Ring Road, there were leaning trees in the sea, in various shapes; some were even completely toppled into the water, very interesting. That fallen tree might be considered a divine tree; people lined up endlessly to take photos on it, and some wedding photos were taken using it as a backdrop—a really long queue. That time you were careless again and dropped your sunglasses into the water, but luckily the water wasn't deep. Erhai's water was clear; you got into the water to retrieve them and exclaimed how cold it was.

Haise Park—you said this was your favorite spot by Erhai. The West Ring Road was under construction; we don't know how long we detoured, passing through many field paths and swirling dust. By the time we arrived, it was already afternoon. But the timing was fine; we weren't in a hurry. Isn't life about slowing down and walking gently? Passing through a shaded bamboo grove, we walked all the way to the end of the shore. Haise Park, as the name suggests, is a peninsula that sticks out like a tongue. Standing at the tip, surrounded by sea on three sides, you quietly felt the breeze from the water, lost in this moment bathed in sunlight.

The clouds of Dali are intoxicating. It's because of these clouds that Erhai Lake doesn't seem monotonous or lonely. Look, the clouds set on the horizon constantly change shape, drifting with the wind, at times adorning the azure sky, at times veiling the blazing sun. Sunlight filters through the clouds, casting enchanting crepuscular rays that make the distant mountains and lush fields appear and disappear. This must be the most beautiful moment of Cangshan and Erhai.

I remember an old woman came over then. I thought she was telling us not to step on the crops in the field, so I apologized repeatedly. But she didn't leave and said something to us in the local dialect; I couldn't understand after several tries, which was a bit awkward. In the end, you understood—she wanted us to help lift her back basket onto her back. I did as she said and realized she balanced the basket strap on her forehead—it didn't look easy at all. Having lived in cities for so long, seeing cold skyscrapers and getting used to people's indifference, it seems we've become accustomed to that formulaic life. The old woman was no longer young; like all locals, she lived in the most primitive and simple way. In this pastoral setting far from the world's strife, even with visitors passing through, they stay true to their original hearts, still so pure and clean. I remember as we got into the car to leave, we waved goodbye to the old woman, and she responded loudly. I have no photo of her, but I miss that story deeply.

Jizhao Nunnery is built halfway up Cangshan Mountain; we hiked a long way. You said you hated climbing mountains more than anything, but both times you traveled with me, you were tricked into hiking. I knew you meant the last time in Maolan, when we hiked mountain trails in midsummer for most of the day, utterly exhausting. But this time was nothing compared to that. We passed Gantong Temple and continued on, taking photos as we walked. After about half an hour, we saw the gate of Jizhao Nunnery. That day, the four of us traveling together sat down for a group photo. Later at lunch, we ordered braised chicken and added an egg, and you named our little squad "Braised Chicken with Egg." But I've grown used to it—since last time, I know all your chat groups are named after food...

In the evening light as the sun was nearly down, we passed some stylish cafés, came across some artsy youths singing softly. Such leisurely days were truly rare along the way. Perhaps we were both looking forward to our upcoming journey to Lugu Lake, so in Shuhe we were in a mood of taking things as they come, not deliberately seeking any sights, but treating every encounter as scenery. You said many people eat xiao guo fan when they come here. So we picked a crowded restaurant, ordered xiao guo fan, and sat at a window seat on the second floor, watching the sky outside slowly darken until only the bright lights and scattered songs remained.

Xiao guo fan is famous in Lijiang, a quite distinctive delicacy. Many celebrities come to Lijiang and choose this time-honored restaurant in Shuhe Ancient Town for the special xiao guo fan. This time we finally got to try it as we wished; it tasted great, very satisfying. I recommend everyone to try it too!

Speaking of Lugu Lake, it should be where dreams begin. My initial thought of coming to Yunnan came from someone mentioning that Lugu Lake is far from worldly clamor, with few visitors, and its scenery is absolutely stunning. If you want to calm your heart, go sit by Lugu Lake; it won't disappoint you. At the Lige observation deck, I saw four different kinds of Lugu Lake. From overcast skies to cloudless blue, from colorful cloud blankets to brilliant starry nights—like life, like the four seasons. In that cycle, I saw through its changes and vicissitudes.

That day, setting off from Shuhe, the weather wasn't good; it was very overcast when we started. Soon it began to drizzle, and there was an accident on the road, forcing a long detour. By the time we reached Lige, it was already afternoon. The sky hadn't cleared; a light rain persisted. On an overcast day, Lugu Lake indeed wasn't at its most beautiful; even Xiaoying said so. Beneath the piled clouds, the lake surface reflected gray, as if the whole air was dense with a gloomy atmosphere. But I was determined to find a different flavor in such weather. That day's Lugu Lake was like early spring in the seasons: though everything still seemed withered, life was already awakening. In the occasional gaps in the clouds blown by the wind, I glimpsed the deep blue sky—that was our hope for the next day.

At the Lige dock, we met many seabirds. These spirits of Lugu Lake sometimes drifted quietly on the water, sometimes called out and flew off in flocks. They also had a bit of greed, following the boats heading into the distance, flying far seeking the food people threw. You said it was a pity not to see seagulls in Dali, but surprisingly we could see them at Lugu Lake. But we only shared that one encounter; after that day, on clear days, they were nowhere to be seen. I think of them as a gift from Lugu Lake's overcast days, bringing a touch of color to the cold sky.

Lige Bay is probably the liveliest spot at Lugu Lake. The observation deck here is truly the best viewpoint—it's just a 10-minute walk up. But you ran out of steam halfway and didn't go further, so you didn't see the highest view; you probably don't understand the four kinds of Lige I mentioned. As for those lakeside guesthouses on the peninsula, the prices were shockingly high—we simply couldn't afford them.

Arriving at Nisai Village, we finally made it to the lakeside. There aren't many houses in Nisai; compared to Lige and Daluoshui, it seemed much quieter. But the scenery here is no less stunning. That day the sunlight was strong, yet you said, "the sunlight is just right." It's said that Nisai has two Lovers' Trees, but we didn't find them. Strangely, both Dali and Lugu Lake are said to have Lovers' Trees, but we never saw them. Perhaps those legendary Lovers' Trees were never meant for us.

"If someone clasps your hand on the Walking Marriage Bridge, you must clasp back!" That day we joked around nonsense like that. The Mosuo customs are said to still be preserved. Who knows how many loves this Walking Marriage Bridge has witnessed? I imagine those shy Azhu and Axia, also gazing at the green mountains, blue sky, and the sea of grass, turning from green to yellow and back to green, in the blink of an eye, a year of withering and flourishing. How many stories lie in those years—we don't know, and we don't need to worry.

After Nisai Village, past Xiaoluoshui, a few simple clouds drifted by the horizon. And it was these simple clouds, mirrored in the lake water, that added color to the monotonous blue. But even this color couldn't match your radiance. Standing by the lake, you seemed to add light to the scenery, making it brighter and full of life.

In life, all meetings must end with parting. I think after this trip, we'll be far apart, and perhaps we won't have many chances to meet again. But things aren't always absolute—just as I thought this before, yet our reunion was so unexpectedly perfect. Life is like that, isn't it? Who knows what the days ahead hold? Maybe we'll see each other again very soon, don't you think?

— A person's good mood requires your own personal care; life is short, don't neglect yourself.

Travelogue Contents 1. Dali 2. Shuhe Ancient Town 3. Lugu Lake Travel Information Hotel Index Guide Index Flight Ticket Index Website Navigation Travel Index Cruise Index Corporate Travel Index Join Cooperation Distribution Alliance Friendly Links Corporate Gift Card Purchase Insurance Agency Agency Cooperation Hotel Joining Destination and Scenic Spot Cooperation More Join Cooperation About Ctrip About Ctrip Ctrip Hot Topics Contact Us Recruiting Talents User Agreement Privacy Policy Business License Security Center Ctrip Content Center Intellectual Property Trip.com Group Algorithm Public Notice