Nanjing–Mount Wutai–Datong 5-Day Pilgrimage Road Trip
Nanjing–Mount Wutai–Datong 5-Day Pilgrimage Road Trip Itinerary
I’d been longing to visit Mount Wutai for a long time—ever since six or seven years ago, when I envied those who followed a master on a month-long walking pilgrimage to the mountain. But with work and family commitments, such an indulgence was impossible. Finally in 2019, we planned a road trip for 2020, only to have it disrupted by the pandemic. Two more years passed in a blink. As the weather grew warmer, I wanted to plan a trip in August, but work piled up again. So be it. I stopped waiting. In late July, I decided it was time to just go. The moment I made the decision, I felt a firm calling from the Bodhisattva in my heart.
Although we only had five days, the journey would cover 2,700 kilometers. So I had to strip away the non-essential and visit only the places I most wanted to see, leaving the rest for later—perhaps the lingering anticipation would be rewarding.
Right before departure, I saw a notice that all vehicle reservations for the next three days were fully booked. So at midnight on the 21st, I stayed up and secured a vehicle entry permit for the 23rd. Yes!
I’ve always felt I have good luck. I found a delightful young woman on Douyin who runs a guesthouse inside Mount Wutai, about two kilometers from the main scenic area. I promptly booked her place—a two-bedroom suite perfect for four people. We hit it off chatting, and I brought along Nanjing-style salted duck and roast duck as a little gift for her.
At 5 a.m., the sky was already light as we set off from Nanjing. The two kids settled in the back seat with neck pillows and light blankets, continuing their rendezvous with dreamland. I had planned to let them sleep for three hours and then wake up for breakfast, but they slept so soundly they didn’t stir until nearly 9 a.m. Even after breakfast, they went right back to snoozing. Was my driving that smooth? The weather was fine—no wind, no rain, just a partly cloudy sky, not too hot or glaring—perfect for covering distance. I had the beautiful scenery all to myself, the only one with eyes open.
After lunch, we set off again. Three stretches totaling 1,000 kilometers in 12 hours, and finally we glimpsed Mount Wutai! Little did I know there was still an hour’s queue from the highway exit to enter the scenic area.
You can buy e-tickets directly on the official WeChat account; they need to match your ID. Vehicles with reservations are scanned by license plate at the entrance. If you don’t have a reservation, park your car right there—don’t drive up to the entrance, or you’ll queue for ages and have to turn back.
Since I entered the scenic area after 6 p.m., I naturally wanted to catch the sunset. At Mount Wutai, the sun sets around 7:40 p.m. I confirmed the spot with the guesthouse owner and drove straight to Nanshan Temple and Youguo Temple. It was absolutely the right choice. In the timeless, serene temple, we slowly waited for the sunset and listened to a resident monk talk about temple life in winter when temperatures drop below minus 30 degrees. A lively big dog kept trying to cozy up to us.
At that moment, this was exactly the Mount Wutai I had longed for—quiet, calming. This moment was the past, the present, and the future.
The road to Youguo Temple wasn’t fully paved—rough gravel, sharp turns, and very steep. Parking spaces were tight. Especially after sunset, when it got dark, driving was trickier. I’d suggest novice drivers park at Nanshan Temple and walk up; it’s not far.
After descending, we went straight to a restaurant the guesthouse owner recommended. Delicious! We tried the local specialty soda “Dayao,” which tastes like old-fashioned popsicles.
Finally, after 9 p.m., we arrived at the guesthouse. There were no parking spots left, so I squeezed my car right in front of the gate, knowing I’d have to wake up early to move it so as not to block guests heading out for sunrise.
Here’s the guesthouse—honest recommendation; it didn’t disappoint!
Tonight, rest well!
At 6 a.m., the sky was clear. The kids were still fast asleep, so watching the sunrise was out of the question. My husband and I took a stroll to enjoy the surrounding scenery. Back at the guesthouse, we chatted over breakfast with the owner’s mother, a devout Buddhist. She told us that next time I come to Mount Wutai, I should allow at least three days and hike the pilgrimage circuit, bringing a down jacket and raincoat because the weather on the mountain changes fast. I replied that I would, and that next time I’d come alone without the kids to walk the circuit. For today’s itinerary, we’d do the “small circuit”: first Dailuo Peak, then along the route to Shuxiang Temple—Pagoda Courtyard Temple—Wuye Temple—Luohou Temple—Xiantong Temple—Bodhisattva Peak.
Breakfast at the guesthouse was delicious: pimple soup, millet porridge, scallion pancakes. I dug in heartily, but the southern-raised kids showed little interest, barely eating a few bites before running off. I called after them, “Take some snacks—you’ll be hungry later.” Nobody listened; they all dashed away. The owner added a punchline: “Why bring anything? Kids are all the same—when you go out, all they need is their mom.”
I sketched a simple hand-drawn map.
Don’t underestimate peak season at Mount Wutai. Just 300 meters from the door, we hit traffic. The GPS showed 45 minutes to cover a bit over a kilometer—I suspected it was worse, and the parking lot might be full. So I immediately turned around, parked in front of the new Da Guangming Temple, and decided to walk to the scenic area. Later, this proved to be a brilliant move!
Abandoning the car and walking brought us past Bishan Temple. Instantly captivated by its ancient simplicity, we heard chanting echoing from within—a sponsor was holding a Water and Land Dharma Assembly, a four-session ritual requiring significant expenditure but bringing boundless merit. Rejoice and admire!
Walking to the entrance of the Dailuo Peak climb took about half an hour—definitely faster than driving. Looking at the barely moving traffic, I silently praised my own wisdom. From the stele marking the start of the Dazhi Road, we began our path to seek wisdom. There are 1,080 stone steps, and countless pilgrims kowtow every three steps. Faith is watered by sweat and perseverance. Whether cultivating oneself or praying to the gods, it all sows seeds of good karma and deserves admiration.
Not far along, we passed Shancai Cave. Being in their early twenties, the kids naturally harbored a yearning for wealth. Watching them seriously bow in each hall, I took the chance to teach them the proper way to prostrate and the etiquette for entering Buddha halls—education needs the right moment. As a layperson, I cannot expound the Dharma, but I shared my simple understanding of “Sudhana’s wealth”: do not seek ill-gotten gains, nor wealth beyond your basic needs and capacity to manage. Essentially, the wealth you receive in life is largely predestined, matching your abilities and merit. If you seek wealth, trust in righteous ways, not crooked paths; generosity is the shortcut to seeking wealth... I rambled on, but the kid surprisingly didn’t get impatient. May he take a sentence or two to heart. Parents are merely guides; his future practice depends on himself.
At Dailuo Peak, a viewing platform is being built at the entrance. To enter the temple, we had to climb temporary construction stairs, but that didn’t deter the crowds. To meet the imperial demand of worshipping all five platforms in one day, this temple enshrines the Five Forms of Manjushri, so today’s visitors enjoy the same royal treatment.
Just as I was taking photos, suddenly a monk scolded me. Listening closely, I realized he mistakenly thought I was photographing him. We explained we were shooting scenery, but he remained angry: “There are always tourists who film monks and post them on Douyin or Kuaishou; these tourists mostly, blah blah…” Master, show compassion—isn’t spreading the Dharma online also a way of sharing the teachings? Why use harsh words? At least the tourists around us here would feel vexed hearing this.
Coming down from Dailuo Peak, it was already noon. We had planned to eat vegetarian lunch at Puhua Temple, but without a car and with traffic jammed, we couldn’t make it in time. There was a Dicos offering veggie burgers down the mountain, but eating a burger in Shanxi felt soulless. As it turned out, after passing that place, there were no more restaurants until we reached Shuxiang Temple. Luckily, I always had some snacks in my bag, so we made do. There were roadside stalls selling boiled corn and instant noodles.
From Shuxiang Temple onward, I won’t bore you with standard tourist details. But at that moment, being on Mount Wutai stirred a mix of emotions. During tourist season, the crowds at Dailuo Peak, the “no entry” signs at Shuxiang Temple, the din at Wuye Temple, the Pagoda Courtyard Temple under renovation, the pagoda and crane… all made my cool pilgrimage heart suddenly sweaty with agitation.
Then I switched perspective: since I came on pilgrimage, to seek my original heart, I should slow down, even more so. So what caught my eye became the huge bird’s nest atop the withered tree in front of the White Pagoda, the quiet sutra library hidden behind the Great Manjusri Hall, the occasional tinkling wind chimes at Guangren Temple, and the glittering spiderweb between eaves and corner. The heart stilled and naturally became cool… We sat inside the Ten Directions Hall of Guangren Temple, unable to understand the monks’ chanting, but enjoying the wafting breeze. My son got a whimsical idea: he took a water bottle, fetched water from the large fire-prevention vat—the water was very clear—and watered the ancient trees one by one in the courtyard.
Me, with ordinary mortal eyes, probably can’t recognize Manjushri Bodhisattva, yet the Bodhisattva’s compassionate eyes have seen me.
After visiting Luohou Temple and Da Yuantong Temple, we reached the last stop: Bodhisattva Peak. My younger son sat on the steps, struggling—he really didn’t want to walk anymore. Even though only 108 steps remained, they looked steep enough to make his legs wobble! So I said to him: “My child, why did you come to Mount Wutai?” He answered: “To seek wisdom.” I continued: “Alright, wisdom is precious, hard to obtain. It must be at the highest point. Even if you climb up, you might not gain great wisdom, only a little. But if you stay at the bottom without climbing, you’ll definitely get none. Although the Bodhisattva is everywhere on Mount Wutai, staying low yourself means you can only snatch a bit of shallow cleverness.” The child looked at me helplessly: “Fine, I’ll climb!”
I don’t know if I fooled the kids or they were kindly playing along with mom! After that, the two kids mustered their energy and ran up, leaving the old mother panting behind.
The first day’s itinerary ended perfectly. Returning, it felt like riding a horse lightly on fallen petals. At dusk, we randomly chose a busy roadside restaurant for local dishes—hard to go wrong. The street echoed with local opera singing. Tourist shops were filled with Shanxi vinegar, Mount Wutai mushroom sauce, and prayer beads made of “six paths dragon-subduing sacred wood.”
The beauty of Mount Wutai is that the Buddhist realm stays within Buddhism, and commerce stays within commerce—each thriving in its own way.
I had planned to do the full five-platform circuit in one day, but the guesthouse owner suggested: “Since you’re heading to Datong tonight and are short on time, you could choose to visit only the East Peak and North Peak.” (Actually, looking back, starting early, a full circuit in one day is not rushed, but going as we did was also good—relaxed and enjoyable). It happened that two girls from Nanjing were also staying there, so we could share a scenic area tour vehicle. The roads on Mount Wutai for the circuit are truly rough and difficult; private cars are not allowed up for safety. Only official tour vehicles can go, each seating 11, but typically departing with around 8. With six of us altogether, it was easy to pool. So I, dubbed by my son as having “social ninja syndrome,” went to connect with the two lovely girls. They had flown to Taiyuan, rented a car, and driven over, with only one of them able to drive—I admired their courage. Later, after we parted ways at Ying County, they even swung by Inner Mongolia, but that’s another story.
In the morning, after checking out, we drove to the tour bus station to transfer to a scenic vehicle. Before we left, the guesthouse owner insisted on giving me a barrel of authentic Shanxi aged vinegar and mushroom sauce, calling it a reciprocal gesture. So grateful! I said back in Nanjing I’d dip duck in aged vinegar and mushroom sauce to taste the flavor of long-distance friendship!
At East Peak’s Wanghai Temple, we paid respects to Wisdom Manjushri in the ancient hall behind. Each of my sons offered a butter lamp and silently made a wish; the monk’s chime rang clear.
I bowed and wished: May I maintain clarity of mind, not grow dull or confused, and not suffer from dementia! The monk smiled and said: “Good!”
East Peak Wanghai Temple:
Monks and visitors resting on a bench in front of the Immaculate Manjushri Hall at North Peak:
Reaching the highest North Peak felt like suddenly falling into a city in the sky—breathtaking and enchanting! These must be the bathing bubbles of Immaculate Manjushri, cleansing the mortal world’s heart. A gentle piebald cow followed me. I broke off some corn kernels to feed it, but it turned away, insisting on licking my palm—a bit ticklish. I stroked its nose bridge; it blinked and slowly walked off.
All along the way, I repeatedly taught my sons to chant:
Om A Ra Pa Ca Na Dhīh
Om A Ra Pa Ca Na Dhīh
Om A Ra Pa Ca Na Dhīh
By the time we descended, it was around 1 p.m. We grabbed a quick lunch and prepared to head to the Hanging Temple, only to realize time was too tight—the scenic area closes at 5:30 p.m., and it was clearly too late. We quickly switched to Ying County to visit the world’s most magnificent wooden pagoda. Taking the combination of Shashi Line and Provincial Road 205, we wound smoothly through the mountains, speed unhurried, mood cheerful.
Here, online tickets plus a negative nucleic acid test within five days sufficed for entry; closing time was 6:30 p.m., and we arrived just after 5 p.m.
The Ying County Wooden Pagoda (also called Fogong Temple·Shakyamuni Pagoda) was built in 1056 AD (the second year of Liao Qingning, equivalent to the third year of Northern Song Zhihe). It is the world’s tallest and oldest existing pure wooden multi-story structure. Not a single iron nail was used in the whole pagoda; it relies entirely on wooden components mortised and tenoned together. Throughout the pagoda are 59 different forms and hundreds of bracket sets (dougong, which both help share the load for the pillars and buffer and disperse external forces), decorating the pagoda like blooming lotus flowers. Two Buddha tooth relics discovered successively at the pagoda are, according to research, true relics of Shakyamuni Buddha. The above is the official description; beauty must be felt firsthand.
Entering the pagoda, I was struck by the extraordinary softness of the Buddha’s robes, especially the vine patterns in lotus pink adorning the sacred field behind him, as if the realistically wrinkled folds were within reach. The dome ceiling inside the pagoda, pieced together from thousands of wooden blocks, was magnificent and exquisite—surely originating from the flawless, pure devotional heart of the patrons. Standing there in reverence, a spontaneous feeling of admiration and closeness arose. Who’s to say at that moment we weren’t sharing the same heart across a thousand years with those ancient patrons, in spiritual resonance?
Fogong Temple is a separate courtyard behind the pagoda, connected by a bridge, though now it’s rather dry and no water flows beneath it. It is said that the current temple occupies less than a tenth of its prime area. Because we entered the scenic area late, the staff at Fogong Temple was about to close the hall doors. Seeing us, she hesitated, then stopped and invited us in to worship. Judging by her clothing, I thought she was a volunteer and thanked her. She said, “I’m a staff member, working half a day and receiving only half the salary, less than two thousand yuan.” She added, “Without faith, I wouldn’t do this job.” In the courtyard, a cluster of flowers bloomed brilliantly. She seemed to murmur to herself or address us: “The torch tree flowers are so beautiful this year!”
Stepping out of Fogong Temple, we were still reluctant to leave. The four of us sat on the steps west of the pagoda, watching tired birds return to their nests, clouds drift and change, and the collection of magnificent plaques. Outside the pagoda, every plaque is exquisitely crafted, a paradise for calligraphy lovers. We watched how the already tilted second story and still-upright upper section coexisted miraculously.
We watched a grey-haired woman carrying a heavy camera, shooting obsessively. I thought to myself, someday I might be her—in old age, free from children’s ties, carefree and self-loving.
We stayed until dusk. When we left, the scenic area operating hours had long passed. The elderly gatekeeper simply waited for us quietly, without a single word of urgency or complaint, and gently closed the gate behind us. His compassion perhaps lay in understanding that though we had traveled so far, this might be our only encounter with the pagoda in this lifetime, with no further chance.
Exiting the pagoda, we stepped into a bustling pedestrian street lined with shops. Behind the gate was the silence of seekers; outside, the vanity of the mundane world. Truly, our surroundings mirror our heart.
On the street, I spotted this plaque. Ha ha ha. Maybe only a few people would notice it; no one can escape their inherent viewpoint and professional imprint.
As the sun set, the sky was still bright. Tonight turned out to be a fine evening for a sunset, gifted to our journey home.
Along the way, we discussed Ying County, the former Yingzhou, one of the famous Sixteen Prefectures of Youyun. Over time, many of those prefectures have faded into obscurity, but here, because of this wooden pagoda—an imperial temple—it has blessed later generations for a thousand years. Even now, it draws many tourists and economically sustains the local community.
Question: Ultimately, is it the ancestors who built the pagoda out of aspiration who bless later generations, or is it the compassionate Buddha and Bodhisattva abiding here to enlighten sentient beings? Answer: Could not the ancestors be Buddhas and Bodhisattvas? Humans are future Buddhas; Buddhas are past humans.
By nightfall, we arrived in Datong and stayed on bustling Qingyuan Street, intending to be close to Huayan Temple—only 300 meters away. The randomly chosen Bajue Lou Inn was highly recommendable: comfortable and conveniently located. Sitting below the Drum Tower with a bowl of cold noodles, rabbit head, lamb trotter, Dayao soda, and ice-cold beer—the sounds of city life and the satisfaction of appetite released the day’s fatigue. Good night!
Early morning, we headed to Yungang Grottoes. I had done no planning for today because Yungang was my last stop among the four great grottoes. Based on past experience, the time needed here is always random, so today I decided to go with the flow and stop whenever.
Perhaps because we were going to Yungang, a little rain fell early, but thank the Bodhisattva, it was only a few drops. Honestly, Yungang is the most visitor-friendly of the four great grottoes. First, it’s relatively intact; second, you can view the carvings up close. If you’ve never seen a grotto before, this is the best choice for a great experience.
I suggest following a guide or using an electronic guide and moving from cave to cave slowly. The differences in eras, the traces of cultural fusion between East and West, all unfold before you. Remember, we now take it all in at a glance, but building these caves took many years.
The most famous Five Caves of Tan Yao are located almost at the end of the grotto complex. Long prayer mats were placed before the giant Buddhas. My younger son, with understanding, performed full prostrations. Watching his serious effort, I was gratified that he’s drawn close to Buddhism since childhood, planting good roots. So I followed behind, solemnly performing full prostrations, wishing that from now until future eons, with the Buddha’s guidance, I may eventually reach the other shore.
Many caves don’t allow photography, and tourists can’t get close or touch. But pigeons can. See those pigeons resting freely by the Maitreya Buddha’s window? I envy their good karma.
In front of the Great Buddha is a tourist service area with shadow puppet theater. The two kids were curious and went to check it out — it happened to be telling the story of the eminent monk Tan Yao building the caves. It made an even deeper impression.
The only thing I’d complain about is Yungang’s cultural and creative products, which are rather lackluster compared to the Forbidden City or Dunhuang; I had no desire to buy. Also, here, “shumai” turned out to be mini steamed buns, which disappointed my rice-loving kid.
Given Yungang’s scale, three hours is enough. After lunch, we decided to head to the Hanging Temple.
Sometimes, travel needs a bit of luck and courage. In the afternoon, on the 100-plus-kilometer drive to the Hanging Temple, rain began to fall—drizzling, on and off. With mixed feelings, we decided to still climb the temple. As it happened, just when we climbed onto the Hanging Temple, a downpour hit. We leaned against the cliff wall listening to rolling thunder. There was no wind, and the rain didn’t blow in under the eaves, so we felt reasonably secure and could quietly listen to the rain. Perhaps because of the rain, visitors weren’t too crowded, allowing us to pause at each spot, content.
When we descended, the rain stopped. Checking the time, we thought about visiting the Earth Forest—a gamble on our luck, betting on the sky clearing and a spectacular sunset. This is the beauty of traveling alone: even if the plan doesn’t work out, there’s no dissatisfaction or complaint.
We reached the Earth Forest around 6 p.m. The ticket office said summer sunsets are late, and they close at 8 p.m. This place is an excellent spot for sunset viewing. To be honest, tourism promotion here is average, the location is remote, and there aren’t many visitors. During the whole time, I encountered fewer than 30 tourists. Maybe that’s why the landscape has been preserved. I really hope it remains hidden and unknown. Yet I can’t help but praise its beauty, afraid that if it one day disappears, few would have witnessed it, adding to the regret.
Those who have seen the Yardang ghost town know the grandeur left by wind-eroded rocks—awe-inspiring. Here, it’s similarly solitary and fantastically shaped. Except here it’s vertical loess, weathered by rain, snow, wind, and frost to reveal its character.
Wait for the rain to clear, wait for a sky full of rosy clouds, wait for your face full of furrows yet seeing through a thousand years. How many faces scattered by wind and rain will never be seen again.
The beauty needs few words—here are pictures.
Grateful for the Bodhisattva’s blessings all along! The day’s itinerary was perfect. Back to Datong at night to comfort our stomachs. Rest well!
Today was the last day of vacation; tomorrow I had to work. But I couldn’t bear to miss Huayan Temple. So last night I discussed with my son: if you two can’t get enough sleep tomorrow morning, just keep sleeping. We’ll go to Huayan Temple first, come back around 10 a.m., wake you for breakfast, and then head home. The younger one said, “I want to go; Mom, call me early.”
In reality, waking early didn’t help—Huayan Temple opens at 8:30. We got up at 8, freshened up, and walked ten minutes to the temple gate. Here, with a refuge certificate you can just register and enter; kids pay half price—quite visitor-friendly.
Visitors here inevitably marvel at the imperial temple’s grace, the wooden pagoda’s exquisite luxury, and the mysterious beauty of the “Eastern Venus” Bodhisattva statue. But this quiet morning, wandering the hundred-acre temple, I was even more amazed by its immaculate tidiness. Rows of fruit trees with not a fallen leaf in sight; flocks of birds but no droppings on the ground. Looking around, no litter, no weeds, not even clutter. In a corner of a hall, I saw a volunteer, holding a long-handled fine brush, dipping it in a bucket of water, slowly scrubbing the ground. The stone slabs were cleaned bit by bit in the water stains, then quickly dried. Just like that, unhurriedly, inch by inch.
The Buddha statues in the halls have stood for a thousand years, their shoulders and heads gray with accumulated dust. This millennium-old dust has integrated with the statues, making them even more ancient and venerable.
Traveling a thousand miles to see thousand-year-old things—isn’t it all to encounter the beauty of this world?
All journeys must end. The entire trip covered over 2,700 kilometers, with the return leg being 1,206 kilometers and taking nearly 13 hours. We arrived in Nanjing just after 1 a.m. on the 28th. The 5-day Mount Wutai–Datong pilgrimage trip was perfectly concluded.
Good morning, Nanjing!
