Henan Travelogue | Luoyang (Part 1)
Arrival always happens at four in the afternoon. As the sun was about to set, I walked out of the train station. The peonies of Luoyang withered in my heart, and Luoyang shovels stood before my eyes. The road in front of the station was under construction, rows of iron fences cutting the street into narrow, inconvenient lanes. Black-car drivers and hotel owners came up to ask, "Where are you going? Need a room?" Some even asked, "Want a young lady? A pretty one." Waves of these people appeared before me, and I shook my head all the way, like a rattle drum, walking and shouting: "No, not going, I have a place to stay."
My newly bought white suitcase was dragged along, and I regretted in my heart why I had bought a white one—was I afraid it wouldn't get dirty? At the taxi pickup point outside the station, taxis lined up one after another, entering the designated lane, while anxious passengers stood in line waiting. I dragged my suitcase past them. At the bus stop, some people craned their necks looking for their bus, others searched the signboards for the bus to their destination. The dense crowd made the road inconvenient; I dragged my suitcase past them.
I followed my phone navigation to find the hostel I had booked earlier online, which was near the train station. The next leg of the trip was scheduled for a little past six in the morning, so it was convenient for catching the bus. Although I had navigation, I still took some detours. The roads in front of the station were complicated, with heavy traffic and construction everywhere, turning simple streets into a maze-like exploration. At a T-junction, the construction had disabled the traffic lights, and traffic was regulated by a simple temporary signal in the center of the road. Going against traffic, I waited for the green light, then crossed straight through the intersection under the gaze of a left-turning truck's headlights, then turned left. Continuing straight for a few hundred meters, I turned into a small street. On the main road, there were already several hostels. Turning into the small street, it was like another commercial scene—hostels lined up one after another, various restaurants interspersed with small shops and supermarkets, and in crowded spacious areas, carts sold snacks.
Although the road wasn't long, I followed the navigation to the marked location. But when I looked up, all I saw were hostels, and I couldn't find the one I had booked. It seemed every door had a hostel sign. After dragging my white suitcase around searching, I gave up and called the hostel. A woman's voice answered on the other end. Following her directions, I finally found her hostel, and all the dust of the journey was scattered under the twilight of Luoyang.
Galloping through the streets of Luoyang, can one recall the glorious days of the Wu Zhou period when horses galloped through Luoyang city and peonies bloomed at night in the Purple Micro Palace? Of course not. Horses are no longer a means of transportation, the season for peony blossoms has long passed or not yet arrived, and Wu Zetian has been lying in the Qianling Mausoleum in Shaanxi for over 1,300 years. Today's Luoyang is a different scene altogether.
Luoyang, the ancient capital of thirteen dynasties—one shovel strike might disturb who knows whom. In such a historically famous city, archaeological excavations and infrastructure construction go hand in hand. Every now and then, news breaks about ancient tombs unearthed during subway construction. Although it's often treated as a talking point or curiosity, people have become accustomed to the rhythm of developing while excavating. But every shovel of soil reminds you that these are the dust of history. So many people's achievements and failures are buried beneath this city, while those above continue to write new history for it.
Perhaps it was the first day of the trip, filled with excitement and anticipation for the days ahead. The longer I was cooped up in the train carriage, the wilder I felt galloping freely through Luoyang's streets. The weather felt especially refreshing—I could hardly resist jumping three times on a shared e-bike. The streets of Luoyang were lined with shared bikes and e-bikes, making rental and travel convenient. Several streets and roads interweave to cover the main attractions in the urban areas. For attractions outside the city, one needs to take a bus—that's for the following days. Right now, I just wanted to see more of this ancient city's present: the evening, the pedestrians, the lively atmosphere.
The sun was about to set, and Luoyang's night was approaching. I weaved through the dimming streets toward one of Luoyang's old streets, about three kilometers from my hostel. This old street starts at the ancient city gate "Lijing Gate" and is a cultural thoroughfare, also a night market food street. Every city has a cultural old street transformed into a food street. Even if there isn't an ancient street, they will create one to evoke the ancient charm of a bustling night market.
Luoyang's traffic wasn't great. People rode e-bikes recklessly, running red lights. It was rush hour, and every intersection showed me the fierce army of e-bikes. As long as they weren't hit by cars, people heading home from work, school, or rushing somewhere gathered at intersections, then dispersed on the other side. Different people gathered at the next intersection. One intersection was much wider than others, with a thick stone pillar in the middle supporting a large tripod cauldron—a symbol, needless to say, of Luoyang's ancient cultural pride.
When I arrived at Lijing Gate, it was completely dark. Luoyang's night scenery was relatively dim. Lijing Gate didn't have wall-washing lights shining all over it. On Lijing Gate, windows resembling office windows were lit on the left and right, combining with the bustling lights through the archway to form a face with two eyes and a mouth. Surrounding Lijing Gate was a narrow moat. The water and green pathways along the moat extended far around Lijing Gate, merging with the city in the distant darkness. Pedestrians on the bridge walked together. The closer I got to Lijing Gate, the more I felt a huge, dim mass looming before me. The night market lights behind the archway attracted the dark figures on the street to walk forward, sucked into the gate. Pedestrians coming out drifted past me like shadows. The night divided two worlds at this archway.
Passing through Lijing Gate, I entered a barbican, and the lighting immediately brightened. An empty square was surrounded by high walls on all sides. The sounds of portrait painters and vendors' speakers echoed in this enclosed space. Sandwiched between the external street and the internal night market world, this rectangular space had a sense of detachment, like a transit station to another world. No one stopped here—it was empty and devoid of anything.
Stepping onto the old street's bluestone slabs, the narrow old street felt lively between the low, old houses on both sides. People wandered, looking at lanterns, shop signs, banners, and various trinkets on stalls. The old street wasn't particularly distinctive. Apart from some local Luoyang specialties (like Yan Cai), the other trinkets weren't much different from those in other cities. What surprised me was the contrast between the bustling night market street and the adjacent residential alleys. Turning a corner out of the old street, the nearby old residential area was eerily quiet, with only one or two people occasionally passing by under dim streetlights. The difference between the two adjacent streets was so great it felt like another world—so quiet it evoked emptiness and fear.
At another section of the old street night market, I encountered a completely different awe-inspiring scene. The intersection crossed with an even larger night market street. The buildings on both sides were no longer low houses but five- or six-story residential buildings. On both sides of the street, dense rows of lantern-shaped streetlamp decorations stood tall. Lanterns hung vertically like clusters of grapes from the lampposts—each lamppost had five strings of lanterns, forming an archway of lanterns when paired. Every dozen or so steps was another pair, continuing to the end of the street. The dense red lanterns, visually shrinking in size with distance, arranged in orderly regularity, provided a powerful visual impact. Although the night market street was much wider, small food carts lined both sides, funneling pedestrians into the middle, creating a crowded throng. This was a pure food street. Though the food wasn't particularly unique, the variety was rich, and together with the dense lantern decorations and the crowded street, it gave me a profound impression.
Written by: Bin Ru Ren
Travelogue Directory:
1. Luoyang Train Station
2. Luoyang Streets
3. Lijing Gate Old Street Night Market
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