Ikaruga is a historic town near Nara, known for its important role in the early development of Buddhism and Japanese culture. The town is home to Hōryū-ji, one of Japan’s most significant ancient Buddhist temples. Founded in the early seventh century and closely associated with Prince Shōtoku, Hōryū-ji preserves some of the oldest surviving wooden structures in the world. In 1993, the Buddhist Monuments in the Hōryū-ji Area were inscribed on the UNESCO World Heritage List. The site was recognized for its exceptional wooden architecture, its importance in the history of Buddhism in Japan, and the way its buildings demonstrate the adaptation of Chinese Buddhist architectural traditions to Japanese culture.
I travelled to Ikaruga in the early morning of December 2025, arriving while the town was still wrapped in the quietness of the beginning of the day. Unlike the busy streets of Osaka, Ikaruga felt almost completely removed from the rhythm of a modern tourist city. There were few people on the streets, little traffic, and hardly any of the noise. The town itself was modest and unassuming. Small, individually built houses stood closely along narrow streets, their tiled roofs and weathered walls softened by the pale winter light. Some houses had small gardens enclosed by low walls or wooden fences.
Chumon
Rather than broad roads leading dramatically towards Hōryū-ji, there were small residential streets and narrow lanes, turning gently between houses and disappearing from view. The December morning air was cool and clean. The trees had largely lost their leaves, leaving bare branches silhouetted against a soft winter sky, while patches of evergreen remained around gardens and temple grounds. The low morning sunlight fell gently across the walls and rooftops. The temple was not immediately revealed in some grand approach. Instead, the route seemed to unfold gradually through the town.
There was something beautiful about approaching Hōryū-ji in this way. At the end of the quiet road, the South Gate of Hōryū-ji suddenly came into view. After walking through the small residential lanes of Ikaruga, the sight of the great wooden gate felt almost like crossing a threshold into another age. It was imposing yet remarkably graceful. Its dark, weathered timber had been softened by centuries of exposure to sun, rain and wind, giving the wood a deep brown color and a texture that seemed to carry the weight of time. The massive wooden pillars rose firmly from the stone pavement, supporting the broad tiled roof whose gently curved eaves extended outward in the characteristic manner of traditional Japanese temple architecture.
Kondo and Gojunoto
Beyond the gate, my first glimpse of Hōryū-ji opened gradually. The Five-Story Pagoda rose prominently in the distance, its dark wooden tiers becoming smaller and smaller as they climbed towards the sky. Its silhouette was remarkably elegant—five carefully balanced roofs stacked one above another, each projecting outward beneath the next. Beside it stood the Main Hall (Kondō), lower and broader, with its own sweeping tiled roof and rows of ancient wooden columns.
What struck me most was the pagoda under the pale winter sky. It was not brightly coloured or freshly polished. Their surfaces had been naturally darkened by age, and the weathered timber seemed almost black from a distance. Yet this subdued appearance made the architecture feel even more ancient. The courtyard was spacious and remarkably quiet that morning. The stone pavement, the aged timber, the tiled roofs and the towering pagoda formed a composition of extraordinary simplicity. I seemed to be the first visitor to arrive at Hōryū-ji that morning. The temple grounds were almost completely empty. A few monks were already at work.They moved quietly across the temple grounds, each holding a simple broom of straw and slowly sweeping the stone paths and courtyard. The gentle, rhythmic sound of the bristles brushing against the ground was almost the only sound in the morning.
For a moment, its history was not only preserved in ancient timber, tiled roofs or priceless Buddhist sculptures. It was also preserved through small actions repeated day after day: opening the gates, sweeping the paths, tending the grounds, and beginning another morning in the same sacred place. Perhaps this was one of the most beautiful things about arriving so early. Before the temple became a destination for visitors, it was simply a temple beginning another day. There were no crowds and no voices around me. Only the soft sound of the brooms moved across the stone accompanied by the faint winter air.
Daikodo
The Daikōdō stands at the northern end of Hōryū-ji’s central courtyard, its broad horizontal form creating a striking contrast with the towering Five-Story Pagoda. With its deep tiled roof, gently curved eaves, and dark, weathered wooden columns, the hall has a dignified yet peaceful appearance. Traditionally associated with Buddhist teaching and study, it was a place where monks gathered to learn and contemplate Buddhist teachings. Inside, the tranquil wooden interior houses Yakushi Nyorai, the Buddha of healing, accompanied by attendant bodhisattvas.
Outside the main temple buildings, Hōryū-ji opened into a much wider and more tranquil landscape outside the courtyard. The atmosphere here was completely different from the enclosed courtyards. Green trees were scattered throughout the grounds, their foliage standing out against the muted colors of the December landscape.
Small ponds appeared among the trees, their still surfaces reflecting fragments of the sky, branches and surrounding greenery. The wide paved paths stretched gently between the trees and temple buildings, leaving plenty of open space. Walking there alone, I felt no need to hurry from one attraction to another. The peaceful surroundings invited me simply to slow down, wander and stay for a while.
Saien-do
On the western side of Hōryū-ji, away from the more famous Five-Story Pagoda and Main Hall, I came to the Saien-dō, a smaller and more secluded temple hall standing quietly among the trees. The approach itself felt different from the grand central precinct. Instead of arriving at another monumental gate or an imposing courtyard, I followed a quieter path that gradually led upward through the greenery. Saien-dō has a much more modest presence than the great buildings of Hōryū-ji. Its circular form and gently curved tiled roof give it an unusual appearance among the predominantly rectangular halls of the temple complex.
Standing before it, I found myself surrounded by the aged wooden surfaces, the ancient roof tiles, the wooden railings and the shadows cast beneath the eaves. The surrounding trees added greatly to its atmosphere. Their branches framed the roof against the winter sky, while fallen leaves lay scattered along the ground. The December landscape had a subdued beauty, with patches of green remaining among the bare branches and the soft light filtering through the trees.
Nishimuro
In this temple, I have observed many similar buildings of this style. The Nishimuro is a long, relatively low wooden building, associated with the living quarters and activities of monks. Its architectural speciality is its early Japanese Buddhist timber construction. The building demonstrates the characteristic techniques of the Asuka–Nara architectural tradition which marks the introduction and early development of Buddhism and Buddhist architecture in Japan. It is characterized by timber construction with post-and-lintel structures, large timber columns supported horizontal beams, bracketing systems, large tiled roofs, symmetrical temple layouts. Like other buildings at Hōryū-ji, it is especially significant because the temple preserves some of the oldest surviving wooden architecture in the world.
Daihozoin
After wandering through the ancient temple grounds, I came to the Daihōzō-in, the Gallery of Temple Treasures. The collection inside is extraordinary in its variety. There are Buddhist statues, bodhisattvas, guardian figures, paintings, ritual objects, textiles and other works of religious art. Many of them are extraordinarily old, reaching back to the Asuka and Nara periods. Looking at them, I was struck by how different their appearance was from the familiar Buddhist images of later Japanese temples.
One of the most remarkable treasures associated with Hōryū-ji is the Kudara Kannon, a tall wooden image of Kannon traditionally associated with Baekje Korea. Its extraordinarily slender proportions and serene expression give it an almost otherworldly presence. The sculpture does not have the massive physicality of many later Buddhist statues. Instead, it seems to rise lightly and vertically, its elongated body creating an impression of extraordinary elegance.
The complex of Hōryū-ji is very large and needs around 1.5 hours to go through all the areas. It is worthy to visit it because I could experience one of the world’s most important surviving collections of early wooden Buddhist architecture in its original temple setting. It gives me a physical way to understand the transition from the Asuka period (538–710) into the Nara period (710–794) and the growing influence of Buddhism on Japanese culture. Of course, everyone will take a photo with the iconic five-story pagoda which is a classical memory of Japanese travel.
The Eastern Precinct (Tō-in) of Hōryū-ji is especially famous for the Yumedono (Hall of Dreams). Compared with the Western Precinct, which is associated with some of Japan’s oldest surviving Buddhist buildings, the Eastern Precinct has a somewhat different character: it is a memorial complex connected with Prince Shōtoku who was an influential Japanese prince, political leader, and patron of Buddhism during the Asuka period. He served as regent for Empress Suiko and is traditionally credited with helping strengthen the central government through the Seventeen-Article Constitution. According to temple tradition, he established the original temple, known as Wakakusa-garan, in the early 7th century.
Yumedono
The Eastern Precinct was established later, around the 8th century. Its centre is the famous Yumedono. It functions as a place where Prince Shōtoku’s spiritual legacy is commemorated. It stands at the centre of the Eastern Precinct, surrounded by a cloister. The name Yumedono, translated as “Hall of Dreams,” is connected with traditions about Prince Shōtoku receiving a vision or divine revelation at this location. The octagonal form makes the building visually distinctive.
After I left the Hōryū-ji, I passed a traditional Japanese private residence tucked along the quiet road toward Hōrin-ji. Its entrance is set behind a stone-walled courtyard, where green plants grow naturally around the edges, giving the property a secluded and peaceful character. A wooden entrance door forms the focal point, with two stone statues placed in front as quiet guardians. The combination of weathered stone, dark wood, and greenery gives the house a simple beauty typical of the traditional Japanese landscape with a sense of harmony, simplicity, and tranquillity.
Hōrin-ji
Ikaruga was a center of the early Buddhist and political world around Prince Shōtoku. His religious establishments were concentrated in this area. After his death, other members of his family continued establishing temples connected with him and his legacy. That’s why I could find many temples with the similar names. Hōrin-ji is a small and peaceful temple , just north of Hōryū-ji. It has a more rustic atmosphere than the larger Hōryū-ji complex.
Similar to Hōryū-ji, it has a three-story pagoda rising above the surrounding trees, which is one of the distinctive landmarks of Ikaruga. Traditional wooden temple buildings, with dark timber, tiled roofs, and restrained architectural decoration was surrounded by stone features and garden vegetation. Its name means “Temple of the Dharma Wheel.” Tradition says it was founded by Prince Shōtoku’s son, Prince Yamashiro, to pray for his father’s recovery.
Near the temple buildings stands a large stone temizu basin filled with clear water. A small ladle rests beside it, inviting visitors to scoop the water and purify themselves before continuing through the temple grounds. This kind of device can be seen in many temples in Japan. It maybe a symbolic act of purification before approaching sacred spaces.
The walk I took from Hōryū-ji to Hōrin-ji to Hōkki-ji is actually passing through one of Japan’s most concentrated landscapes of 7th-century Buddhist history. The ordinary houses, stone walls, fields, and narrow roads between the temples are part of that historic Ikaruga setting rather than simply being a modern neighborhood around three temples.
The wide fields, distant mountains and an expansive sky, create a peaceful rural horizon. Standing there with the fields stretching out before me, I took a photograph of the landscape: the low mountains forming a gentle backdrop, the broad agricultural land spreading across the foreground, and the enormous winter sky above. Many Japanese towns are framed by mountains, particularly toward the north, because much of Japan’s interior is mountainous. Even places densely populated often have mountains quietly appearing beyond the buildings. In Ikaruga, however, there were few structures to interrupt the view, so the town, the fields and the surrounding mountains was especially clear.
Hōki-ji
At a quiet corner of the country road, I unexpectedly encountered my last destination, Hōki-ji. It was almost hidden from view, tucked away in a small patch of woodland at the edge of the fields. Through the trees I caught my first glimpse of the three-story pagoda, rising quietly above the surrounding greenery. This temple is also deeply connected with the early history of Japanese Buddhism. Tradition associates it with Prince Yamashiro no Ōe, the son of Prince Shōtoku.
The main hall, although much less imposing than the great halls of Hōryū-ji was modest with traditional tiled roofs, and the surrounding grounds were simple and uncluttered. The three-Story Pagoda was built in the seventh century; one of the oldest surviving three-story pagodas in Japan and the oldest surviving pagoda in the country. Its dark wooden structure stood beautifully against the open sky, each successive roof becoming smaller as the tower rose upward.
By the time I reached Hōki-ji, I had spent the day walking through the small lanes of Ikaruga, visiting ancient temples and gradually moving farther into the countryside. The temple felt like a fitting conclusion to the journey. What moved me most was that history here did not feel like something preserved only for tourists; it remained quietly rooted in everyday life and in the corner of country landscape. That was the most moving part of the journey. After so many centuries, history in Ikaruga does not seem to shout for attention. It was simply waiting for those who are willing to slow down and notice it.
More than a thousand years have passed since Nara stood at the heart of Japan as the imperial capital of Heijō-kyō. In the Man’yōshū, the poet praised the ancient city: “Beautiful Nara, the ancient capital, flourishes now like flowers in full bloom.” Those words conjure Nara in the height of its splendor, when its palaces, temples, and streets were filled with the life and ambition of a flourishing new capital. Today, much of that city has disappeared, leaving only fragments scattered across the landscape. Yet walking through Nara, the passage of time does not feel distant. It lingers in the weathered stones, the ancient wooden halls, the quiet forests, and the deer wandering beneath the trees. The capital that once flourished like flowers has faded, but something of its spirit remains.
I continued my journey from Osaka to Nara on December 21st 2025 and stayed near the Sarusawa Pond, a peaceful and scenic spot in the heart of the city. The pond is famous for its beautiful views of Kōfuku-ji’s five-story pagoda, which rises above the surrounding trees and traditional streets. Walking around the area, I could enjoy the calm water, historic atmosphere, and glimpse of Nara’s historic scent. It felt like a perfect place to experience the quiet, traditional side of Nara while still being close to the city’s many historic attractions which are parts of the UNESCO World Heritage Site ‘Historic Monuments of Ancient Nara.’
My first point of attraction in Nara was Kōfuku-ji, one of the city’s most famous and historic Buddhist temples. As I walked through the temple grounds, I was surrounded by beautiful traditional architecture and a peaceful atmosphere. Kōfuku-ji’s long history and impressive buildings gave me my first glimpse into Nara’s rich cultural and religious heritage. Kōfuku-ji has a long and fascinating history dating back to 669 AD. It was originally founded in Kyoto by Kagami no Ōkimi to pray for the recovery of her husband, Fujiwara no Kamatari, the founder of the powerful Fujiwara clan. In 710, when the capital was moved to Nara, the temple was relocated to the city and became one of the most important Buddhist temples in Japan.
我在奈良的第一处游览地便是是兴福寺。它是这座古都最著名、也最具历史底蕴的佛教寺院之一。走入寺院的境内，古朴典雅的传统建筑映入眼帘，四周弥漫着一种宁静而悠远的气息。兴福寺悠长的历史与恢弘的建筑，也成为我初次触摸奈良深厚文化与宗教传统的一扇窗口。其历史可以追溯至公元669年。最初，它并不在奈良，而是由日本飞鸟时代的著名女性和歌诗人镜王女（Kagami no Ōkimi）建立于京都，为祈求丈夫藤原镰足（Fujiwara no Kamatari）早日康复。藤原镰足后来成为强大的藤原氏始祖，而这座寺院也由此与日本历史上最具影响力的家族之一结下了深厚的渊源。公元710年，日本迁都奈良，兴福寺也随之迁至这座新都。在此后的岁月里，它逐渐成为日本最重要的佛教寺院之一。
Chū-Kondō
The Central Golden Hall (Chū-Kondō) stood at the heart of Kōfuku-ji, its vermilion columns and broad tiled roof giving the temple precinct a dignified and symmetrical appearance. Although the present hall is a modern reconstruction, its design follows the traditional character of the ancient temple, allowing the historic layout of Kōfuku-ji to emerge once again. Kōfuku-ji has endured repeated fires and destruction throughout its long history, and many of its buildings have been rebuilt over the centuries.
Nanen-dō is a small but historically significant Buddhist hall within Kōfuku-ji. It is especially famous for being the 9th temple on the Saigoku Kannon Pilgrimage, a pilgrimage route connecting 33 temples dedicated to Kannon, the Buddhist bodhisattva of compassion. Built in 813 by Fujiwara no Fuyutsugu, Nanen-dō was originally established as a place of prayer for the Fujiwara family. The present building dates from 1789, after the earlier structure was destroyed by fire. Its simple, octagonal design contrasts with the larger and more elaborate buildings elsewhere at Kōfuku-ji.
The influence of Fujiwara family is deeply woven into the history of Nara. It rose to prominence in the 7th century through Nakatomi no Kamatari, who helped Emperor Tenji carry out the Taika Reforms. In recognition of his service, he was given the surname Fujiwara in 669. His descendants gradually became one of the most influential families at the imperial court. Their greatest political strength came not from becoming emperors themselves, but from controlling the imperial court through marriage. Fujiwara men frequently served as regents and senior court officials, while Fujiwara women married emperors and became mothers of future emperors. Through this network, the family could exercise enormous political influence while remaining behind the imperial throne. Kōfuku-ji became the testimony of this history, it was the family temple of the Fujiwara, functioning not only as a religious institution but also as an important symbol of the family’s status and power.
Tōkondō is called Eastern Golden Hall because it belongs to the group of Kon-dō (Golden Halls) that once formed the heart of the temple complex. Its elegant traditional architecture, with its dark wooden structure, copper bells and distinctive tiled roof, gives it a dignified and timeless appearance. It was originally built in726 by Emperor Shōmu to pray for the recovery of his father, Emperor Genmei. The present building dates from 1415.
Inside, Tōkondō is particularly important for its collection of Buddhist statues and religious treasures which made me feel the religious atmosphere. Among them is a revered statue of Yakushi Nyorai, accompanied by other Buddhist figures. The hall provides a peaceful space to appreciate the artistic and spiritual traditions of medieval Japanese Buddhism. At the entrance, I noticed the hanging curtain with a particularly beautiful detail. The curtain features a traditional pattern of two deer under a tree, reflecting the strong connection between Nara and its sacred deer. Deer have long been regarded as sacred messengers of the gods, particularly because of their association with Kasuga Taisha. Seeing the deer motif on the curtain connects the Buddhist temple with the wider spiritual traditions of Nara.
Kōfuku-ji National Treasure Museum is one of the highlights of a visit to Kōfuku-ji, especially for anyone interested in Japanese Buddhist art and history. The museum houses an impressive collection of Buddhist statues, paintings, and other cultural treasures that were preserved by the temple over many centuries. The artworks and statues made the history of the temple feel more personal and tangible.
The Kongō Rikishi are among the temple’s remarkable Buddhist guardian sculptures and are designated National Treasures of Japan. They represent powerful protective deities who guard Buddhist teachings and sacred spaces from evil and harm. The two guardians are traditionally depicted as muscular, dynamic figures with fierce expressions. Their dramatic poses, bulging muscles, flowing robes, and intense facial expressions create a striking contrast with the calm and compassionate appearance of Buddha and bodhisattva statues. What makes the Kongō Rikishi especially impressive is the exceptional craftsmanship of their wooden sculpture. The sculptors captured movement and emotion with remarkable detail, from the tension in the bodies to the expressive faces and flowing garments.
Nara left a deep impression on me, not only because of its rich history and beautiful temples, but also because of its peaceful natural environment and abundance of deer. As I walked through the city, especially around Nara Park, the presence of deer made the experience feel unique and almost magical. They wandered freely among the trees, pathways, and historic temples. Here, the deer seemed to be part of everyday life. They would cross the roads freely, and cars would patiently stop to let them pass. I was amazed by how comfortable they were around people and close to people. Some of the deer came close enough for me to touch their soft fur. They showed little fear of human beings and simply stood there quietly, occasionally lifting their heads to glance at me, before continuing on their way as if nothing had happened.
The calm surroundings, fresh greenery, and gentle presence of the deer offered a refreshing contrast to the busy atmosphere of Osaka. I slowed down and felt the city’s clamor gradually receded behind me, leaving only the shadows of trees, the gentle breeze, and the light, graceful footsteps of the deer. The experience made my visit feel more than just a sightseeing trip. It was a chance to experience the harmony between nature and history that makes Nara so special.
Nara has so many deer because they have been protected there for more than 1,300 years, and they are deeply connected to the city’s religious history. The story goes back to Kasuga Taisha, where deer were traditionally regarded as sacred messengers of the gods. According to legend, the deity Takemikazuchi-no-Mikoto arrived at Mount Mikasa on a white deer. Because of this, deer in the Nara area came to be treated as sacred animals and were protected rather than hunted. Over the centuries, this tradition continued. The deer gradually became an important part of Nara’s cultural identity. Today, the deer roaming freely around Nara Park, Kasuga Taisha, and the surrounding temple grounds. They have become accustomed to human presence, although they remain wild animals, rather than domesticated pets.
The Ukimido Pavilion is one of the most tranquil and picturesque places in the south of Nara Park.The present pavilion was constructed in 1916 and has a distinctive hexagonal shape with a traditional cypress-bark roof.The surroundings are just as beautiful as the pavilion itself. The pavilion seemed to float on the Sagiike Pond which is enclosed by trees and greenery. The area around the pond forms part of Asajigahara, a quiet, gently hilly section of Nara Park near Kasuga Taisha. I enjoyed the amazing wide landscapes of Nara Park. The vast green forests were filled with deer wandering freely among the trees and along the quiet pathways. In the distance, Mount Kasuga provided a beautiful natural backdrop.
After walking along a stone-paved path lined with rows of perpetual stone lanterns(Eitai Jōyatō), I arrived at the famous Kasuga Taisha in the south of Nara. The path itself was an unforgettable part of the journey. Hundreds of stone lanterns stood quietly among the trees, creating a mysterious and sacred atmosphere as they guided me deeper into the forest. These stone lanterns, known as tōrō, were donated by worshippers over the centuries as offerings to the shrine. Many are covered with green moss, weathered by time, and blend beautifully into the surrounding forest. Seeing so many lanterns standing along both sides of the path made me feel as though I were travelling through a passage connecting the present with Nara’s ancient past.
The red main gate of Kasuga Taisha was one of the most striking sights along my journey. Rising about 12 meters high, it is the largest gate of the shrine and serves as the important entrance to the inner shrine precinct. As I approached the red gate, the weathered stone lanterns seemed to form a natural procession leading me toward the sacred grounds. The contrast between the bright vermillion gate, grey stone lanterns, and lush green trees created an unforgettable scene.
Kasuga Taisha is the most famous and beautiful Shinto shrines in Nara. It was officially established in 768, when the Fujiwara family established the shrine to enshrine their ancestral and tutelary deities and to protect the ancient capital. The Main Sanctuary is the most sacred and architecturally distinctive part of the shrine. Its architecture style ‘the Kasuga-zukuri ‘ is a distinctive form of Japanese Shinto architecture. Each small shrine has a steeply curved gabled roof covered with layers of Japanese cypress bark, with the entrance positioned beneath the gable. A small projecting roof shelters the entrance and staircase. Surrounding the sanctuary is the Oro which is an open veranda whose shape resembles a bird spreading its wings. The surrounding corridors are decorated with numerous hanging ancient bronze lanterns.
Along the corridor of Kasuga Taisha, there are roughly 1,000 bronze hanging lanterns, called tsuri-dōrō. They were donated by worshippers as offerings to the Shinto deities, representing their prayers, gratitude, and wishes. They were like a physical expression of a person’s devotion. The grey or greenish-black color comes largely from the natural patina that develops on bronze over time. For me, walking beneath the long rows of bronze lanterns was almost like passing through a corridor of thousand prayers.
The main sanctuary is famous for its vivid vermilion columns in the long corridor. As the corridor receded into the distance, the repeating columns and lanterns created a graceful rhythm, drawing my eyes deeper into the far end. The brilliant red of the wood, the muted bronze of the lanterns, and the shadowy forest seemed to bring me back to the passing centuries.
At the side door of the sanctuary, I unexpectedly came upon two deer standing quietly together. They stood there and turned their heads toward me, watching with gentle curiosity, as though wondering what had brought this stranger into their ancient forest. For a moment, we simply stood there looking at one another. Their quiet presence made the shrine feel as if the sacred and the natural seemed to exist side by side.
Before I left, a gentle rain fell over Kasuga Taisha, veiling the ancient forest in a soft mist and lending the shrine an almost otherworldly stillness. The vivid vermilion columns glistened with rain, their colors deepening against the moss-covered trees. Beneath a simple umbrella, a shrine maiden appeared in her traditional white and vermilion robes, walking quietly through the rain. For a fleeting moment, the scene felt suspended between past and present. The ancient forest, the sacred shrine, the falling rain, and the solitary figure moving through the vermilion corridor seem to allow a fragment of old Nara to quietly reappear before my eyes.
Nara is a place where the passage of time can still be felt, not only in its ancient temples and shrines, but also in the quiet streets that lie beyond the well-trodden paths. In the northern part of the city, narrow stone-paved lanes wind between old houses, many of them sheltered beneath deep, gracefully curved eaves reminiscent of the architectural traditions brought from Tang Dynasty China more than a thousand years ago. Along the walls painted in muted yellow and white, small streams flow quietly beside the streets, their clear water slipping past moss-covered stones as it has done for generations.
The weathered walls, wooden facades, tiled roofs, and the soft sound of running water … Yet perhaps this is where the age of Nara can be felt most intimately. Walking through these unassuming lanes, I imagined that the centuries have not entirely passed, but have simply settled gently into the landscape, leaving behind a quiet world where the present continues to live alongside the memory of the ancient capital. Here I could touch the most authentic essence of Nara. It was not a past story preserved within a museum, but an ancient memory that remains alive in everyday life.
I walked slowly uphill along the Urasando beneath a gentle rain, with no other visitors in sight. The path was quiet and almost entirely my own, winding through the greenery in a peaceful solitude that felt far removed from the crowded streets and well-known sights of Nara. The rain softened the sounds of the surrounding forest, leaving only the faint rustling of leaves and the occasional trickle of water along the path. I loved this quieter side of Nara, where nature seemed to take precedence over everything and every corner invited a slower pace.
With no crowds to hurry me along, I could pause whenever I wished, observe the details of the landscape, and simply wander without a destination, allowing the ancient atmosphere of Nara to reveal itself gradually. It made me thought of a poem of Song Dynasty: Beside the village shrine, the old thatched inn lies as before; turning past the stream and bridge, it suddenly appears before my eyes. The Nigatsu-do is a small temple on my way. The weathered wooden structure, stone lanterns, ancient trees, and quiet hillside create an leisurely atmosphere quite different from the grandeur of Tōdai-ji below.
The old wooden hall is raised high on sturdy pillars. Its weathered timbers darkened by the rain. Stone lanterns stood silently along the steps, softened by moss and years of weather, while the broad veranda opened toward the distant roofs and streets of Nara. On the rainy day, the wood darkened with moisture and the surrounding forest becomes veiled in mist, making the place feel even more secluded.
After some time, the Nandaimon Gate of Tōdai-ji rose before me like a monumental gateway. Its enormous wooden pillars, darkened and weathered by centuries of rain and sunlight, seemed to possess a strength that belonged to another age. Beneath the great tiled roof stood the two fierce Niō guardians with powerful bodies and they had been watching over the temple for centuries. Walking beneath the immense gate, I felt small beside the towering timbers and massive statues. More than simply an entrance to Tōdai-ji, it felt like a threshold between the present and the ancient world of Nara.
I continued walking through the temple grounds and soon arrived at Kagami-ike Pond, the quiet body of water lying before the entrance to the famous Tōdai-ji. Its still surface reflected the surrounding trees, temple roofs, and muted sky, creating an elegant scene. The gentle rain added another layer of tranquility, softening the outlines of the ancient buildings and turning the pond into a mirror of the misty landscape.
Beyond Kagami-ike Pond, I continued toward the Chūmon, the Central Gate of Tōdai-ji. Its graceful vermilion-and-white structure stood quietly beneath the broad tiled roof, framed by the surrounding trees and the vast temple grounds. After the monumental Nandaimon, the Chūmon felt more restrained and serene, it carried a sense of ceremony. Through the gate, the enormous Great Buddha Hall could be glimpsed beyond, its immense wooden form rising at the heart of the temple precinct.
From the entrance, the Great Buddha Hall rose before me with an overwhelming sense of height and scale. Its immense tiled roof seemed to stretch across the sky, while the vast wooden structure beneath it appeared almost impossibly tall and monumental. Standing at the entrance, I could only look upward, gradually taking in the enormous proportions of the building.
Tōdai-ji is perhaps the most representative monument of Nara, embodying the city’s identity as Japan’s ancient capital. Built in the eighth century, when Nara was known as Heijō-kyō, the temple reflected the enormous political and spiritual ambitions of its age. Standing there, I felt that Tōdai-ji was really a surviving expression of Nara’s golden age, where architecture, faith, and history had remained intertwined for more than a thousand years. A bronze octagonal lantern rose quietly in the open space before it. Known as the Kondō Hakkaku Tōrō, the lantern which is one of the relatively few surviving objects from the original Nara-period is a national treasure. In Buddhist tradition, the light of a lantern represents the wisdom of the Buddha, dispelling the darkness of ignorance.
Tōdai-ji’s architecture was strongly influenced by Tang-dynasty China. During the Nara period, Japan actively adopted Chinese institutions, Buddhism, urban planning, and artistic styles. Nara itself was modeled partly on the Tang capital Chang’an. The broad tiled roof, monumental timber framework, bracket systems, and proportions all belong to an architectural tradition that Japan inherited and adapted from China. Standing beneath the vast roof of the Great Buddha Hall, I could almost sense the ancient cultural exchange that had once connected Nara with the distant Tang China.
Inside the Great Buddha Hall, I encountered Komokuten, the Heavenly Guardian of the West, standing watch beside the Great Buddha. One hand held his traditional weapon and the expression was full of majesty and power. The central figure in the hall is the Great Buddha (Daibutsu), a colossal bronze statue of Vairocana Buddha. It represents Vairocana, the Cosmic Buddha whose wisdom and light are understood to permeate the entire universe. Buddhism arrived in Japan from the Korean Peninsula in the sixth century. By the Nara period, it had become closely connected with the imperial court and the state, and Emperor Shōmu envisioned Buddhism as a force that could protect and unite the country.
Behind Tōdai-ji, the monumental temple gradually gave way to a broad expanse of green, scattered with mature trees and quiet paths. There were very few tourists here, and the atmosphere was completely different from the busy areas around the Great Buddha Hall. The trees stood peacefully across the open grass, their branches moving gently in the breeze, while the sounds of the temple grounds faded into the distance.
Among these queit buildings, I came upon the Shōsō-in Repository, an ancient wooden storehouse that has preserved treasures from the world of eighth-century Nara. Unlike the monumental Great Buddha Hall, which expresses the grandeur of imperial Buddhism, Shōsō-in seemed almost modest, its walls built from rows of natural timber logs in the distinctive azekura style. Yet within this unassuming structure lay an extraordinary record of the ancient world—Buddhist objects, musical instruments, textiles, manuscripts, and precious belongings associated with Emperor Shōmu and the people of his age.
After wandering through Nara’s main sights, I finally brought my first day in the ancient capital to an end. As evening settled over the city, I stopped at a small local restaurant and ordered a simple bowl of ramen. After a long day of walking, the steaming broth and warm noodles were more than enough to satisfy me. Travelling in Japan had also taught me that a memorable meal does not have to come from an expensive or fashionable restaurant. Sometimes, the simplest places like a small shop with a few seats, a steaming bowl of ramen could offer exactly what I need at the end of a long day.
My second day in Nara took me to Nishinokyō, meaning the “Western Capital,” an area west of the ancient Heijō-kyō. Away from the center of modern Nara, this quieter district preserves some of the most important remnants of the city’s eighth-century Buddhist heritage. Two remarkable temples awaited me there: Yakushi-ji and Tōshōdai-ji, both deeply connected with the history of Nara’s ancient capital. Reaching them was remarkably easy. Japan’s railway system is exceptionally convenient, with trains and local lines connecting cities, neighborhoods, and even places far from the main tourist routes.
Following the directions, I made my way to my first destination, Yakushi-ji. Even before entering, I was intrigued by its long and fascinating history. It carries a history almost as old as Nara itself. The temple was first founded in 680 by Emperor Tenmu, who prayed for the recovery of his ailing wife and dedicated the temple to Yakushi Nyorai, the Buddha of healing. Originally built at Fujiwara-kyō, it was moved to Heijō-kyō when the capital was transferred to Nara in the early eighth century, becoming one of the great Buddhist temples of the new imperial city.
The whole temple was an immense and symmetrical complex, reflecting the sophisticated temple architecture and continental influences of the Nara period. Yet the temple’s long history was marked by repeated fires, wars, and destruction. Much of its ancient architecture disappeared, leaving the East Pagoda as its most remarkable survivor, still standing in its original form from 730.
Under the brilliant blue sky, the East Pagoda of Yakushi-ji rose gracefully above the temple grounds, its dark wooden tiers standing in striking contrast to the clear expanse of sky behind it. It is the only surviving original structure of Yakushi-ji from that age. Although only three stories in structure, the smaller roofs between the main levels give the pagoda the appearance of six stories, creating a distinctive rhythm as the eaves rise one above another. Sunlight traced the edges of its sweeping roofs and delicate wooden details, while the deep tones of the aged timber revealed the passing of more than twelve centuries.
The temple complex of Yakushi-ji unfolded before me in a graceful and carefully ordered arrangement. The buildings including the Golden Hall and the Grand Lecture Hall stood along a central axis. Vermilion pillars and white walls stood vividly against the blue sky, while the dark tiled roofs and wooden details gave the complex a more solemn character.
At the heart of Yakushi-ji stood the magnificent Golden Hall. In front of it stood a solitary stone lantern (tōrō), which is modest in size. In Japanese Buddhism, the light of a lantern symbolizes the wisdom of the Buddha, illuminating the darkness of ignorance and guiding those who seek enlightenment. I could always see such a decoration in the Japanese temple. A lantern placed before the main hall helps create a sacred approach, marking the space between the ordinary world and the Buddha’s realm.
Outside Yakushi-ji, Kannon-ike Pond nearby offered a rustic scene far removed from the grandeur of the temple buildings. The quiet water reflected the surrounding trees and the changing sky, while along its edge stood traditional Japanese wooden houses. Their restrained appearance seemed to belong naturally to the old landscape, as though they had been standing beside the pond for generations. The scene felt like a small corner of old Nara that had escaped the rush of modern life, preserving the simplicity of the past.
From Yakushi-ji, I continued toward Tōshōdai-ji, another important temple of Nara’s ancient Nishinokyō district. Both temples form part of UNESCO’s World Heritage property, the “Historic Monuments of Ancient Nara,” inscribed in 1998. The temple was nearby, but even its name immediately transported me to a much more distant world. Written as 唐招提寺, the first character, 唐, refers to the Tang dynasty, while 招提 is an ancient Buddhist term connected with a monastic community, giving the name the sense of a temple associated with monks invited from Tang China. For a Chinese speaker, the characters were immediately familiar, creating a curious feeling of recognition across more than a thousand years of history.
The Nandaimon of Tōshōdai-ji stood quietly at the entrance to the temple grounds, welcoming visitors into one of Nara’s most important Buddhist sites. Compared with the enormous Nandaimon of Tōdai-ji, this gate was more restrained and elegant, with a simple wooden structure, dark tiled roof, and graceful proportions. Its understated appearance seemed perfectly suited to the reserved character of Tōshōdai-ji. Passing through the gate, I felt a subtle transition from the ordinary streets outside into a quieter world of ancient trees, weathered wooden buildings, and long Buddhist history.
At the heart of Tōshōdai-ji stood the magnificent Golden Hall, the hall completed in Nara period has survived for more than twelve centuries and remains one of the finest expressions of ancient Japanese Buddhist architecture. There was little unnecessary decoration, allowing the elegant proportions, dark timber, and sweeping roofline to speak for themselves. Standing before it, I could see the influence of the Tang Dynasty that had shaped so much of Nara’s early architecture: the ordered symmetry, monumental wooden construction, deep eaves, and sophisticated roof structure. Over centuries, these imported ideas had been absorbed into the Japanese landscape and transformed into something uniquely Japanese.
Walking deeper into this temple, I came upon the Kōdō, or Lecture Hall. Built in the late eighth century, the hall originally belonged to the imperial palace of Heijō-kyō before being moved here and transformed into a Buddhist lecture hall. The timber had witnessed more than twelve centuries of changing seasons, while the hall had passed from the world of the emperor into the world of Buddhist learning. It seemed to embody the continuity of Nara’s history, where buildings themselves could carry their stories from one age into another.
The atmosphere here was very quiet. Narrow paths wound gently through the temple grounds, shaded by tall trees whose branches formed a cool green canopy overhead. Sunlight filtered through the leaves in scattered patches, falling softly across the old stone paths and moss-covered ground.
Tōshōdai-ji was founded by the Chinese monk Jianzhen, who travelled to Japan in the eighth century, bringing with him Buddhist teachings, religious practices, and knowledge from the Tang Dynasty. He had attempted to travel from Tang China to Japan five times, enduring storms, shipwrecks, illness, and eventually losing his eyesight. Even after all these hardships, he continued his journey and finally reached Japan in 754. The Ganjin Wajō Gobyō is the mausoleum of Jianzhen. It lies at the end of a quiet, wooded path within the temple grounds. As I stood in front of it, I felt that I was not simply moving from one Nara temple to another, but following an ancient cultural bridge that once connected Nara Japan with Changan China.
Afterwards, I took the train to the Heijō Palace Site Historical Park, the final major attraction of my Nara journey. After spending the day among ancient temples, I was curious to see the place where the political heart of eighth-century Nara had once stood. I entered the vast site from the northern side, beginning at the First Daigokuden, the reconstructed Great Audience Hall. The enormous open landscape was strikingly different from the shaded temple grounds of Yakushi-ji and Tōshōdai-ji.
As I learned more about the history of Nara, I began to see that the city was the result of a much larger transformation in Japan. One of the important turning points came in 645 with the Taika Reforms. The reforms sought to strengthen the authority of the imperial court and create a more centralized system of government, drawing in part on political and administrative ideas from the continental world. This new political order eventually found its physical expression in the capital of Heijō-kyō, established in Nara in 710. The city was carefully planned, with a great imperial palace, government offices, temples, and broad avenues arranged along a formal grid. All these interesting historic events happened thousand years ago in the place in front of me.
Here, there were broad expanses of grass and sky, with the remains and reconstructions of the ancient palace scattered across the former capital. There were few tourists. As I walked through the grounds, it was easy to imagine the imperial city that once stood here—the ceremonies, officials, and daily activities of a capital that flourished more than twelve centuries ago. Yet much of the original city has disappeared, leaving only traces beneath the open landscape. Perhaps this absence made the passage of time feel even more tangible.
Standing before the magnificent Suzakumon Gate, I was reminded that Nara was once much more than an isolated Japanese capital. The gate was the southern main entrance to the Heijō Palace, opening onto Suzaku Avenue, the great north-south axis of Heijō-kyō. The avenue was once an enormous ceremonial road, about seventy metres wide, running straight through the ancient capital. The name itself carried a connection to China: 朱雀, “Vermilion Bird,” was the sacred creature associated with the south in the traditional East Asian cosmological system. More strikingly, the same name appeared in the great Tang capital of Chang’an, where Zhuque Avenue formed the city’s central north-south axis.
This is the map of Heijō-kyō which had been planned with Chang’an as one of its important models, adopting the continental idea of an orderly city arranged around a powerful central axis. From the map, I could see names of many famous attraction sites like Tōdai-ji, Toshodai-ji and Yakushi-ji. Standing before Suzakumon, I could therefore imagine the ancient avenue stretching straight ahead, with the palace behind the gate and the city unfolding symmetrically to either side. The connection becomes even more fascinating because Zhuque Avenue has not completely disappeared in China. In present-day Xi’an, the modern city still has a major thoroughfare called Zhuque Street, preserving the name and much of the historical north-south axis of Tang Chang’an.
This was one of the most fascinating moments of my journey: history was no longer something I had only read about in books. I felt as though two ancient capitals, separated by the sea, were briefly connected through a single name. More than twelve centuries ago, ideas of urban planning, architecture, government, and culture travelled from the Tang world to Japan. Today, the reconstructed gate in Nara and the surviving name of Zhuque Street in Xi’an offer two distant echoes of that extraordinary period of cultural exchange. This is what makes travelling to historical places so rewarding for me: a name, a building, or a street can suddenly bring something I once encountered in a history book to life. For a moment, the past no longer felt distant, and it was standing directly in front of me.
After completing a full day of exploring Nara, I still had some time before sunset, so instead of returning directly to my hotel, I wandered freely along the small lanes around the city. There was no particular destination and no need to follow a schedule. The narrow paths were lined with forests, with fallen red leaves scattered across the green grass and occasional patches of sunlight filtering through the trees. The late afternoon light softened the landscape.
As the afternoon slowly gave way to sunset, many deer lay lazily on the grass, completely undisturbed by the people passing nearby. The soft evening light gradually illuminated the Noborioji park, casting a warm glow over the green landscape. In the distance, Mount Wakakusayama appeared faintly beyond the open fields, its gentle slopes partially hidden by clouds and the fading light of the sunset. I lingered there for a longer time. The deer resting on the grass, the open green space, the distant mountain disappearing into the clouds, and the quiet atmosphere created one of the most treasured moments of my journey through Japan. It was a rare feeling of being completely free and undisturbed, able to admire nature and let time pass without hurry.
Looking back on my journey, this quiet evening in the Noborioji Park left the deepest impressions on me. Nara had given me magnificent temples, ancient architecture, cute deer, and a remarkable sense of history, but it was perhaps this simple landscape at sunset that stayed with me most strongly. Among all the places I visited in Japan, Nara became my favorite. It is a place where history, natural environment, and everyday life seemed to exist together in perfect harmony.
This blog is my 100th blog which is dedicated to Singapore where I have been living for more than twenty years. I will narrate in the view of a resident but not a tourist.
In 2005, I arrived in Singapore as a secondary school student carrying little more than curiosity, uncertainty, and expectations for a new life. At that time, I never imagined that this small island would eventually become my second hometown. Over these two decades, Singapore has become more than a place where I studied and worked, it has become the backdrop of my youth and adulthood. Here, I learned to adapt to unfamiliar cultures, make friendships across different backgrounds, and find my own place in a fast-moving society. There were moments of excitement and achievement, but also periods of loneliness, pressure, self-doubt, and quiet persistence that few people could see.
Life in Singapore has never felt one-dimensional to me. It tasted sweet in moments of growth and belonging; sour when plans did not go as expected; spicy in the intensity and competition that pushed me forward; and bitter in missed opportunities, and the distance from what once felt like home. Yet looking back, every stage became part of the person I am today.
For many people arriving in Singapore, the first memory begins at the airport. Mine did too. The moment I stepped out of Changi Airport, I still remember the sensation vividly. Before I had time to notice the surroundings, I felt the warm, humid air wrapping around me instantly. It was so different from where I had come from. There was no dramatic welcome, no grand moment, just that quiet realization that I had entered a completely different climate, a different rhythm of life, and perhaps the beginning of a different version of myself.
Changi Jewel was the landmark which was built years after I arrived in Singapore. What impressed me most was the vast glass dome filled with natural light and tropical greenery. At its center, water falls continuously from above. At night, streams of coloured light begin to move across the falling water while music fills the vast glass dome. The waterfall becomes a shifting curtain of light, changing from deep blue to warm gold, from soft waves to bursts of color and motion. Every time when I passed through and hear the sound of falling water beneath the glass roof, I am reminded of that first arrival many years ago.
The first place I called home in Singapore was the Hwa Chong boarding school. Looking back now, it feels strange to realize that my understanding of Singapore did not begin in the city center, among skyscrapers, but in a school campus. In the mornings, birds would begin singing before the day fully started. Throughout the day, insects buzzed among the trees, creating a constant background soundtrack that made the environment feel alive.
Coming from a different place, I was surprised that a highly developed city could still feel so green and so connected to nature. The sky seemed so blue, brighter than I expected. Everywhere was greenery. Trees lining the roads, lawns stretching between buildings, and tropical plants appeared dense and full of life. Angsana trees grow so tall and elegant with dense foliage and are planted extensively along the Bukit Timah Road.
Although so many years passed, the memory of the campus still lingered in my memory. The campus was spacious, with broad roads, old buildings, soccer fields, and mature trees. The iconic clock tower standing above the grounds gave the place a certain solemnity. The school traces its origins to The Chinese High School, founded in 1919 by Tan Kah Kee, one of the most influential overseas Chinese philanthropists and educators. Years later, when I visited Jimei School Village in Xiamen, I experienced an unexpected sense of familiarity. Both were created through Tan Kah Kee’s educational vision and developed into a complete educational community.
Life at the boarding school was also my first lesson in independence. Everything suddenly became my own responsibility: waking up on time, managing schoolwork, adjusting to new food, making friends, and learning how to live away from family. Not far from the boarding school was a place that quietly became part of my first memories of Singapore: the Singapore Botanic Gardens.
Whenever I visited it on weekends, I was struck by how natural everything felt. Tall rain trees stretched their branches across wide lawns, tropical plants grew in layers of green, and shaded paths curved gently instead of following rigid lines. The air always seemed cooler, softened by the dense vegetation. After a sudden tropical rain, the scent of wet soil would linger in the air. Many families would come here for a picnic on the lawns.
It has extraordinary historical significance. Founded in 1859, it became Singapore’s only UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2015. The gardens played an important role in the cultivation and distribution of rubber across Southeast Asia in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, shaping the economic development of the region. UNESCO also recognized it as an exceptionally well-preserved example of a British tropical colonial botanic garden whose original landscape have remained remarkably intact over time.
Unlike the wider Botanic Gardens, where greenery stretches quietly and naturally across the landscape, the Orchid Garden feels more curated. Walking through its entrance, I felt being greeted by layers of color. Against the tropical backdrop of palms, old trees, and filtered sunlight, the garden was like a living gallery.
Before visiting it, I thought that orchids were elegant but simple flowers. Inside, I discovered how different they could be, tiny and delicate, large and sculptural, pure white, vivid purple, spotted and striped. The garden was designed with different sections with different color and landscape.
Orchids are more than ornamental flowers. They became part of the country’s identity, national flower of Singapore. The beautiful Vanda orchid is very commonly displayed in the garden. It has thick strap-like leaves growing along an upright stem and large flat flowers with the characteristic purple or pink tessellated pattern. They looked really elegant with long and wide petals and soft colors.
I enjoyed the atmosphere around lakes in the garden. Early in the morning, the water is as smooth as glass, perfectly reflecting the surrounding rainforest trees, elegant palms, and the blue sky. A gentle breeze occasionally ripples the surface, causing the reflections to shimmer like an impressionist painting. Walking along the lakeside paths, I could hear birds singing and leaves rustling in the wind and felt completely removed from the pressures of school.
I spent two years in Xinmin Secondary School （my first school in Singapore） preparing for the O Level examinations, but looking back, the examinations themselves were only part of the challenge. The greater test was learning how to begin in a completely unfamiliar environment. The school system was different, and I must improve my English to adapt to it. The teaching methods were different, and I suddenly found myself surrounded by classmates who had grown up in a culture that was still new to me. Every day brought something unfamiliar, from the way lessons were conducted to the conversations happening around me. I gradually learnt to adapt to this international and multicultural environment.
The first thing that Singapore left me deep impression was the co-existence of different cultures. Although Singapore is a small island, it is home to people of many different ethnicities and religions. Chinese, Malays, Indians, and Eurasians have lived together for generations, each contributing to the country’s identity while preserving their own traditions. Christian churches form an important part of Singapore’s architectural landscape. Historic buildings such as St Andrew’s Cathedral, with its elegant white Gothic Revival architecture, stand as reminders of Singapore’s past.
In Kampong Glam, the golden dome of Sultan Mosque rises above rows of restored shophouses. The district reflects Singapore’s rich Malay and Arab heritage, where traditional architectures and historic streets coexist with contemporary art and design, forming the unique charisma of this city.
I passed by many traditional shophouses with colorful wooden shutters and decorative windows near Chinatown. Some of these historic streets, especially along Telok Ayer Street reminded me of the old streets of Quanzhou. Their rows of narrow shophouses, timber window shutters, and pastel-coloured façades share a similar architectural heritage, reflecting the influence of Southern Chinese migrants who settled throughout Southeast Asia in the nineteenth century.
A short distance away lies Little India, where brightly painted buildings, colorful murals, and the magnificent Indian Temple create an atmosphere entirely different from Chinatown. Singapore places great importance on racial harmony and mutual respect. The architectures of different styles and neighborhoods quietly demonstrate how different cultures can preserve their own identities while contributing to a shared national community.
Although adapting to school demanded most of my time and energy, I also wanted to discover the country that had suddenly become my new home. Whenever I had a free weekend or during school holidays, I would visit different parts of Singapore. Everything was new to me. I remember taking my first trip to Sentosa, where the beaches and relaxed atmosphere made it feel like a tropical resort.
Most of the time, I did not take the monorail to Sentosa. Instead, I preferred to walk from HarbourFront along the Sentosa Boardwalk. Although it took a little longer, the journey itself became part of the experience. The promenade stretches gently over the water, connecting the mainland to the island. Walking there, I was accompanied by the sea breeze, the sound of waves lapping against the shore, and the warm tropical sunshine. On one side lay the calm blue waters of Keppel Harbour, where yachts rested quietly in the marina. On the other side, Sentosa’s beaches and lush greenery gradually came into view, making the island feel closer with every step. Above me, the cable car glided silently across the sky. Its colorful cabins looked almost like small floating lanterns moving steadily between HarbourFront and Sentosa.
Sentosa feels like a place designed for leisure and escape. Surrounded by the sea, the island offers sandy beaches, tropical forests, waterfront promenades, and attractions that invite people to slow down and enjoy the outdoors. Over the years, I encountered several joint events of collaboration held on the island. This picture was taken on 2022 when Genshin Impact gained great reputation internationally and its main character and also my favorite character Paimon arrived at Sentosa.
These days, Disney brought its beloved characters and stories to the waterfront through family-friendly events. Familiar beaches that I had walked along countless times suddenly took on an entirely different atmosphere. What impressed me was how naturally these events blended with the tropical surroundings. Instead of feeling like temporary exhibitions placed on a beach, the colorful installations stood among coconut trees, against the backdrop of blue skies and the sea.
When I first arrived in Singapore, Sentosa was already a popular destination, but over the years I witnessed its remarkable transformation. New attractions, hotels, and entertainment facilities continued to emerge. One of the most significant additions was Resorts World Sentosa, an integrated resort that transformed the northern part of the island. At its heart stands Universal Studios Singapore, the first Universal Studios theme park in Southeast Asia. Walking beneath the iconic rotating globe at its entrance always feels like stepping into another world.
For me, I prefer beach more than those entertainment facilities. I enjoy the moment of stepping onto the soft sand of Palawan Beach. The white sandy shore curves gently around clear blue water, making it an ideal place for a leisure walk. The iconic suspension bridge leading to the small offshore islet has become one of Sentosa’s most recognizable landmarks. Standing there, surrounded by the sea and looking towards the horizon, I often felt far away from the bustling city.
After crossing the suspension bridge. I was fascinated by the sign marking it as the “Southernmost Point of Continental Asia.” Standing there, surrounded by the sea on all sides, I felt as though I had reached the edge of a vast continent and was connected to the remoteness in an interesting way.
The observation towers offered panoramic views of the Malacca Strait. Every day, thousands of vessels pass through this narrow gateway linking the Indian Ocean with the South China Sea and the Pacific Ocean. Standing on the southern shore of the island, my eyes were always drawn towards the vast expanse of water stretching into the distance. On clear days, the sea and the sky seemed to merge into a single line at the horizon. Looking back toward the island, palm trees, beaches, and the skyline of Singapore appeared in the distance.
What I loved most was staying here until sunset. As evening approached, the tropical heat gradually softened, and the sea breeze became cooler. The sky transformed from brilliant blue to shades of gold, orange, pink, and finally deep purple. The sunlight shimmered across the calm water, creating a path of light that seemed to stretch endlessly toward the horizon. The silhouettes of coconut trees stood against the glowing sky, while small waves rolled gently onto the shore with a soothing rhythm. I walked barefoot along the beach, leaving footprints that disappeared with the next wave. I listened to the sound of the waves and felt the warm sea breeze brushing against my cheek. After days filled with studying and adapting to a new life, those evenings by the sea brought a rare sense of peace.
Compared with Palawan Beach, the Siloso Beach is livelier and more energetic, with beach volleyball courts, cafés, and people enjoying water sports or simply gathering with friends. Music drifts through the air, and the promenade is always full of joggers, cyclists, and families strolling beneath rows of palm trees. The background is the Shangri-la Sentosa hotel which is popular place for tourists.
Unlike most luxury hotels in the city centre, which overlook skyscrapers and busy streets, this hotel faces the sea. Tucked away at the western end of Siloso Beach and surrounded by tropical greenery, it feels like a quiet sanctuary where the pace of life slows down. What I loved most was the view from the room’s balcony. Looking out through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the first thing that caught my attention was the endless blue sea stretching towards the horizon. Sunlight danced across the water, creating countless sparkling reflections that changed with every passing cloud. Rows of coconut palms swayed gracefully in the warm tropical breeze.
In my school weekends, I would visit the famous sites in the city center. For me, the city centre of Singapore is more than a collection of famous landmarks. It is a place where the country’s history, which I first learned in social studies lessons, comes alive. As a student, I memorized dates and events for examinations. Years later, walking through these same places, I realized that the lessons were no longer just words in a textbook. They had become part of the landscape around me.
Whenever my friends or relatives visited Singapore, I would often take them on the same route. I usually began at Merlion Park. Standing beside the Merlion, with water continuously flowing from its mouth into Marina Bay. The lion represents the legendary story of discovery when explorer first landed in Singapore, while the fish body reflects the country’s humble origins as a fishing village known as Temasek. Behind the statue rose the gleaming skyline of the financial district, creating a striking contrast between Singapore’s distant past and its modern identity.
From there, the view naturally led towards Raffles Place, the heart of Singapore’s financial centre. Glass skyscrapers now dominate the skyline, housing banks, multinational corporations, and global financial institutions. Yet beneath this modern landscape lies the foundation laid by Sir Stamford Raffles in 1819, when Singapore was established as a British trading port.
In my social studies and history classes, I learnt that Sir Stamford Raffles introduced the first town plan for Singapore, later known as the Jackson Plan. It organized the young settlement into districts for different communities. In 19th century, Singapore was a sparsely populated island at the Strait of Malacca, but Raffles recognized its extraordinary geographical advantage. His policy of free trade attracted traders from China, the Malay Archipelago, and the Middle East, laying the foundation for the multicultural society that defines Singapore today.
Walking through the Civic District today feels like stepping into that chapter of history. Along the Singapore River stand elegant white colonial buildings whose architecture contrasts sharply with the surrounding glass skyscrapers. Their tall columns, wide verandas, symmetrical façades, and high ceilings were designed not only to reflect British architectural traditions but also to adapt to Singapore’s tropical climate by encouraging natural ventilation.
Among the most impressive is the former Parliament House, one of Singapore’s oldest surviving government buildings. It has a beautiful neoclassical facade. This building witnessed some of the country’s most important moments, from the Japanese surrender at the end of the Second World War to the political developments that eventually led to Singapore’s independence.
Further along the river is the former Fullerton Building. Once the General Post Office and an important administrative centre during the colonial era, it now serves as the luxurious Fullerton Hotel. Its transformation reflects Singapore’s approach to development: preserving historical architecture while giving old buildings new life.
Not far away, Victoria Theatre and Victoria Concert Hall continue to host performances more than a century after they were built in 1905 as the Victoria Memorial Hall, which was erected to commemorate the death of Queen Victoria. The name “Victoria” appears throughout Singapore because of its history as a British colony. The clock tower remains one of the familiar landmarks along the river, quietly linking the colonial past with the cultural life of present-day Singapore.
What fascinates me most is the contrast. Within a few minutes’ walk, I can move from nineteenth-century colonial buildings to some of the most futuristic skyscrapers in Asia. When I stand in front of the lawn in City Hall, I had a panoramic view of the city. On one side stand the grand colonial buildings: the Old Supreme Court and the former Parliament House which are reminders of the British era. On the other side rises a completely different Singapore: a skyline of glass, steel, and ambitious architecture built after the nation became independent in 1965.
Once upon time, Marina Bay was far less developed. Some of today’s most famous landmarks did not exist. Over the years, I watched new buildings rise, new parks appear, and the waterfront gradually become recognizable cityscapes in the world. One of the most striking symbols of this transformation is the Marina Bay Sands built around 2010. Rising above the skyline of Marina Bay, it is one of Singapore’s most recognizable architectural masterpieces. Three elegant glass towers stand side by side, appearing like giant pillars reaching toward the sky. Resting across their summits is a remarkable structure that resembles a sleek ship floating high above the city. Every tourist will take a photo together with this building to memorize their trips of Singapore.
Standing along Marina Bay, the view is especially striking at night. Its illumination shimmer against the skyline, while music often drifts from the outdoor stages. From the seaside promenade, visitors can enjoy sweeping views of the bay, the illuminated city’s skyscrapers, and the sparkling surrounding landmarks.
The Esplanade （Theatres on the Bay） has the nick name “Durian” due to its shape. The building is so recognizable because of its two distinctive domes covered with more than 7,000 triangular aluminum sunshades. Opened in 2002 along the Marina Bay waterfront, it makes the arts accessible to everyone. Throughout these years, it hosts hundreds of free performances ranging from local bands and traditional music to dance and school performance.
The Singapore Flyer which looks like the London Eyes is another quite recognizable landmarks and one of the world’s tallest observation wheels, standing 165 meters high. Completed in 2008, the Singapore Flyer was designed to symbolize the nation’s ambition and confidence as a modern global city. From a distance, its elegant circular form has become an iconic feature of the Marina Bay skyline.
On the opposite side of Marina Bay stands the Garden by the Bay. The giant Supertrees, futuristic conservatories, and waterfront gardens show a vision of Singapore that goes beyond simple urban development. Instead of choosing between a modern city and nature, Singapore tried to combine both. This was one of the things that impressed me most over the years. Even as new skyscrapers appeared in the city center, greenery remained an essential part of the city.
Whenever I walk through the gardens today, I think about how much Singapore has changed since my first arrival. Every time I raised my head, and I would watch new landmarks rise, new buildings emerge, and the skyline continually evolve. Gardens by the Bay is perhaps the clearest symbol of that transformation.
The most iconic feature in this garden is undoubtedly the Supertree Grove. Rising between 25 and 50 meters above the ground, these towering steel structures resemble giant trees from a science-fiction world. Covered with thousands of orchids, ferns, bromeliads, and other tropical plants, they are not merely sculptures but living vertical gardens.
The extraordinary diversity of plants fascinated me as well. I had never imagined that a single garden could bring together vegetation from so many different climates and continents. I felt like walking through a living museum of the world’s most unusual plants like Madagascar Palm, Baobab Trees, Nepenthes…
The outdoor gardens and lakes are home to elegant Amazon water lilies, one of my favorite sights. They are the most eye-catching aquatic plants. Their broad, circular leaves float effortlessly on the still water, while delicate flowers bloom in shades of white and pink. On calm mornings, the flowers are perfectly reflected on the water’s surface, creating a scene that feels almost like a landscape painting of Claude Monet.
I enjoy walking along the seaside of Marina Bay. The skyline changed continuously during the years that I was growing up here. As a secondary school student, I learned Singapore’s history from textbooks. As an adult, I saw those chapters reflected in the city itself, from the colonial buildings around City Hall to the futuristic towers of Marina Bay. That is why these areas remains one of my favorite places. Within a single walk, I can move through more than two centuries of history and, at the same time, see a glimpse of the future that the city is still trying to build.
After O level exam, I entered the Victoria Junior College in 2008. For many students in Singapore, junior college is one of the next stages of education similar to pre-university school. The two years preparing for the A Levels often feel intense, because the results influence which university and path may open afterward. Looking back, my time at Victoria Junior College was one of the most demanding periods of my student life, but also one of the most memorable.
The campus was just five minutes’ walk distance from the East Coast, and that proximity changed the rhythm of life. Unlike the dense urban image many people have of Singapore, my memories of those school days are filled with open skies and the blue sea which is always my favorite landscape.
Life there required discipline and persistence. Weekdays were filled with lectures, tutorials, assignments. On some afternoons, after classes ended, I could see the blue water stretching into the distance. I would walk along the East Coast promenade beneath rows of coconut trees. The sea breeze softened the heat of the day, and for a while the pressure of studying seemed to drift away with the sound of the waves.
Weekends felt like small rewards after a week of studying. Sometimes I went with friends to the East Coast food village. We would sit together eating freshly fried chicken wings and drinking cold coconut juice while talking about school, exams and future plans. Other times, we rented bicycles and rode along the coastline. With the sea breeze greeting me and the wheels rolling along the coastal path, those simple, carefree moments remain to this day among my most cherished memories of my junior college years.
At the time, those moments felt ordinary. We rarely thought they would become memories worth keeping. But now, even years after graduation, when I think back to that period, what returns first is not exam scores. I remember the sea reflecting the evening light, the rows of coconut trees, the laughter of friends over simple food, and the feeling of freedom hidden inside a busy student life.
After the end of A-Level examinations in Dec 2009, life suddenly slowed down. There was 7 months gap before university started. Like many students, I took the opportunity to experience working life. I found a part-time job as a waiter in a hotel at the Clarke Quay, serving guests from all over the world. It was my first taste of earning my own salary and learning what it meant to be responsible in a professional environment. Standing for long hours, carrying trays, and serving customers was tiring, but it taught me lessons that could never be learned in a classroom.
Looking back, those months formed a bridge between school and adulthood. In July 2020, I started my university life in Nanyang Technological University. Among all the places I studied in Singapore, it remains the most beautiful in my eyes. At the Yunnan garden stands the iconic memorial gate, one of the symbols linking the university to its origins. It traces back to Nanyang University, founded in 1955 through the vision and support of the Chinese community in Southeast Asia. The gate quietly connects the modern university with its historical roots.
Yunnan Garden carries a different atmosphere from the rest of the university. Designed in the style of a traditional Chinese landscape garden, it combines water, stone, bridges, trees, and carefully arranged spaces to create a sense of calm and balance. Walking there in the evening felt like stepping into another world. There were flowering plants throughout the seasons, quiet ponds reflecting the sky, shaded paths, and corners where students sat to read or simply enjoy the silence.
Unlike the dense urban landscape that many people associate with Singapore, the campus felt open and almost retreat-like. It was built on rolling land and surrounded by greenery. There were red-roofed residential halls scattered across the hills, small lakes reflecting the changing sky, tropical forests preserved between buildings, and gardens woven naturally into daily student life. In the mornings, the air often felt fresher than in the city, and after rain the scent of wet grass and trees lingered on the pathways.
Today, many people associate NTU with The Hive which is the famous learning hub with its distinctive rounded towers that resembles beehives. It has surname ‘Xiaolongbao’ because it really looks like bamboo steamers of xiaolongbao stacked together. It has become one of the university’s most recognizable landmarks and appears in countless photographs. Yet it was completed after I had already graduated, so my memories belong to an earlier NTU. When I return and see The Hive standing there now, it feels like seeing a younger generation’s version of the university.
For me, I spent 8 years studying in Singapore. Finishing secondary school led to junior college, finishing A Levels led to university. But graduation in NTU marked something more final, it marked the transition from adolescence into adulthood. It was the end of nearly a decade of studies and the beginning of working life. Standing at the graduation ceremony in July 2014 in graduation robes, I realized that Singapore had quietly become more than a place where I came to study. It had become the place where I grew up.
Graduating from Nanyang Technological University marked the end of my years as a student, but it also marked the beginning of a new chapter in my life. For the first time, I entered the workforce and began building a career in Singapore. The island that had once been a place of study gradually became the place where I lived, worked, and planned my future. As the years passed, I became a Singapore Permanent Resident, and later, a Singapore citizen. For so many years, what impresses me most is its environment.
Singapore is often described as a “City in a Garden”. One of the most remarkable aspects of Singapore is the way nature coexists with urban life. In the Central Business District, towering skyscrapers of glass and steel rise above streets lined with rain trees and tropical palms. Vertical gardens climb the façades of office buildings, rooftop parks create green spaces high above the city.
As a resident, I became interested in a different side of the country. Instead of rushing to the most popular tourist destinations, I found myself enjoying places where Singaporeans spend their everyday lives. I walked through the quiet trails of Fort Canning Park, where history is hidden beneath lush greenery and ancient trees. Standing on a hill in the heart of the city, the park offers a peaceful escape from the surrounding skyscrapers. It is hard to imagine that just beyond the trees lie Orchard Road, Clarke Quay, and the busy Central Business District.
Walking through the park, I often felt as though I was travelling through different periods of Singapore’s history. Long before the arrival of the British, this hill was believed to be the seat of the Malay kings of ancient Singapura. This Pancur Larangan garden on the way to the hilltop means “Forbidden Spring” in Malay. According to historical accounts and local legend, this was once a sacred spring reserved exclusively for the royal family of the ancient Kingdom of Singapura. Ordinary people were forbidden from using its waters, giving rise to the name that has survived for centuries.
In the nineteenth century, Sir Stamford Raffles chose the hill as the site of his residence because of its commanding view over the Singapore River and the harbour. Later, the hill became an important military stronghold, and during the Second World War it served as the headquarters of the British Malaya Command. It was here that British commanders made the difficult decision to surrender Singapore to the Japanese in 1942.
Now the park has wide lawns stretching beneath towering rain trees, and shaded pathways wind through tropical gardens, and colorful flowering plants brighten every corner. Ancient trees stand beside archaeological sites, while historic gates, stone walls, and colonial relics quietly blend into the landscape.
The famous spiral staircase at the exit of the park descends through a circular opening surrounded by enormous rain trees. Looking upward from the bottom, the layers of branches and leaves frame the sky like a natural cathedral. It has become one of Singapore’s most photographed locations.
Singapore feels so different from many other global cities. Despite its high population density, the city rarely feels dominated by concrete. Instead, tropical trees, flowering shrubs, lakes, and parks create a sense of openness and calm. In many cities, disused railway lines are demolished and quickly replaced by new buildings. In Singapore, the former railway was preserved and transformed into a continuous ecological corridor that connects parks, forests, and nature reserves across the island. It is a perfect place for residents to have a jogging and approaching nature in the weekend.
Nowadays, I live in the neighborhood not far away from Bukit Timah Nature Reserve, one of Singapore’s oldest and most important, protected rainforests. Whenever I have free time at the weekend, I enjoy walking through the reserve to the summit of Bukit Timah Hill, the highest natural point in Singapore, standing at just 163 meters above sea level. Although the hill is modest in height compared with mountains in other countries, the journey is surprisingly rewarding. The trail winds through one of the few remaining patches of primary rainforest in Singapore, where towering trees form a dense canopy overhead, allowing only scattered rays of sunlight to reach the forest floor.
One of the things I have to appreciate most is how well the natural environment is protected inSingapore. Even near my home, I often encounter animals that remind me how closely the city and nature coexist. During my walks through nearby parks and nature reserves, it is common to see squirrels darting effortlessly between tree branches, pausing for a moment before disappearing into the canopy. Large lizards move slowly along the edges of lakes and streams. Elegant swans and other water birds glide across the reservoirs, their reflections mirrored on the still water.
Singapore was the first foreign country I ever visited, and it became the gateway that opened my eyes to the wider world. Looking back over the past twenty years, my relationship with Singapore has evolved alongside my own life. It is the place that gave me the confidence to begin every journey that followed and also becomes my second hometown. Each time I walked through those arrival halls of Changi Airport with words ‘Welcome home’ and felt the familiar humid air again, there was always a quiet thought in my mind: I’m back home！
Fujian Tulou are traditional communal residences built by the Hakka and other Han Chinese people in the mountainous areas of Fujian Province. These large, earthen buildings are circular or square, designed to house multiple families, functioning both as homes and fortresses. Constructed between the 12th and 20th centuries, tulou structures are made from rammed earth, mixed with stones, bamboo, wood, and other natural materials. Their thick walls provide insulation and protection from bandits and natural disasters. Inside, the buildings are arranged around a central courtyard, with rooms for storage, cooking, sleeping, and socializing.
I visited the Nanjing area in the end of 2024. The village scene in this region is a picturesque blend of traditional architecture, lush nature, and communal rural life. Rolling hills and mountains surround the villages, covered with bamboo groves, pine forests, and terraced tea fields. Clear streams run through the valleys, beside narrow stone paths. Fog settles over the mountains in the early morning, creating a mystical, tranquil atmosphere.
Life in these villages follows the rhythm of nature. The air is filled with the scent of wood smoke, fresh soil, and steaming food. Stone-paved paths wind through the village, often lined with moss and wildflowers. Several tulous are grouped together, forming a cluster of earthen castles amidst the green backdrop.
My travel in Fujian was really refreshing for me. As I stepped away from the fast-paced, high-rise rhythm of life in Singapore, I felt a deep wave of relief and excitement wash over me. It was as if the noise, the deadlines, and the constant rush melted away the moment I arrived in this serene village. The tranquil rhythm of rural life: the slow mornings, the sound of roosters, the sight of villagers tending to their fields awakened something in me. I felt no longer tethered to my phone or the clock and found the meaning of life.
Hegui Lou is one of the most remarkable and unique tulou structures. It was my first tulou visited in this area. Built in 1732, Hegui Lou is a square-shaped building, with four stories and over 200 rooms. The name “Hegui” means “Harmony and Nobility”, symbolizing unity and high moral values of the clan. I was standing at the entrance set within thick rammed earth walls. The wooden door panels are thick and reinforced with iron studs and metal strips. Over the door, I found a solemn and ancient wooden plaque bearing its name as well as poetic couplets written on red scrolls.
What makes it especially unique is that it was built on a marshland, an uncommon choice for such heavy structures. Its foundation is made of wooden stakes, driven deep into the soft soil. The building’s rammed earth walls, more than a meter thick, have withstood floods, earthquakes, and wars for nearly 300 years. Above the entrance are some small observation windows, used historically to monitor approaching visitors or defend against intruders. Red lanterns hang along the eaves and add a splash of color and warmth to the austere and simple appearance.
Behind the towering earthen walls of Hegui Lou, at the edge of a gently sloping field, lies a lush patch of sugar cane. The tall, green stalks sway lightly in the breeze. The field is small but thriving, a reminder of the self-sufficient lifestyle the residents have upheld for generations. A local resident fed long stalks of sugar cane into a hand-cranked press. The machine groans slightly as the stalks are crushed, releasing a stream of cool, pale green juice.
I lived in the small town called Yun Shuiyao for two days. Its name, which translates to “Ballad of Cloud and Water”, perfectly captures the town’s dreamlike atmosphere. It is surrounded by lush green hills and rice paddies. The streets of Yunshuiyao are paved with smooth river stones, worn by time and footsteps. Traditional wooden houses line the narrow lanes and their dark tiled roofs and red lanterns show the town’s historic charm.
The most iconic feature of the town is the meandering river that flows gently through it, reflecting the sky and the trees on its calm surface. Along its banks, there are massive ancient banyan trees, some over 800 years old, with their gnarled roots sprawling across stone paths and their branches forming a canopy overhead. I really enjoyed the life here, listening to the soft murmur of the stream and the whisper of wind through bamboo. Time seemed to slow down here.
Yunshuiyao became well-known after it was featured in the Chinese romantic film “The Knot”. Scattered throughout Yunshuiyao are several well-preserved tulous, which have been home to generations of Hakka families. These earthen fortresses blend beautifully into the natural landscape, offering a sense of community, security, and tradition.
Huaiyuan Lou is the most well-preserved and architecturally representative tulou in Fujian Province. Built in 1905 during the late Qing Dynasty, it was constructed by the Jiang family, who were prosperous tea merchants and landowners. The name means ‘Cherishing Distant’ in Chinese. The structure is made with rammed earth walls, over 1 meter thick, supported by a wooden framework that has stood firm for over a century. There is only one heavily fortified gate connecting inside and outside.
It has two concentric rings. The outer ring is four stories high, with 32 rooms per floor, housing sleeping quarters and storage. The timber beams, columns, and staircases are arranged in concentric rings to create tiers of rooms stacked three to five stories high. The upper structures are capped with tiled, slightly upturned eaves, supported by a web of timber rafters. Rainwater is efficiently drained into the inner courtyard. Wooden columns are joined by horizontal beams using traditional mortise-and-tenon techniques without nails.
The inner ring is smaller and contains ancestral halls and communal spaces. Central to Hakka belief is the idea that deceased ancestors continue to watch over and protect their descendants. Showing respect through rituals ensures family prosperity and avoids misfortune. Ancestral hall with an altar, ancestral tablets, and painted couplets is the most important building. Wells, kitchens, and storerooms are placed in this area for communal use.
This is the panoramic view. The central courtyard is paved with cobblestones, where daily life and communal events unfold. The interior reflects a highly organized lifestyle, with rooms assigned by generation and seniority. Decorative wooden carvings, ancestral tablets, and red lanterns enhance the cultural richness of the space.
Unlike some older tulou, Huaiyuan Lou remains largely intact and still functions as a living residence. Residents still live in the building, maintaining traditional Hakka customs, such as ancestral worship, communal cooking, and shared farming. I was able to climb up the floors and see the local life. Outside wooden railings, freshly washed clothes are hung out to dry. Shirts, pants, and towels flap gently in the mountain breeze, swaying against the red backdrop of the wooden walls.
Along sunny spots, residents have laid out trays filled with vegetables like sliced radishes, chili peppers, and bamboo shoots to dry under the afternoon sun. The air is filled with a subtle mix of earthy, sun-baked scents. Homemade sausages or strips of cured meat are also strung up on wooden poles, slowly aging in the open air. It was really an interesting and unique trip to see the Hakka’s life that I have never experienced. The Hakka is a subgroup of the Han Chinese people with their own distinct language, culture, and traditions. They traced their roots to northern China, but over centuries, they migrated southward due to wars, famine, and social unrest. They settled mainly in southern provinces such as Guangdong, Fujian, and Jiangxi. Because they often arrived as migrants or newcomers, they were called “guest families” by local populations.
In the courtyard stands an ancient stone well, a silent witness to centuries of life unfolding within the earthen walls. The inside of well is surrounded by a simple stone curb, its surface now softened by a thick blanket of green moss. Tiny droplets of water glisten on the moss in the morning light. The well still provides clear and deep water to the local residents who lower a metal bucket on a rope, drawing water with a slow rhythm in the same way their ancestors did a hundred years ago.
I took two days to travel all the scenic areas. On the second day, I visited the Tianluokeng which is the most iconic and most photographed tulou sites. Located on a terraced hillside, the cluster is called the “Four Dishes and One Soup” because of its unique layout. One square tulou (the “soup”) sits in the middle. Surrounding it are four round tulous (the “four dishes”). There is a platform on the roadside for travelers to take photos.
Afterwards, I went down the staircases and visited them one by one. Built between the 15th and 20th centuries, these tulous with similar thick rammed-earth walls showcase the Hakka people’s communal living as well but they are smaller than the Huaiyuan Lou I visited the last day.
This cluster sits in a valley, surrounded by layer upon layer of rice terraces that climb the slopes of the green mountains. From above, the terraces look like rippling steps carved into the hillside. Traditionally, these terraces were cultivated with rice as the staple crop, sustained by ingenious irrigation systems that channel mountain spring water down through the fields.
In Hakka and Fujian villages, it’s very common to see foods being sun-dried for preservation. These colorful trays containing food are set out in courtyards and rooftop around tulou walls. Most of these foods are corn kernels which are golden yellow, often filling the whole tray, soybeans dried for making tofu, sweet potatoes which are sliced into thin pieces to make dried snacks, and scented tea leaves.
In late winter, when the air is crisp and less humid, families hang long strings of sausages across bamboo poles, or on wooden racks in open courtyards. The sight of these dark red sausages glistening in the sunlight is a hallmark of traditional Hakka villages. The sausage is made by fresh pork. The meat is mixed with salt, rice wine, soy sauce, sugar, and sometimes five-spice powder or peppercorns. The seasoned meat is stuffed into natural casings, then tied into uniform lengths. The sausages are hung outdoors to dry naturally for 1–2 weeks. Deeply savory with a balance of saltiness and gentle sweetness from rice wine and sugar.
The central square tulou called Buyunlou is the oldest structure of the cluster, built first by the ancestor of the family. Later generations expanded around it with round tulou. The square form is structurally simpler and sturdier to build, especially in earlier times when techniques were less advanced. Once wealth and skills grew, round tulou became more common. The square tulou in the middle acted like a fortified core, with the outer round tulou forming an additional layer of protection. Together, the cluster functioned almost like a miniature walled city.
In the afternoon, I took bus and continued the travel in the Taxia Village which is part of the Tianluokeng Scenic Area. It’s a well‑preserved example of Hakka culture and architecture. I enjoyed the scene of a “water town” combined with tulou architecture. When I walked among rural terrain, small bridges, cobblestones, I could see local everyday life.
The houses are constructed from blue-gray bricks, which age into a weathered, darker tone over time. Roofs are made with traditional gray clay tiles, sometimes glazed in deeper tones for water resistance. They are rectangular and one to two stories tall. Most of them are built closely along the stone-paved lanes or beside the winding stream. From a distance, I felt that the rooftops formed a soft ripple across the valley, framed by green mountains.
I visited one house compound belonging to Zhang Family. It has stone steps at door, small walled courtyards, and wooden window frames. It was built along the central stream, with bridges connecting them. Its layout includes gate, front hall, main sacrificial hall, with left-side and right-side chambers.
This is used as the clan shrine of the Zhang family, used for ancestor worship, clan ceremonies, rituals, and as a symbol of the Zhang clan’s history and status in the village. Built in the late Ming dynasty, over 400 years old. The gate is decorated with vivid motifs, notably “two dragons playing with a pearl”, inlaid with colored ceramic chips. Roof ridges, eaves, and parapets are ornate, with porcelain reliefs or ceramic decorations depicting legends.
One of the most striking features in front of the hall are the stone flagpoles rising from the stone slab near the pond. There are many of them and they are over 10 meters high. They are richly carved and serve as memorials to clan members who achieved official or civil/military ranks or otherwise made contributions. The latest family member carved on the pole is one student went overseas, studying in MIT.
During my trip, I found that the Hakka people have a culture deeply shaped by migration, resilience, and unity. Though historically considered “guests” , they forged strong, close-knit communities wherever they settled. At the heart of Hakka culture lies a powerful sense of clan. This isn’t just about bloodline but it’s a living, breathing system of values, rituals, and responsibilities. In every generation, Hakka people honor their ancestors through ancestral halls. Family histories are remembered. Even those who’ve migrated abroad trace their roots back to the clan village.
As night fell over Yunshui Yao, the village transformed into a quiet world. Lanterns glowed softly along cobbled paths, and the sound of flowing water echoed through the ancient alleys. The tulous stood silently in the moonlight, their thick earthen walls holding centuries of Hakka stories. In that stillness, I felt the heart of Hakka culture. It was a life rooted in simplicity and connection, so different from the pace I’m used to. This cultural journey of slower rhythm was more about experiencing a way of life that’s rare for me.
Rising gently from the waves of Xiamen’s coast, Kulangsu is an island where sea breezes carry the echoes of pianos and the scent of frangipani drifts through winding stone lanes. It is a place where cultures once met across the ocean, leaving behind villas with red-tiled roofs, colonial consulates, and quiet courtyards shaded by banyan trees. It is celebrated by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site for its rare tapestry of architecture and culture. From the European-inspired mansions of returning overseas Chinese to the fusion styles born of East and West, every building tells a story of global exchange in the 19th and early 20th centuries.
Kulangsu island is always a romantic place for travelers to explore. On December 27th 2024, the morning ferry skimmed across the waters of Xiamen, carrying me toward Nei Cuoao Ferry Point, the gateway to Kulangsu. As the city skyline softened behind me, the island slowly revealed its red rooftops and leafy hills, bathed in the gentle light of dawn. The sea breeze grew cooler, carrying with it a sense of anticipation—of slower rhythms, hidden gardens, and the music-filled streets waiting just beyond the pier.
After I arrived at the island in the morning, the first glimpse of it was the beach. Beach on Kulangsu is not the selling point of this island but it is still beautiful enough. It stretched like a pale ribbon along the edge of the island, its sand soft and fine beneath bare feet. The waves lap gently, leaving fleeting patterns of foam that glisten under the sun, while children’s laughter drifts across the breeze. Here the horizon was wide, the sea was calm, and the soft sand was a quiet comfort for travelers who came to rest by the water’s edge.
Automobile is not allowed on this island, so the only option is to walk along the sea slowly. This long curling bridge built on the sea seems to dance with the sea breeze, their arches tracing elegant curves above the tides. From the railing, I watched the waves rushing in from the horizon and breaking against the rugged cliffs below. Each crash of white foam is a rhythm, echoing like nature’s drumbeat against the stone, while the bridges carry me forward as if floating between sky and sea. It is a place where footsteps slow, and the vast power of the ocean meets the quiet beauty of human design.
Towering trees at the seaside rose like silent guardians of the island, their trunks weathered yet steadfast, their crowns heavy with shimmering green. Sunlight filtered through the leaves in shifting patterns, dappling the stone paths and courtyards below. When the sea breeze drifted inland, the branches swayed gently, whispering as if carrying stories of travelers long past. Looking up from below, the Sunlight Rock seems impossibly high, like a natural monument etched with shadows and light.
My travel route is from the Nei Cuoao Wharf in the west to the Sunlight Rock in the south, then to the Haoyue Park in the east, finally to the residence area in the central part. Sunlight Rock, the highest point on Kulangsu Island offers travelers both a natural wonder and a historic landmark. Its rugged cliffs are composed of granite, weathered over centuries into jagged yet graceful forms. From below, it appears almost vertical and looks very impressive.
Near the summit of Sunlight Rock, the Sunlight Temple is a serene retreat that seems to float between sky and sea. Its crimson walls and green-tiled roofs stand in gentle contrast to the rugged granite cliffs, while the incense smoke drifting from its altars adds a fragrant softness to the salty sea breeze. It is one of Kulangsu’s oldest religious sites, with roots tracing back to the Ming and Qing dynasties.
Inside the courtyard, carefully carved wooden beams and delicate statues reflect traditional Chinese temple artistry. Potted plants and small trees are carefully arranged along the stone pathways. Fragrant flowers peek from ceramic pots, and miniature bonsai trees twist gracefully and elegantly in the gentle breeze in this tranquil courtyard.
The path to the summit winds through lush vegetation, shaded by tall palm trees and clusters of banyans, with small resting spots offering glimpses of the surrounding sea. The red roof-tops are one of the most distinctive features of Kulangsu’s landscape. In the late 19th centuries, many Chinese merchants and families who had lived in Southeast Asia or Europe returned to Kulangsu. They brought with them Western architectural styles, where red-tiled roofs were common. Red clay tiles were durable and well-suited to the island’s humid, coastal climate. They shed rain efficiently and resisted the salty sea breeze better than thatched or flat roofs.
The rock is a commanding position, allowing visitors to gaze across the island and the surrounding sea. At the top, the sea breeze is strong and refreshing, and the panoramic view is really breathtaking. I could see clearly the undulating coastline of Xiamen, the sparkling waters surrounding Kulangsu, and the red-roofed villas dotted across the island all unfold beneath my feet. The sea of red rooftops is like a mosaic of history: a blend of Chinese tradition, overseas influence, and the island’s role as a hub of cultural exchange.
After going down from the top of Sunlight Rock, next I visited the Shuzhuang Garden which is one of the island’s most beautiful places. Here classical Chinese landscape design meets the island’s coastal beauty. It was built in 1913 by Lin Erjia, a wealthy overseas Chinese merchant, as a private seaside villa in memory of his father. This is the statue of the owner Lin Erjia.
The garden is famed for its clever use of space, following the traditional Chinese principle of “借景” (borrowing scenery). Pavilions, winding corridors, and moon gates frame the shifting views of the sea, distant islands, and the garden’s own bridges and rockeries. Every turn seems to reveal a new scene—quiet ponds reflecting the sky, bamboo groves whispering in the wind, or stone steps leading down to the shore where waves gently lap against the rocks. It seamed that I was placed in a flowing Chinese landscape painting.
In this limited area, it includes many artificial hills, winding paths, and groves of bamboo and pine which reproduce the feeling of mountain landscapes within a compact space. Small waterfalls, rockeries, and ponds complete the miniature world of hills and streams, inviting visitors to wander as if in nature itself.
From within Shuzhuang Garden, slender stone bridges curve outward like graceful arms reaching toward the sea. Their paths are never straight; instead, they twist and turn in gentle zigzags, following the classical garden tradition of slowing one’s pace and revealing scenery step by step. Low railings frame the edges, allowing the sound of waves and the salty breeze to flow freely across the walkway like spirits.
As I crossed the bridge, the view shifted constantly. One moment was framed by a round moon gate, the next opening wide to the endless horizon. The bridges seemed to hover between two worlds: behind me, the calm rockeries, bamboo groves, and pavilions of the garden; ahead, the vast, untamed sea which tide was high, and waves surged and crashed beneath the arches.
Walking through Shuzhuang Garden, I felt as if I had stepped into a living painting that slowly revealed itself with every turn. The zigzagging bridges drew me closer to the sea, and when the horizon suddenly appeared through a moon gate, it felt like a surprise being revealed. Standing on a bridge where the garden meets the ocean with Sunlight Rock at the backdrop, I felt that all noise and worry seemed to dissolve into the rhythm of the sea, leaving only a quiet joy.
The Piano Museum near the Shuzhuang Garden is the first of its kind in China. Opened in 2000, the museum reflects the island’s reputation as the “Island of Music” and its deep-rooted love for piano culture. The museum is housed in elegant garden pavilions surrounded by flowers and plants.
The hall displays more than a hundred pianos from around the world. Many of them are rare and antique instruments, some dating back centuries. Walking through the museum, I saw some famous pianos from the 18th century like Blüthner and Steinway & Sons. They are decorated with delicate carvings, and grand pianos once played in concert halls and noble salons. Each piece tells a story of craftsmanship, artistry, and the journey of music.
In the afternoon, I walked along the seaside of Kulangsu which felt alive with energy. The sea sparkled under the sun, waves rolling gently toward the stone promenade. At the far end, Xiamen’s skyline gleamed in the distance. Walking further along the curve of the shore, the huge statue of Zheng Chenggong came into view, standing tall on the rocks above the sea. His gaze was fixed firmly toward the horizon. Beneath him, the waves crashed against the cliffs, as if echoing his determination.
When I looked up at the statue, I imagined that he set sail from these shores in 1661, driving out the Dutch and reclaiming Taiwan, turning Xiamen into a stronghold of resistance and hope. I began to reminisce the history at the end of Ming Dynasty. Although fighting against Qing Dynasty all through his life, Zheng Chenggong gained high recognition from his enemy due to extraordinary loyalty and courage and after his death, the Kangxi Emperor of Qing praised him with the famous couplet:
“四镇多异心，两岛屯师，敢向东南争半壁。诸王无寸土，一隅抗志，方知海外有孤忠。”
The emperor’s words recognize Zheng as a singular figure of steadfast loyalty and daring, acting alone in defense of the Ming cause while much of the empire wavered. Zheng’s courage and strategic vision marked him as a “solitary loyalist” whose deeds would endure in history. Standing today on Kulangsu, gazing at his towering statue facing the sea, I felt the weight of his loyalty and the determination.
From the shores of Kulangsu, the view across the water feels like looking into another world. Beyond the gentle rhythm of waves and the red-tiled roofs of the island, Xiamen rises in shimmering glass and steel. Sleek high-rises and soaring towers stretch toward the sky. The contrast is striking. On one side, it’s Kulangsu’s quiet gardens, winding lanes, and echoes of history; on the other, it’s the bold skyline of a modern metropolis. It made me feel as though past and present are meeting in a single frame.
From the late 19th to early 20th century, luxurious villas and mansions in style like Mediterranean, Baroque, Rococo, and Art Deco were built on this island. Missionaries from Europe built churches, schools, and hospitals, adding Gothic spires, stained glass windows, and European-style chapels to the landscape. Meanwhile, traditional Chinese temples and gardens continued to flourish, preserving local spiritual and aesthetic traditions. Nowadays, Kulangsu retained most of its historic buildings. I wandered through the small lanes and wondered at the mixed cultures here.
‘Amoy Deco’ is the name given to a unique style that blossomed on this island during the early 20th century. It evolved as returning overseas Chinese merchants and students brought back Western influences, fusing them with Fujianese tradition. The name Amoy comes from the local Hokkien dialect pronunciation of Xiamen. Inspired by the global Art Deco movement, these buildings often feature streamlined facades, angular designs, and decorative motifs such as hexagonal patterns roof, symmetry, and zigzags. Unlike pure Western Art Deco, Amoy Deco integrates local craftsmanship, brick masonry techniques, and Chinese symbolic decorations. Wide verandas, open balconies, and shaded courtyards designed for ventilation in the humid subtropical climate.
Constructed in 1934, the Trinity Church was built jointly by three Christian congregations to cater to the growing number of worshipers on the island. The church showcases architectural influences rooted in Western ecclesiastical design like brick walls accented by cross motifs, arched windows and a steeply pitched white roof. Its first Sunday service in the renewed sanctuary was held in 2019, marking its restored role as a house of worship for the island’s community.
The Former British Consulate is a distinguished example of colonial architecture that reflects the island’s rich international heritage. The building is constructed from ancient Minnan red bricks and granite. The structure showcases a veranda style, which was prevalent in port cities during the 19th and early 20th centuries. In 1843, Xiamen opened to foreign trade, and the British government established a consular office on Kulangsu. Today, it has been repurposed and serves as the Kulangsu Historical and Cultural Exhibition Hall. This transformation allows visitors to explore the island’s rich history and the architectural heritage of its colonial past.
The Former Japanese Consulate stands as a testament to Kulangsu’s rich history as an international settlement. Constructed in 1879, it remains the only 19th-century embassy building still intact on the island. The building is primarily constructed using ancient Minnan red bricks and granite as well like most buildings in this island. The structure exhibits Victorian-style elements with a veranda-style layout, common in cities with open ports, and incorporates wood trusses, I-beams, and concrete slabs in its interior.
This building does not allow visiting inside so I could only take some photos surrounding it. Its façade, adorned with arched windows and a distinctive red-brick exterior, stands in contrast to the surrounding European-style buildings. Its well-preserved structure offers me a glimpse into the architectural diversity that characterizes the island.
In my opinion, the Huang Rongyuan Villa must be the most elegant and beautiful mansion in this island. The villa built in 1920 reflects a fusion of European classical style and Chinese aesthetics. Its massive granite columns and formal symmetry evoke Roman grandeur. Four giant Tuscan-style granite columns support a semi-circular portico. Rich ornamental details in column capitals, eaves, windows, balconies, and a rooftop adorned with grapevine motifs and balustrades really attract my eyes.
The villa stands within a lush courtyard, over 3,000 m² in size. In the courtyard, the garden is an exquisite fusion of Chinese and Western elements. One highlight is the use of traditional Chinese garden elements like Taihu rocks, winding paths, a pavilion, and a cloud-style rock wall. In contrast, the geometry and symmetry reflect Western villa gardens especially decorated with curved porch and grand Ionic columns. Now, it is home to the China Record Museum, preserving both architecture and musical heritage.
This Fanpo Mansion is celebrated for its rare blend of Chinese craftsmanship and European Rococo style. The gatehouse is particularly notable. It’s the tallest and largest on the island. Rococo influences surface in flourishes of curving lines and decorative sculptures. The gatehouse is crowned with a sculpture of two golden birds holding copper coins, symbolizing wealth and good fortune. The mansion was built in 1927 by a prosperous Chinese-Filipino entrepreneur, in honor of his mother, known as ‘Fan Po’. The exterior is composed of richly hued red bricks contrasted with white trims. The ground floor features a two-story red-brick cloister with graceful arches forming a shaded walkway. A set of elegant stairs ascends to the main entrance.
There are still some local residents in this island. I could even go to the second floor of the new residential house taking some photos. Life on Kulangsu may unfold under the gaze of countless tourists, but for its local residents, the rhythm is gentler, rooted in routines that have little to do with sightseeing. At dusk, when most tourists have left, the island grows peaceful. Residents stroll along the seaside promenade, and children chase each other under the glow of streetlamps.
Travel in this small island is tiring since I needed to continue walking up and down without rest. Chuncao Tang is situated on the cliff of Pen Holder Hill, offering expansive views of the surrounding landscape. Built in 1933, Chuncao Tang was designed by Xu Chuncao, the president of the Xiamen Construction Association. The villa resembles a Western-style nursing house. Its structure utilizes granite for the wall base, wall pillars, and corridor column. The villa includes a wide corridor outside the living room, providing a space for viewing and cooling off, enhancing the living experience with panoramic views of the surrounding area.
One of the most amazing buildings on this island must be the HSBC Bank Mansion. It is a three-leaf clover shaped English style villa, completed in 1876, and distinguished by its placement atop the cliff of Pen Holder Hill. I looked up at the high and straight cliff. This building sits solidly on a granite foundation anchored into the cliff’s rock. The mansion’s cliff-top location was purposefully chosen to offer sweeping sea views during both day and night. A colonnaded cloister runs alongside, opening to sea breezes and panoramic views of Xiamen’s Twin Towers and the iconic Bagua Mansion.
Before the sun set, the Bagua Mansion revealed itself like a beacon among Kulangsu’s green hills and tiled rooftops. Its bright red dome, rounded and regal, rose above the treetops, immediately catching my eyes. Against the soft sky and glittering sea, the dome shone with a warm glow in the winter chill, resting like a crown on the island’s outline. This distinct profile makes the mansion one of the most recognizable landmarks of Kulangsu. Founded in 1907, the Bagua Mansion was commissioned by Taiwanese businessman. Nowadays, the refurbished mansion became theOrgan Museum, housing Chinese most notable collections of pipe organs.
After eight hours of exploring this island on foot, my legs were utterly exhausted. Sauntering through the winding lanes was like stepping into a living museum, where each street and building tells a story of hybrid cultures and architectural fusion. Though time constraints meant I missed many remarkable structures, the glimpses I caught and these intricate details blending East and West made every step worthwhile. This UNESCO site is not just a place to see but a place to feel, where history and artistry coexist in the most vivid way.
Known as the starting point of the Maritime Silk Road, Quanzhou was one of the world’s busiest ports during the Song and Yuan dynasties. Even one thousand years ago, it is a multi-cultural city. Nowadays, Quanzhou’s streets echo with this unique cultural symphony. Within a few kilometers, traveler can find Buddhist temples, Taoist shrines, churches, and mosques. Due to its pivotal role as a maritime hub and a melting pot of global cultures, Quanzhou is often called “the Museum of World Religions. It was inscribed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2021.
Quanzhou was the third stop of my Christmas 2024 journey through Fujian Province, following visits to Fuzhou and Wuyi Mountain. I spent two days exploring this historic city. My trip started from the Chaotian Gate in the south of city. Built during the Song dynasty, when Quanzhou was a flourishing maritime hub, this gate was once the primary entrance, through which envoys, merchants, and travelers passed, their ships anchored nearby in the busy harbor. The name “Chaotian,” meaning “Facing Heaven,” reflects its ceremonial role: it was traditionally used to greet imperial envoys and conduct ritual offerings to heaven and the sea. When I stood before Chaotian Gate, I easily imagined the scene centuries ago—caravans unloading goods, sails fluttering in the breeze, and languages from across Asia and the Middle East echoing through the air.
In the heart of Quanzhou’s old town center, I visited many ancient buildings. The white Clock Tower located on West Street is a distinctive and modern-looked structure built in 1934. Unlike the traditional ancient architecture around it, this tower showcases early 20th-century architectural design. The tower stands at 13.8 meters tall and is constructed from reinforced concrete. At the top of the tower, there are four round clocks, one on each side, allowing the time to be visible from multiple directions along the street. It is not only a building, but more like a time observer, silently witnessing the changing and flowing rhythm of the ancient city.
South of the Bell Tower on West Street, the street is lined with traditional Minnan (Southern Fujian) style buildings that beautifully blend regional craftsmanship with colonial-era influences, creating a unique streetscape. The buildings are predominantly two-level shop houses, raised on large white pillars that support the upper floors. These sturdy posts not only provide structural strength but also create a shaded arcade at street level, perfect for pedestrians and operations of small shops.
The walls feature red brick-lined windows and facades, a hallmark of Minnan architecture that brings warmth and texture to the buildings. The windows are framed with decorative wooden shutters or latticework, echoing the intricate patterns found in both Minnan and Southeast Asian architecture. The style closely resembles the Singaporean shop houses found in historic districts like Chinatown. This similarity highlights historical maritime trade connections and cultural exchanges between Fujian and Southeast Asia.
West Street is one of Quanzhou’s oldest and most charming thoroughfares. Here I wandered through a lively blend of tradition and experienced the dynamic energy of daily life. Lined with centuries-old shops, tea houses, and local eateries, the street buzzed softly with the mingling scents of fresh pastries and brewed tea. The ancient architecture here, a harmonious mix of southern Fujian style, reflected the city’s rich heritage. As I strolled along West Street, my eyes were naturally drawn to the skyline where two majestic towers rise side by side — the Kaiyuan Temple’s Twin Pagodas. These slender, towering structures, standing tall against the backdrop of blue sky, are iconic symbols of Quanzhou’s cultural and religious history. Their delicate brickwork and multi-tiered eaves cast graceful shadows over the surrounding streets, making the area solemn and poetic.
Kaiyuan Temple stands as one of the largest and most significant Buddhist temples in Fujian Province. Founded during the Tang Dynasty in 686 AD, it has witnessed over a millennium of spiritual devotion. Stepping into Kaiyuan Temple, I was embraced by an atmosphere of calm and reverence. The gentle scent of incense mingled with the soft chanting of prayers, creating a timeless space for reflection. Surrounding the temple, ancient stone lions and inscribed steles spoke of a rich history interwoven with the city’s vibrant maritime past.
The Main Hall, or Daxiong Baodian is the majestic centerpiece of Kaiyuan Temple and the focal point for worshipers. Inside, the hall houses the gold statue of Sakyamuni Buddha, the historical Buddha, seated serenely in the center. Surrounding the main statue are smaller figures of bodhisattvas and guardian deities, all carved or sculpted with delicate detail. The hall’s interior exudes a mystery aura, enhanced by soft natural light filtering through lattice windows, and the faint aroma of incense that lingers in the air.
Painted on an interior wall of the temple, this mural of Qilin is a rare and vibrant example of traditional religious art that has withstood the passage of centuries. The Qilin, often regarded as a benevolent and auspicious beast, is a composite creature with the body of a deer or horse, the scales of a dragon or fish, and a mane of fire. It symbolizes peace, virtue, and the arrival of a sage or enlightened ruler. What makes this mural especially striking is its brilliant use of color—tones of turquoise, cinnabar red, gold, and indigo still glimmer faintly despite age.
The Twin Pagodas of Kaiyuan Temple are the most iconic landmark of Quanzhou. Each pagoda stands over 40 meters tall, built during the Song Dynasty in the 13th century, replacing earlier wooden versions that were destroyed by fire. Crafted entirely of granite, the towers demonstrate remarkable engineering and aesthetic refinement. Delicate stone carvings of Buddhas, celestial beings, lotus patterns, and mythical creatures adorn the surfaces of both towers. Despite centuries of wind and rain, these details remain remarkably well preserved.
Beyond the grand halls and towering pagodas, there was a quieter world—a cluster of old temple buildings hidden in the greenery. Their weathered walls and wooden eaves were telling silent stories of centuries past. These structures, modest in scale but rich in character, were once home to monks and temple workers. Their moss-covered tiles, stone thresholds, and delicate wooden lattice windows reflect the elegance of traditional southern Fujian architecture. Time has softened the edges of these buildings: faded red doors, flaking paint, and ancient stone steps worn smooth by generations of footsteps. All are the silent testimony of vicissitude of life.
As I wandered through the old quarter of old Quanzhou, I came across charming two-story houses that seemed to capture the spirit of the city in a single glance. These buildings, made of brick, feature a unique blend of southern Fujian architecture, simple but full of taste of life. The first floor serves as a shop or family living space, its entrance marked by bright red lanterns hanging on the doorway. Above, the second-floor balcony burst into color. Clay pots and wooden planters overflow with blooming flowers—hibiscus, bougainvillea, orchids—cascading over the railings. At the top, a flat rooftop platform serves as an open-air terrace. Locals might use it to dry tea leaves or gather in the evening for conversation. This kind of life rhythm is neither fast nor slow, just like the temperament of Quanzhou city – leisurely, calm, showing the real way of local life.
In the Licheng District, there are many historical sites listed as UNESCO World Heritage Element which is a memory of the history. The site of Southern Clan Office is the official office overseeing Southern‑residing Song dynasty imperial clans based in Quanzhou. Established in the early 12th century, the office managed some 349 members of the imperial Zhao family who fled south during the Jin invasion. Now in the courtyard, stone steles and a sculpted statue stand as silent testaments to the site’s once majestic presence.
There is a small exhibition hall showcasing rich samples of excavated artifacts, 3D interpretive maps, and multimedia reconstructions. Beautiful vases and delicate lotus‑petal pattern bricks, and majestic looking beast‑face ridge tiles from the Song dynasty are displayed here. A large variety of ceramics with inscriptions such as “赵” on pottery bases, link them directly to the imperial clan. These findings strongly affirm the site’s status as a high‑level official administrative complex tied to both the imperial clan and maritime trade governance mechanisms of the Southern Song state.
It is an unknown archaeological site layered with quiet history. Its admission is free, and it has very few visitors, making it a peaceful stop for history enthusiasts. Here I had deeper understanding of how state institutions functioned during the Maritime Silk Road era, and how imperial families adapted to life far from the capital. Every stele and every piece of pottery bears a true trace of their lives during those turbulent times. This small site, although not renowned for its grandeur, quietly reveals a distant and complex history.
The Site of the Maritime Trade Office is another UNESCO heritage site. It was once the powerful nerve center of China’s official overseas trade during the Song and Yuan dynasties. This was no ordinary government office. It was China’s window to the maritime world, a place where Arab, Persian, Indian, and Southeast Asian merchants registered their ships, paid customs duties, exchanged goods, and interacted with Chinese officials. It witnessed the prosperity of Quanzhou as the “largest port in the East” and also embodied the integration of diverse civilizations on the Maritime Silk Road. Nowadays there are only some remaining excavated stone walls, water channels, and drainage systems.
Far away from the bustle of West Street, the Confucian Temple lie serenely in one corner. Acting as a civilization sanctuary, it is the city’s historical center of learning, moral cultivation, and scholarly reverence. Built originally during the Tang Dynasty and expanded in the Song and Ming periods, this temple is one of the oldest and best-preserved Confucian temples in Fujian Province. More than a religious space, the Quanzhou Confucian Temple in the history served as an educational and civic institution, where Confucian teachings guided the governance and values of society.
At the heart of the temple stands the Dacheng Hall, dedicated to Confucius, with statues and tablets honoring the great sage and his disciples. The hall is built in traditional southern Chinese style, with upturned eaves, carved beams, and tranquil courtyards. The courtyard is shaded by ancient pagoda trees which are symbols of scholarly virtue and integrity. These trees are often linked with success in the imperial examination system.
Walking through the Quanzhou Confucian Temple feels like stepping into a realm of quiet reverence. The symmetry of the architecture and the echo of footsteps in stone courtyards evoked a scholarly world of centuries past. In the center of Dacheng Hall, the solemn figure is the statue of Confucius. Carved with a calm, dignified expression, Confucius is depicted in traditional scholar’s robes, his hands gently clasped in front of his chest in the posture of respect and self-discipline. In the center upper plaque, the phrase 万世师表” means “The Eternal Model Teacher for All Time”. It reflects the deep respect and reverence that generations of Chinese people—especially scholars and officials—have held for Confucius.
The Chinese phrase “半城烟火半城仙” is a modern poetic description of Quanzhou, capturing its unique charm as a city where earthly life and spiritual heritage coexist in harmony. It means ‘Half a city of worldly bustle, half a city of sacred calm.’ As a major port in the Song-Yuan era, it was a global city, home to people of many religions, cultures, and trades. I walked through one historical street with centuries-old Buddhist pagoda, elegant mosque and shrine shrouded of incense smoke. Beliefs are not divided by East and West, and different cultures hold respect to each other.
The Qingjing Mosque was built in 1009 AD during the Northern Song Dynasty, it is the oldest extant Islamic mosque in China and a UNESCO-listed site. Unlike the wooden halls and eaves typical of Chinese religious structures, it is constructed primarily from white and gray granite in a style reminiscent of Middle Eastern Islamic architecture. This makes it visually and culturally distinct from the Buddhist and Daoist temples in the city. It is physical evidence of early Muslim communities in China, likely Yemeni or Persian merchants who settled in Quanzhou and assimilated into the local society during the Song and Yuan dynasties.
Embedded within the Qingjing Mosque’s courtyard wall, the imperial edict of the Yongle Emperor stands as a powerful symbol of the Ming dynasty’s recognition and protection of Islam in Quanzhou. Issued in the early 15th century, the edict praises the virtue and loyalty of the Muslim community in Quanzhou and commands officials to respect and safeguard their religious practices. This not only reflects the country’s recognition of the religious rights of ethnic minorities, but also demonstrates Quanzhou’s open-mindedness in the coexistence of diverse cultures and religions.
In Quanzhou, the most crowded temple must be the The Tonghuai Guandi Temple. It does not belong to any religion and is dedicated to Guan Yu, the legendary general from the Three Kingdoms era who was both loyal and courageous. Guan Yu is worshiped not only for his military prowess but more importantly for his unwavering loyalty, righteousness, and moral integrity. This temple perfectly captures the city’s unique mix of tradition and folk belief that stretches back through centuries.
Despite the centuries that have passed, the temple is always filled with curling incense smoke and steady streams of worshipers. People come here to seek strength in times of difficulty. Business owners and families burn incense to ask for protection and prosperity. The main building like red-painted walls, intricate wooden carvings, and a series of arched roofs adorned with ceramic dragons is beautiful. But the air was heavy with the scent of incense when I traveled here and the area in front of the temple was surrounded by devotees bowing before the altar and offering sticks of incense.
I continued to move to the Tianhou temple in the south of city. In Fujian province, for centuries, Mazu who is the Goddess of the Sea, has held a place of profound spiritual and cultural importance in the lives of the local people. Generations of their families lived by and through the sea. Mazu became their guardian deity. Even overseas, Fujianese migrants carried her image across oceans, building Mazu temples in Taiwan, Southeast Asia and Singapore. The Tianhou Temple is the sacred shrine dedicated to Mazu.
The temple is part of the UNESCO World Heritage site. At the heart of the temple, the statue of Mazu sits serene and dignified, often clothed in bright embroidered robes and wearing a crown of pearls. Flanking her are statues of her two loyal generals—Qianliyan and Shunfeng’er, said to help her see and hear everything happening across the seas. Red lanterns with many benedictory words line the eaves. Intricate stone carvings of dragons, phoenixes, and waves decorate the roof and doorways, evoking the temple’s connection to the ocean.
In just one day, I visited numerous temples, each representing a distinct religious tradition. Next, I arrived at the Chengtian Temple which is a quiet and historically rich Buddhist sanctuary. Unlike larger and crowded temples full of tourists, Chengtian Temple is tranquil and calm. Though it may not draw tourists in large numbers, Chengtian Temple remains a living temple, still functioning with monks, prayers, and rituals.
First built in the Song Dynasty, Chengtian Temple has undergone numerous reconstructions across the Yuan, Ming, and Qing dynasties. The name “Chengtian” (承天) literally means “receiving the mandate of Heaven” . As part of the UNESCO-listed heritage landscape, it shows how different religions coexisted peacefully in ancient Quanzhou. For the temple, there is nothing special but simple. The elegant layout follows traditional Chinese symmetry, with moss covered tiled roofs, historical wooden beams, and peaceful open courtyards. There is a small pagoda on top of the roof. It represents a connection between the earthly world and the spiritual realm and marks the temple as a sacred space where the divine and human meet.
The UNESCO World Heritage site “Quanzhou: Emporium of the World in Song-Yuan China” includes a total of 22 component sites like Kaiyuan Temple, Qingjing Mosque, and Tianhou Temple. Luoyang Bridge is one of them as well. Built during the Northern Song Dynasty, Luoyang Bridge is renowned for being the first stone bridge in China built over tidal waters. It was constructed using raft foundations and oyster reef technology. Workers placed oysters at the base of stone piers to bind the underwater structures together. This ecological method made the foundation resilient to tides, erosion, and currents.
When I walked across the bridge over 800 meters long, I noticed rows of stone piers standing steadily in the river. I could imagine its history of connecting the bustling port city with inland roads, facilitating the movement of goods, people, and ideas during the height of the Maritime Silk Road.
I stayed in Quanzhou for two days. My first day concentrated on the humanity heritages like old streets in the old city and my second day was on some natural scenes. Qingyuan Mountain in the north of city is a place where visitors come to reconnect with nature. It is also a spiritual landmark, a place where nature, history, and Daoist thought merge into quiet harmony. Daoism is about understanding how the world works and becoming one with it.
The Giant Stone Statue of Laozi is the mountain’s most famous feature. It was carved in the Song Dynasty. This makes Qingyuan Mountain a nationally significant site of Daoist worship and Laozi veneration. According to local legend and Daoist belief, Qingyuan Mountain is one of the places where Laozi, the ancient philosopher and founder of Daoism once visited, meditated, and eventually transcended the mortal world to become a Daoist deity. The inscription “老子天下第一” carved in front of the Laozi statue means “Laozi is the greatest under Heaven”. In Daoist tradition, Laozi is considered the origin of all wisdom, the one who taught the Dao—the Way that governs all things.
This mountain is not only spiritually important in Daoist tradition, but also celebrated for its natural beauty. The mountain was covered in lush vegetation like ancient cypress trees lining the stone paths and a mix of evergreen and deciduous trees. I climbed from bottom to top along this road using nearly 2 hours.
The mountain was dotted with weathered granite boulders, many of them engraved with ancient and durable calligraphy. These rocks were moss-covered, shaded by ferns and wildflowers. Natural springs bubbled from the mountain’s base and flowed gently through these rocks.
On this early morning, mist rolled over the mountain ridges, creating a dreamlike effect. The view from higher altitudes offered a glimpse of the city through drifting clouds, a striking contrast between the spiritual landscape and modern life. I could roughly see the outline of West Lake faraway. This shifting mist seemed to reflect the Daoist idea of impermanence, of the seen reality and unseen future constantly transforming.
In the afternoon, before I left, I took some time to visit the West Lake which is opposite to my hotel. Though not as famous as the West Lake in Hangzhou, it is still a beautiful, tranquil urban lake park that offers a peaceful escape and is infused with layers of historical charm. It is designed in the traditional Chinese garden style with curved stone bridges over calm water, lotus-filled ponds that bloom beautifully in summer, willow trees trailing their long branches into the lake, and graceful, poetic pavilions. The lake is far away from the city center, and I enjoyed a natural quietude.
The Quanzhou Museum opposite to the beautiful West Lake provides deep insights into the city’s maritime, religious, and cultural history, particularly during its golden age as a major port on the Maritime Silk Road. There are rich, immersive exhibitions suitable for history lovers, students, and general travelers.
There are collections of rare Nestorian Christian tombstones, Arabic inscriptions, and ancient epitaphs. Many pieces were unearthed from cemeteries of foreign communities who lived in medieval Quanzhou. The porcelain exhibitions are a highlight of the Maritime Silk Road displays, showcasing the city’s central role in ceramic trade and production during the Song and Yuan dynasties. Blanc de Chine (Dehua white porcelain) is famous for its smooth, ivory-white glaze and is exported widely to Southeast Asia and Europe.
Inside, there is a large-scale model of ancient Quanzhou city, offering visitors a panoramic and immersive view of how the city looked during its golden age in the Song-Yuan period. I could clearly see the sinuous city walls, towering main gates (like Chaotian Gate), crossing streets, and the two towers of Kaiyuan Temple and immersed in its old history.
During my trip I tasted the Minnan cuisine, which is especially representative of the southern Fujian region, including cities like Quanzhou, Xiamen, and Zhangzhou. It is known for its refined techniques, fresh ingredients, delicate flavors, and a touch of sweetness. The Four Fruit Soup is a cold dessert with four toppings like transparent jelly cubes, sweetened red beans, soft lotus seeds, and crisp Nata de coco. It is lightly sweetened and topped with condensed milk, taste not so saturated.
The Oyster omelette is one of the most iconic and beloved dishes in Minnan cuisine, widely enjoyed in Quanzhou as well as in Taiwan and parts of Southeast Asia like Singapore. It is a must-try street food that perfectly captures the flavors and textures unique to the coastal Fujianese palate. It a savory dish made with fresh oysters and eggs. Sweet potato starch slurry is mixed into the egg to give the dish a chewy texture. Chopped leafy greens or scallions are added. It is pan-fried on a flat griddle until crispy on the bottom and soft on top. A key part of the dish is the sweet-sour chili sauce that’s generously spooned over the omelette after it’s cooked. It can be a satisfying snack for a seafood lover like me.
Ginger Duck is a traditional and deeply flavorful dish of Minnan cuisine. It is made of aged ginger with stronger spiciness and tender duck meat. The dish is usually simmered in a clay pot over low heat, allowing the ingredients to infuse and develop a rich, savory broth. Sesame oil is used to stir-fry the ginger and rice wine is added, both for flavor and warmth. Herbs and spices like goji berries, red dates, star anise, and angelica root are included for their traditional medicinal value. The taste is nice, a bit warming, spicy and lightly sweet.
Exploring Quanzhou has been a deeply immersive journey. It felt like stepping into a living tapestry woven from centuries of history, culture, and spiritual harmony. Wandering through its ancient streets, majetic temples, and bustling markets, I sensed the city’s heartbeat pulsing with the stories of diverse peoples who once gathered here as traders or pilgrims. Quanzhou offers me a rare glimpse into a crossroads of world cultures — where Buddhism, Islam, Christianity, and Daoism coexist peacefully; where the legacy of the Maritime Silk Road still echoes in every stone bridge and mosque; where time slows down amidst verdant mountains and tranquil lakes.
In the quiet cradle of northwest Fujian lies a sacred land called Wuyi Mountain. This UNESCO World Heritage site is like a living poem, etched in cliffs and whispered by waters, where Taoist sages, Confucian scholars, and tea masters once walked in reflection. Wuyi is not only known for its breathtaking landscapes — crimson cliffs, emerald rivers, and cloud-kissed peaks — but for its legendary rock tea and the graceful balance between culture and nature. I spent three days in this beautiful place during my Christmas trip in 2024 and caught its most splendid moment from morning to evening using my camera.
As the first rays of morning pierced the veil of winter mist, the tea fields of Wuyi Mountain began to stir. The golden sun poured its light across the terraced slopes like warm honey. It spilled over the ridges with a quiet generosity, wrapping the emerald bushes in a soft glow. Shadows retreated behind stone ridges, and the winter chill that once clung to the earth began to ease. In that moment, under the golden winter sun, the tea fields breathe again — calm, green, and alive.
By midday, the sun stood high above its jade-carved ridges, the sunlight was no longer gentle, but bright and steady — like a lantern held by heaven itself. The mist of morning has melted away, revealing the full grandeur of the mountain’s contours. Below, the Nine-Bend Stream flowed with tranquil rhythm, its surface catching fragments of sunlight like broken mirrors. The river bends reflected the sky and mountain, turning blue and green into liquid silk. At this moment, the mountains basked in the warmth cozily.
As the sun began its descent behind the distant ridge lines, Xiannü Peak caught the day’s final light. Her gentle silhouette, carved with grace and quiet dignity, stood bathed in a golden radiance, as if she herself is aglow from within. Pale rose, soft gold, and lavender hues wrapped around her like flowing robes of silk. The surrounding peaks darkened, but Xiannü Peak remained luminous and serene, like a goddess suspended between heaven and earth.
I lived in the hotel not far away from the scenic area. From the streets of Wuyi City, the mountains rose not far away, their green silhouettes etched clearly against the sky. Standing on this bridge, I could easily catch sight of the rolling ridges and majestic cliffs. The boundary between city and mountain here feels soft.
It is really a sanctuary for the weary heart, a place where every breath feels lighter, every step slower. Here, the pace of life softens naturally. Even while walking along the quiet streets, relaxation comes easily. The sky stretched wide and endlessly blue, like a silk canopy unfurled above. The green peaks stood nearby, calm and ever-present. They seemed close enough to touch, always within sight, as if the mountains were quietly keeping company with the town below. As I strolled through the city, the scene was like a living painting—crystal-clear waters meandering through town, their surfaces shimmering under the sunlight, mirroring the sky and cliffs above. The river glided slowly, and its calm flow seemed to carry away every worry.
There are four major scenic spots in Wuyi Mountain: Tianyou Mountain, The One-Line Sky, Tiger Roaring Rock, and Xiannü Peak. Visitors can go to each place by buses connecting every scenic spot. The travel infrastructure in the area is perfect. Travelers can choose any ways they want like strolling quietly along the stream, direct buses, rugged mountain paths or a romantic trip of bamboo rafts.
Hailed as the most iconic peak of Wuyi Mountain, Tianyou Mountain — meaning “Heavenly Tour Peak” — is a place where the earth seems to merge with the sky. Rising to an elevation of about 408 meters, it is known as the “First Wonderland of Wuyi” and is a must-visit for those seeking the essence of Wuyi’s beauty. The mountain is straight and steep like a very tall wall raised in front of me.
The climb to the summit winds through 888 steep stone steps, ancient pines, and dramatic cliffs. Along the way, travelers are very tired but greeted by stunning views of emerald peaks and the famous Nine-Bend Stream curling gracefully below like a jade ribbon. As I ascended higher, the morning mist thinned, the beauty of Wuyi unfolded in my eyes gradually.
At the summit, the reward is breathtaking — a panoramic view of the entire Wuyi landscape. Tea fields ripple across the hills, the transparent and clear winding stream glistens like silk, and distant ridges stand in layered blues and greens. On clear days, the sky feels close enough to touch, and the clouds drift past at eye level, creating the sensation of walking through the heavens.
The tea terraces represent centuries of craftsmanship and culture of Wuyi. Layer upon layer, the terraces ripple across the slopes like emerald waves, following the curves of the mountains. Here, the famous rock tea grows and is nourished by the mineral-rich soil and the unique mountain mist that drifts through the air. The tea bushes cling to the rugged terrain, their deep roots reaching into cracks of ancient stone. In the early morning, the terraces were veiled in soft fog. As the sun rises, its light gradually melt away the mist, revealing glistening leaves covered with tiny dew droplets, shimmering under the golden glow.
Da Hong Pao is called the “King of Rock Teas”. The name Da Hong Pao, meaning “Big Red Robe,” originates from a centuries-old legend. It is said that during the Ming Dynasty, a scholar traveling to the imperial exams fell gravely ill while passing through Wuyi Mountain. Local monks brewed him tea from a special bush growing on the cliffs. After drinking it, he recovered miraculously, went on to excel in his exams, and became a high-ranking official. In gratitude, the emperor sent great red robes to cover the bushes that had produced the miraculous tea.
In this photo, the six mother trees of Da Hong Pao preserved in the red rails are regarded as national treasures. Due to their extreme rarity and cultural value, harvesting leaves from these ancient bushes has been strictly forbidden since 2006 to preserve them for future generations.
Wuyi Mountain is laced with countless winding paths, inviting travelers to explore its hidden corners. As I wandered through its serene valleys, it wasn’t just the towering cliffs and emerald waters that drew my gaze. Scattered across moss-covered walls and carved into the rugged cliffs are hundreds of stone inscriptions—some weathered and fading with time, others still strikingly vivid. These ancient etchings feel like whispers from the past. Walking past them, I felt as though I were retracing the footsteps of explorers like Xu Xiake, following the trails they once walked.
Winter is better time to visit Wuyi. Most of the evergreen trees—such as pine and bamboo—remain lush and steadfast, their deep green needles and leaves standing firm against the cool air. They blanket the slopes and line the streams. Some maples and sweet gum trees blush with lingering shades of amber, gold, and soft crimson, their leaves fluttering lightly in the wind. The colors are not as fiery as autumn.
I was heading towards the next destination. As sunlight filtered through the thin winter clouds, the mountain glowed with a quiet radiance—green pines, yellow flowers and golden-brown leaves weave a soft, peaceful tapestry. The air is fresh, cool, and still, and every step through the mountain feels like walking through an ink-wash painting, immersing into nature.
The One-Line Sky was the second scenic spot during my visit in Wuyi. It is a narrow gorge formed by the shifting and splitting of massive rock layers over countless years. It stretches for about 100 meters between two towering stone walls that lean so closely together that, in many parts, only a sliver of sky is visible overhead. I was really scary walking through it since the narrowest sections are barely wide enough for me to pass through, with only a faint band of light high above. The passage twisted and wound, revealing unexpected turns and I paused and looked up at the sliver of blue sky above. the air feels thick and cool. With every step deeper into the gorge, there was a growing sense of suffocation due to the overwhelming closeness of the space. The echo of footsteps reverberates eerily, amplifying the isolation.
I quickened my pace, drawn forward by the unspoken desire to escape the closing grip of the rocks. As I finally emerged from the tightest stretch, the gorge widened and light flooded back in. There is an undeniable sense of being safe and free as if the wideness and warmness of world has returned to me.
Among the many peaks that grace Wuyi Mountain, Xiannü Peak — also known as Fairy Maiden Peak stands out with its graceful beauty and timeless legend. Rising quietly by the riverbanks, this peak is famed for its elegant silhouette, said to resemble a celestial maiden wrapped in flowing robes, gazing softly over the landscape like a guardian.
Local legend tells of a celestial fairy who descended from heaven to help tame the floods and protect the people of Wuyi. She fell in love with the land and chose to remain, watching over the valleys and rivers below. Her spirit, as the story goes, became forever entwined with the mountain, her compassion and beauty eternally preserved in the stone.
I took a rest basked under the warm sunlight on the riverbanks to admire her from below. From this vantage point, the Fairy Maiden appears to watch over the winding Nine-Bend Stream , her reflection is visible in the shimmering waters. This must be the most iconic scene of Wuyi. On midday, when the sun cast clear shadows on the cliffs, her figure grew more distinct, standing tall and poised against the blue sky. In this quiet space, surrounded by mountains and clear stream, I simply sat — no rush, just basking in the sunlight. It felt as though the mountain itself was sharing its timeless serenity with me.
I enjoyed spending free time on the riverbank and looked at the bamboo rafts passing by one by one. The water here is as clear as glass, flowing gently over smooth stones and pebbles that glimmer beneath the surface like hidden jewels. In the quiet bends, the stream appears almost motionless, perfectly mirroring the surrounding cliffs, forests, and blue sky above. Lean closer and I could see right to the bottom—tiny fish dart between stones, leaves drift gracefully by, and the soft sands seems to glow with light.
For every traveler, drifting on a bamboo raft along the Nine-Bend Stream is an experience not to be missed on a journey through Wuyi. As the raft gently sets off from the riverbank, the world seems to quiet. The only sounds are the soft splash of water against bamboo and the occasional call of a distant bird echoing through the valley.
My trip of bamboo raft started in the very early morning with chill. The raft itself was simple — long bamboo poles lashed together, guided by a skilled boatman who stood at the stern, using a slender pole to steer. With each push, the raft glided smoothly over the crystal-clear waters, moving as effortlessly as a cloud drifting across the sky. The boatman paused halfway, allowing me to take beautiful photos while on the raft.
The scenery unfolded slowly, like a painting in motion. On both sides, towering cliffs rose steeply, their faces marked by ancient stone inscriptions and streaked with moss. Above, emerald peaks pierced the sky, some shrouded in mist, others basking in sunlight. Pine trees and bamboo groves leaned over the banks, their reflections swaying gently in the water below.
As the raft rounds each bend of the meandering stream, new vistas appeared—sometimes a narrow passage where cliffs almost touched. At that moment, I felt completely immersed in the landscape—half drifting, half dreaming. The mountain breeze brushed my face, carrying the faint scent of winter leaves. I enjoyed such a trip of around two hours. My boatman shared legends of the peaks like tales of immortals and lovers. As I glided along, there was no rush, only the soft rhythm of water and the endless unfolding of beauty.
Wuyi mountain is a perfect place for travelers to spend holidays. I enjoyed the moment when I walked alone the winding mountain path, surrounded by towering cliffs and whispering forests. The stone trail twisted ahead, empty and quiet—no voices, no footsteps, only the soft rustling of leaves and the distant murmur of water tumbling over rocks.
There were no other travelers in sight; it felt as though the entire mountain had been reserved just for me. With no one around, I unlocked my phone and switched on the music player. Soon, my favorite song filled my ears, wrapping me in its familiar melody. As the music played, every step seemed lighter, every turn in the path more magical. The rhythm of the song blended with the sounds of nature. In that moment, the whole world seemed to belong to me alone.
After ascending winding stone steps shaded by bamboo and ancient pines, I reached one ancient temple called Zhizhi An (止止庵), one of the mountain’s oldest and most secluded temples. Along the way, I could hear the sound of trickling springs and bird calls, as if leading me deeper into the mountain’s heart.
Unlike grand, ornate temples found elsewhere, Zhizhi An is modest, blending gracefully into its mountain setting. Its old stone walls are weathered and moss-covered. Built during the Song Dynasty, the temple has long been associated with Zhu Xi (朱熹), one of China’s most renowned Confucian scholars. It is said that Zhu Xi once practiced quiet meditation here, finding inspiration amid its peaceful surroundings.
When I arrived, I was greeted not by grandeur, but by quiet simplicity: a small courtyard framed by old trees and delicate pot plants, and I could smell the faint scent of incense drifting through the air. The tranquility here reminded me the name of this temple which means “Stop and Stop”—a phrase that speaks of halting both physical steps and restless thoughts. When I visited it, my travel in Wuyi would end soon and this will be my last stop of this journey in Wuyi.
Before I left, I tasted the local dishes in Wuyi Mountain. This region is close to the Jiangxi province and the food is quite spicy. The spicy bamboo shoots fried with sauerkraut is a dish that perfectly captures the bold, rustic flavors of the region. Fresh bamboo shoots, harvested from the thick groves surrounding the cliffs, are prized for their crisp texture. They are stir-fried together with local sauerkraut. The bamboo shoots soak up the rich, spicy flavors of dried chili peppers and fragrant oil, creating a satisfying contrast between crunchy, sour, and spicy. It pairs perfectly with a bowl of freshly steamed rice.
Wuyi Smoked Duck is one of the region’s most iconic dishes, known for its rich, smoky fragrance and tender meat. Every visitor should try it. The duck is first marinated with local spices and salt, then slowly smoked over a fire fueled by tea leaves, pinewood, and camphor branches—a method unique to the Wuyi region. The result is a beautifully bronzed duck with crisp skin and juicy, flavorful meat, infused with a subtle hint of tea and mountain herbs. It’s a dish that perfectly embodies Wuyi’s culinary style.
As a solo traveler, I found a rare kind of freedom here. Whether wandering the secluded mountain trails with only the sound of my footsteps or simply sitting by the river, letting the winter sun warm my face, I felt completely at ease. In Wuyi, there is no need to chase sights or rush between attractions. The beauty here is best savored slowly, like a fine cup of rock tea—letting the flavors unfold naturally, each moment revealing something new. For me, the best journeys are the ones where I can travel in my favorite rhythm and experience with my heart!
In the embrace of the majestic Jade Dragon Snow Mountain, Lijiang is perfect travel place where the past dances gracefully with the present. As a UNESCO World Heritage site, this ancient town is a living canvas of culture and history, with its cobblestone streets, winding alleys, and traditional wooden houses steeped in stories of centuries gone by. Lijiang’s charm is undeniable, its picturesque beauty capturing the hearts of all who wander its enchanting pathways.
For lovers, Lijiang is a dream come true. The town’s romantic allure is woven into the gentle flow of the canals, the blooming flowers, the soft glow of lantern-lit evenings, and the whispers of ancient melodies that linger in the air. Stroll hand-in-hand through the winding streets, where every turn reveals a new vista of beauty.
Lijiang is the historical homeland of the Naxi people, an ethnic minority whose culture is beautifully reflected in the town’s buildings. The Naxi people lived in Lijiang for more than one thousand years. Their houses typically include timber-framed structures with intricate carvings and flower-filled courtyards. The courtyards have sloped tiled roofs with upward-curving eaves reminiscent of Han Chinese design, but often adorned with local Naxi symbols like Dongba scripts and plum blossom. Carved wooden doors and lattice windows, showcases craftsmanship that passed down through generations.
Unlike the rigid grid systems seen in many ancient Chinese cities, Lijiang’s street layout follows the natural topography of the land. Its streets are designed to flow with the natural slope of the terrain and the course of its canal network. Winding alleys, gentle inclines, and interwoven pathways are cobbled with smooth, dark stone.
The environment in this town attracted me a lot. It is often described as the “Venice of the East”, owing to its intricate network of crystal-clear canals and over 300 small stone bridges. Water from the Jade Dragon Snow Mountain flows into the town, guided by an ingenious water management system dating back to the Yuan Dynasty.
The famous Big Stone Bridge spans one of the main canals that meander through the Ancient Town called Dayan, gracefully connecting the bustling market streets and quiet residential alleys. Built from finely chiseled gray stone, the bridge features a gentle and elegant arch that rises just enough to allow water and small boats to pass beneath. Stone slabs of the bridge have been polished by time and reflect the town’s poetic beauty and deep-rooted history.
In summer, Lijiang Ancient Town bursts into a quiet, poetic splendor, with flowers blooming like brushstrokes across its cobblestone streets. Hanging flower baskets overflow from carved wooden balconies and tea house windows. Potted blooms line the narrow stone alleys, framing doorways and open courtyards with bursts of color. Green vines and creepers climb gracefully along tiled roofs and traditional wooden beams. The brillant summer flowers of this city left me a deep impression of a living scroll of color and scent.
The canals that run through Lijiang become floral mirrors. Willows dip their green tendrils into the water, and wildflowers peek through the stone edges. Floating petals drift along the surface, carried by the mountain-fed streams that wind through the town like silver threads.
The streets are narrow, winding, but it’s the color that captures my heart first. Strings of bright red lanterns sway gently overhead, casting warm light in the evenings and glowing softly against aged wooden walls. Shopfronts are adorned with vivid Naxi embroidery, batik fabrics, and handwoven scarves in deep blue, scarlet, and purple. The handmade paper umbrellas are more than beautiful objects—they are icons of romance and tradition. The hand-carved bamboo frame is lightweight. A young woman holding a paper umbrella is a traditional image of grace and refinement, common in Naxi and Han aesthetics.
Sifang Street (四方街) is a living square where history, culture, and daily life converge in a graceful, harmonious rhythm. It was an open plaza which served as the center of commerce, social life, and cultural exchange for centuries. Roads from all directions meet here, making it the natural gathering point of the town. The surrounding two-story timber buildings with tiled roofs and carved eaves are classic Naxi architecture.
Historically, Lijiang was a vital hub on the Ancient Tea Horse Road, and the ancient city layout reflects its past as a trading center. Roads led toward gates and plazas that were once used for commerce transportations. The urban design ensured easy navigation and security while allowing for the smooth flow of goods and people. The Ancient Tea Horse Road was a vast network of trade routes that once linked the tea-growing regions of southwestern China with Tibet and eventually extended into India. Puer tea from Yunnan were traded out and strong Tibetan horses were traded to the Chinese for use in the military.
The big water wheel at the entrance of Lijiang Ancient Town is one of its most iconic landmarks—a symbol of tradition, harmony, and the town’s deep connection with water. It draws water from the flowing canals and uses the current to rotate continuously. Traditionally, water wheels were used in grinding grain or irrigation, and nowadays this big wheel in Lijiang is only symbolic. Visitors often take photos in front of the water wheel. It’s also a common backdrop for traditional Naxi dress photography and wedding shoots.
As I walked from the big water wheel, I entered the broad main street. It is a stone-paved roads, polished smooth over centuries by footsteps and time. The street is lined with a rich mix of traditional and contemporary experiences. There are tea houses with open balconies and live Naxi or modern music drifting into the air. Also everywhere there are shops selling handmade crafts, from silver jewelry and Dongba scrolls to embroidered scarves.
Unlike many ancient Chinese towns, Lijiang Ancient Town has no city wall. It is located in a relatively remote, mountainous region, protected by natural barriers like the Jade Dragon Snow Mountain and surrounding terrain. This reduced the need for defensive walls. The Naxi people, the main ethnic group of Lijiang, believe in openness, flow, and harmony with nature. This short section of wall called Guan Men Kou marked the entrance to the administrative and residential district of local government officials during the Ming and Qing dynasties.
It was connected to the Mu Residence (木府)—home of the Mu family, hereditary Naxi chieftains who ruled the region for centuries. The Mu Residence is often called the “Forbidden City of Lijiang” — a grand, elegant architectural complex that was once the political and cultural center of Lijiang Ancient Town. The whole ancient city of Lijiang is ticket free, but visitors need to pay 20 RMB yuans to visit this building.
The Mu clan governed Lijiang for over 470 years, from the Yuan dynasty (13th century) through the Ming and Qing dynasties. As imperial-appointed Tusi (local rulers), they enjoyed considerable autonomy while serving as intermediaries between the central government and local ethnic groups. This is the majestic central ceremonial hall, where the Mu rulers met guests and conducted administrative duties.
There is a tranquil garden with stone paths, bamboo groves, and koi ponds—perfectly illustrating harmony between architecture and nature. The layout and detail express Confucian order, Daoist balance, and Dongba spiritual heritage.
From the higher vantage points of Mu residence, I saw a rippling expanse of traditional, gray-tiled rooftops stretching in every direction. These rooftops are curved and upturned at the edges, reflecting classic Chinese architectural style. They are arranged tightly together, each with its own courtyard-centered home, forming a labyrinthine patchwork.
The panoramic view of the town in the sunny afternoon is overwhelming. Under the sunlight, golden light is cast across the rooftops, revealing layers of texture and age. The curved tiles, weathered by centuries of wind and rain, catch the light at different angles, creating a mosaic of shadows. The gray roof tiles reflect not just the light of the sun, but the light of a thousand yesterdays. In Lijiang, the clouds are rarely static. They move like dancers across the sky. Sometimes thunderous storm clouds rolling in from the mountains, suddenly turned the blue sky into a canvas of deep gray.
Snow Mountain Academy is a place for cultural exhibitions of preservation and promotion of Dongba culture. It has traditional Naxi and Han Chinese architecture with wooden pavilions with gracefully curved roofs and carved eaves and latticed windows, stone courtyards, and koi ponds. There are inscriptions of Dongba symbols and poetic couplets on the entrance.
Small pavilions scattered throughout Lijiang Ancient Town. They are typical Chinese architecture elements. They have intricate wooden latticework, carved with floral patterns like phoenixes and red columns and painted beams, with calligraphy quoting poetry. Many are open on all sides, allowing gentle breezes to pass through and refreshing the visitors.
In Lijiang, I always found this traditional water system called The Three-Eyed Well. It consists of three connected stone basins or wells that are arranged in a tiered system. Spring water flows from the uppermost well to the lowest. Top basin contains drinking water and is reserved strictly for drinking and cooking, ensuring the cleanest, freshest water being protected. Middle basin is used for washing vegetables and rice. The water comes directly from the top and flows out again, it remains relatively clean. The bottom level was used for washing clothes or cleaning items, where the water, now used multiple times, would finally exit the system.
Shuhe Old Town is one of the three old towns in Lijiang worthy of visit. It was one of the earliest Naxi settlements in the Lijiang area, dating back more than 1,000 years. It was once a vital stop on the Ancient Tea Horse Road, that linked Yunnan with Tibet. This town has lush greenery of cypress and camphor trees.
Shuhe retains its original village charm, with stone-paved lanes that wind through traditional Naxi courtyard homes. There are clear canals running through small stone bridges, fed by mountain spring water. In one unnoticed corner, I found some sculpted animal heads—of oxen, horses, dragons, and tigers. The twelve Chinese zodiac animal heads are sculpted with fine attention to detail. They represent the Chinese cultural heritage.
Water is the soul of Shuhe. The town is laced with fresh mountain springs and gentle canals, which flow from the nearby mountains and provide life to the land and people. The Qinglong River and a network of small canals run through the town, and water accumulated in the Nine Tripod Dragon Pool in this photo. The water is remarkably clear, with a deep jade-green hue, reflecting the sky and surrounding trees like a perfect mirror.
I enjoyed the feeling of walking along the cobbled street. The surface was smooth from centuries of footsteps, yet still retained the natural texture and rhythm of each stone. On sunny days, the cobblestones glisten softly. They were telling the long story of this city. These streets have guided caravans of horses, carried pilgrims and poets, and today, lead visitors like me.
Similar to the towns （Eguisheim） I have visited in France, the timber walls of old houses are adorned with an enchanting array of climbing plants and blooming flowers. Creeper plants and grapevines twist gracefully up stone and brick walls. The combination of floral color, carved window frames, and creeping green creates a storybook atmosphere.
The Baisha ancient town was a peaceful town in the north of Li Jiang. The town’s buildings are made of mud bricks, timber, and stone, featuring whitewashed walls, grey rooftiles, and Naxi-style wooden carvings. Unlike more commercial towns, Baisha retains an authentic, almost rustic character—every weathered beam and faded wall tells a story. It is less touristy, making it ideal for travelers seeking a more immersive experience.
Located at the foot of Jade Dragon Snow Mountain, this town is a place where time lingers gently and tradition breathes in every small lane. I felt unhurried and myself seemed to be wrapped in the cool breath of Jade Dragon Snow Mountain. The morning is tranquil, with soft light spilling across stone paths, roosters calling in the distance. Elderly Naxi women in traditional blue garments sit by doorways, chatting quietly beneath overhanging eaves.
I noticed some traditional houses of courtyard in this town. During the day, warm light and shadow dance across the walls, and in the evening, red lanterns cast a soft glow over the polished stones. The doorway features stone or brick inlays at the base, with engraved patterns of waves, clouds, and animals to ward off bad luck. Flower pots and stone lions are set up along the doorway. The paintings on wooden doors flanking the entrance represents the god of doorways and are designed to welcome good fortune and ward off evil. If traveller has free time, it is a good choice to stay in this town for several days experiencing the Naxi life here.
The UNESCO World Heritage Site of Lijiang Ancient Town consists of four key parts, three ancient towns Dayan, Baisha, and Shuhe, and the ancient water system called Black Dragon Pool. The park of Black Dragon Pool was the last place I visited in Lijiang. The pool is fed by springs from the foot of Elephant Hill and serves as the headwaters of Lijiang’s ancient canal system, which winds through Dayan Old Town. The elegant white marble bridge arcs across the water drew my attention. Towering in the horizontal of sky, the snow-covered ridges gleamed silver under the sun.
Surrounded by willows, cypress trees, and seasonal blooms, the park is a haven for travelers seeking tranquility. The greenery creates picturesque scenes against the backdrop of traditional architecture. The mirror-like surface reflects the majestic Jade Dragon Snow Mountain, creating a postcard scene.
There is a museum here displaying the Naxi script of Dongba characters. They are pictographs and ideographs—symbols that visually represent ideas, objects, and actions. Each symbol can represent a word, a sound, or a meaning. Although no one use these characters now, they are cultural heritage of this land, and were used to pass down religious stories and cosmology.
I have stayed in Lijiang for three days. As I took my final steps of the ancient town, the echoes of rushing water and soft chimes from wind bells lingered in my heart like the fading notes of an old melody. In these days, I lost time among the painted doorways, the fragrance of fresh flowers and the cobbled ancient streets. As I left, I carried the lingering memories with me like a lantern glowing softly long after the sun has set.
The Stone Forest, located in Yunnan Province, is a breathtaking natural wonder renowned for its towering limestone formations that resemble a vast forest made of stone. Formed over 270 million years ago through erosion and geological activity, this UNESCO World Heritage site is rich in history and culture. The local Sani people, a branch of the Yi ethnic group, add to the forest’s allure with interesting folklore. Exploring labyrinth-like pathways and dramatic rock pillars was really an extraordinary experience for every traveler.
The Stone Forest was classified as a UNESCO World Heritage site in 2007 because of its outstanding geological significance and unique karst landscape. It’s one of the world’s best examples of karst formations with limestone pillars shaped by millions of years of erosion and tectonic activity. The site is part of the South China karst, a vast region recognized for its exceptional biodiversity, intricate cave systems, underground rivers, and limestone features.
I visited this famous scenic point on May 19th, 2024, during my summer trip in Yun Nan. Upon arrival of the entrance, I was attracted by the numerous stones of different forms. Despite its rugged, rocky landscape, the Stone Forest is home to a rich variety of plant life that thrives in the crevices and soil within the limestone formations. Begonias, bamboos, and Yunnan Pine can be seen in every corner of this park.
All visitors need to cross one bridge on the Shilin Karst Lake. It is a tranquil and elegant lake which still waters create a mesmerizing mirror effect, reflecting the limestone pillars that surround it. The lake is fringed with unique rock formations, some of which seem to rise directly out of the water like natural sculptures. There are some viewpoints allowing visitors to wander along the shore, offering peaceful spots to rest.
During the Permian Period, the area that is now the Stone Forest was covered by a shallow tropical sea. Over millions of years, marine organisms like corals, shellfish, and algae thrived in this environment, leaving behind thick layers of limestone as they died and accumulated on the seabed. Due to tectonic movements, the seabed gradually rose above sea level, exposing the limestone deposits to air.
Karst landscapes are formed through a process of erosion, where soluble rocks, like limestone are gradually dissolved by water over long periods of time. The presence of soluble limestone is made primarily of calcium carbonate (CaCO3). Rainwater is slightly acidic due to dissolved carbon dioxide and forms carbonic acid (H2CO3), which chemically erode the rock. Over time, the acidity of rainwater or groundwater slowly reacts with the calcium carbonate, creating small cracks in the rock. Over long periods of time, the Karst landscape can evolve into a complex system of geological features, including limestone plateaus, sharp peaks, isolated columns, and underground caverns.
Many huge stones are composed of various layers of limestone, which have eroded over millions of years. This erosion has created unique shapes and textures, from sharp edges to smoother, rounded forms. The intricate patterns on the stone surfaces resemble layers of barky and natural folds, and some wrinkles. At times, I felt like an explorer uncovering hidden treasures, each new path revealing a different formation that sparked my imagination—some stones looked like a giant’s face, while others resembled delicate spires rising toward the sky.
Between the stone columns, there are small gaps, crevices, and caves, some of which visitors can explore. These openings form narrow passageways and hidden corners, creating a sense of mystery and discovery. Visitors can rest on the stone stools for a while when they felt tired. Over a long time, moss, lichen, and other small plants have grown on the stones, adding a touch of green to the monotonous grey and brown landscape.
The Major Stone Forest is the main and most famous scenic point, attracting numerous visitors. It is a labyrinth of jagged rock formations, shaped over millions of years by the forces of wind and water. The limestone pillars, some towering as high as 30 meters, stretch in all directions, creating a dense, maze-like environment where it’s easy to lose yourself in the twists and turns of the landscape.
The limestone spires are thin and elongated, resembling tall spikes. These formations reach upward, as though they are trying to touch the sky. Walking through these sections feels like wandering through a vast, jagged city of stone, with towering buildings rising up from the ground on all sides. The stone pathways can be uneven and rocky, so it’s important to wear sturdy, comfortable shoes for walking.
Narrow paths wind through the stone pillars, leading visitors on a journey of discovery. These winding routes allow me to get up close to the stones and appreciate their unique shapes and textures closely. Stone steps leading up to the top of stones, are worn smooth by countless visitors. I liked to think deeply during my trip. Walking through these paths in the labyrinth made me think the meaning of life. Our life is like a labyrinth and we are always looking for the exit which path is the journey of our life.
Sword Peak Pool is a beautiful, tranquil spot known for its stunning natural scenery and crystal-clear waters. The name refers to the shape of the surrounding peaks that resemble the sharp edge of a sword. It reflects the surrounding stone peaks, creating a picturesque view. It is a result of millions of years of natural erosion and geological processes.
The Stone Forest is interspersed with various smaller pools and streams that dot the landscape, each with its own charm. Some of these are tucked into crevices between rocks, while others sit in open clearings. I really marveled at these stone erected in the water, which silently create an almost fortress-like setting, giving the pond a hidden and mystical feel. It looks like an isolated environment far away from the mundane world.
The whole park of stone forest is super large, and most visitors only have time to visit the Major and Minor Stone Forest within one day. The Minor Stone Forest consists of a smaller yet equally intricate collection of karst limestone formations. Unlike the towering 30-meter pillars of the Major Stone Forest, the rock formations here are relatively shorter and more clustered together.
Unlike the more crowded Major Stone Forest, this area is quieter and less touristy, making it an ideal spot for visitors who prefer a more serene experience. The stones here are weathered into unusual shapes, resembling animals and mythical creatures, sparking the imagination of visitors. Every jagged rock peak with smooth, eroded surfaces tells a story of millions of years of natural sculpting. The scenes in this area have more greeneries and look more spacious and poetic.
The Minor Stone Forest is deeply connected to the Yi ethnic group, particularly the Sani people. This area is associated with local myths and legends, and some rocks are believed to be sacred, linked to ancient spirits and ancestors. Perhaps the most iconic rock is this stone which resembles a young woman in traditional Yi dress. According to local legend, it represents Ashima, a young and beautiful girl who fell in love with a man named Ahei, but their love was forbidden by Ashima’s family, who had arranged for her to marry a wealthier suitor. Desperate to be together, Ashima and Ahei fled and looked for their love. In the legend, Ashima was tragically turned into stone by the gods as a symbol of her devotion and sacrifice. Nowadays, the stone is a symbol of eternal love and unwavering faith which is rare in our society with fast rhythm.
The trip in the stone forest needs half days’ time. As the sun set and ligntened the towering limestone spires of the Stone Forest, it’s hard not to feel a sense of awe and wonder. It was indeed a wonderful place where the natural world and ancient myths came together. When I was on the way of leaving the park, I took with me more than just memories of the stunning landscape — also carried the echoes of legendary sad love stories touching my heart.
Wutai Mountain, located in central part of Shanxi Province, is one of the most revered Buddhist sites in the world and a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Known as the “Five Terrace Mountain” due to its unique topography of five flat peaks, it has been a center of Buddhist worship and pilgrimage for over a thousand years. The mountain is dedicated to Manjushri, the Bodhisattva of Wisdom, and is home to a series of ancient temples surrounded by stunning natural beauty.
Wutai Mountain is the transition stop in my voyage of Shanxi. It is not far away from Tai Yuan. I arrived at the entrance of this mountain at the noon of July 3rd,2024. The duration of this trip of pilgrim by bus is over two hours. It was a cloudy day, and from far view, the greenery of this mountain is shrouded by the white thick clouds which dim the sunlight.
I stayed for two days at the scenic spot center, Tai Huai Town from where the mountains stretch endlessly along the only road connecting outside. Their vastness is awe-inspiring, a tranquil realm where time seems suspended. The clouds drift and swirl as though the mountains are whispering secrets to the sky. The scene evokes a sense of mystery, where the boundless expanse of nature feels both humbling and infinite.
There are numerous temples in the scenic area of Wutai Mountain since it is too famous of Buddhism. At the first day, the weather in the mountain was bad, and I only visited some temples near the places I lived. The Nanshan Temple was located on the southern slopes of Wutai Mountain. It is one of the mountain’s most magnificent and historically rich temples. Originally constructed during the Yuan Dynasty, the temple was renowned for its unique architectural layout, which ascends in three tiers, symbolizing the Buddhist concept of spiritual elevation.
The White Tower in the Nanshan Temple is a striking and iconic structure that embodies the essence of Tibetan Buddhist architecture. Rising majestically within the temple complex, the tower is shaped like an inverted lotus, symbolizing purity and enlightenment in Buddhist tradition. Its smooth, white exterior contrasts beautifully with the surroundings, creating a serene and sacred ambiance. This kind of tower, known as a stupa, serves as a reliquary and is said to house sacred Buddhist relics. It is topped with decorative elements such as prayer flags or bronze finials.
The halls within the temple showcase classic Chinese architectural features, such as curved eaves, painted beams, and intricate wood carvings. Guarding the entrances to the temple are pairs of stone lions, symbols of protection and power in Chinese culture. Carved with meticulous detail, these lions represent balance and symmetry. At the heart of the temple courtyard stands a large incense burner, an essential feature of Buddhist temples. Made of bronze, the burner is adorned with the name of the temple, Buddhist symbols, and auspicious motifs. Pilgrims and visitors light incense sticks here, offering prayers and seeking blessings as fragrant smoke wafts upward.
The grey-colored old houses in the temple stand as quiet in the , weathered witnesses to centuries of history and devotion. These buildings, with their muted, stone-gray façades, blend seamlessly into the rocky terrain and lush pine forests surrounding. The old stone and brick walls, softened by time carry a serene, almost ethereal quality. The grey hues of the houses, worn by the winds and seasons, create a feeling of peaceful solitude, perfectly suited to the sacred atmosphere of the mountain. The steep, tiled roofs with their curves and edges softened by years of exposure to the mountain’s mist and rain. The tiles, some slightly chipped or moss-covered, tell a story of time’s quiet passage.
In front of these old simple houses, one monk rested quietly on wooden benches. His simple robes blend with the natural color palette of the temple. His faces are calm and contemplative. The monks in this temple are not in a rush; they move slowly, embracing the tranquility of their surroundings. The gentle rustling of the wind through the pine trees and the occasional chant or bell sound from the temple add to the mystery of the scene. Every element, whether man-made or natural, exists in perfect balance and harmony.
The first day in the mountain was rainy and I did not go to a lot of places due to the bad weather. Fortunately, the second day was sunny. I spent most of the time in traveling the temples in this mountain. This is a good point to take the photo including temples of different layers. The temples of Wutai Mountain are renowned for their unique layout, arranged in layers. The mountain’s sacred sites are distributed across its five main peaks—East, West, South, North, and Central. The temples like Shuxiang Temple and Tayuan Temple serve as main sites to the sacred journey. They are usually accessible at lower level. The higher layer of Wutai Mountain hosts some of the most significant temples, like Pusading Temple in the background of this photo. It is one of the highest-ranking monasteries on the mountain. These temples are situated along winding paths that ascend higher into the mountain, offering panoramic views of the landscape.
Shuxiang Temple is one of the most famous and significant temples in the area, renowned for its rich history and extraordinary cultural and spiritual importance. Its name, “Shuxiang,” translates to “Exquisite Image,” which reflects its dedication to Manjushri, the Bodhisattva of Wisdom, whose exquisite statues and imagery are a centerpiece of the temple.
Shuxiang Temple dates back to the Northern Wei Dynasty, making it one of the oldest temples on Wutai Mountain. Over the centuries, it has undergone several renovations and expansions. The main hall of the temple houses a grand, intricately carved statue of Manjushri riding a lion, symbolizing ultimate wisdom and fearlessness. The statue is surrounded by depictions of Buddhist deities and disciples. The statue is richly adorned with vibrant colors, dazzling gold leaf, and detailed features that reflect the artistic brilliance of the time.
Tayuan Temple is one of the most iconic and revered Buddhist temples in the area. Its history can be dated back to the Yuan Dynasty (1271–1368) and was later expanded during the Ming and Qing dynasties. Many people come to this temple to burn incense, show their devotions to Manjushri, symbolizing a prayer for wisdom, clarity, and enlightenment. Pilgrims hope to receive blessings for intellectual and spiritual growth.
The towering Great White Pagoda, standing over 50 meters is the defining feature of Tayuan Temple and the tallest structure on Wutai Mountain. The pagoda is built in the Tibetan stupa style, symbolizing the unity of heaven and earth. Its body is smooth and white, representing purity, and it is topped with a gilded spire adorned with delicate bronze ornaments. This white pagoda is the symbol of this mountain, which picture is really impressive in the travel brochure of Wutai Mountain. Unfortunately, when I arrived, it was under reparation.
This is the main hall of Tayuan Temple. It is a rectangular structure set on a raised stone platform. It is surrounded by a spacious courtyard, allowing pilgrims to gather and perform rituals such as incense burning. There are numerous tourists assembling here even in the early morning. The hall’s roof is a classic example of a hip-and-gable style. The curved eaves sweep upward at the corners. The ridges are adorned with decorative figures, such as dragons and phoenixes, believed to ward off evil and invite blessings. This hall houses a grand statue of Manjushri as well.
I arrived at the temple at 7 am and I was shocked that so many people came here to burn the first incense in the morning and knelt in front this hall in the photo to get the blessing. The first incense of the day is believed to be the most powerful and auspicious, as it symbolizes a fresh start and the first connection between the human and divine realms. Pilgrims and devotees wake up so early and cluster here to offer incense, hoping to be the first to receive blessings from the Manjushri.
The center area of Wu Tai Mountain hosts many temples. Luo Hou Temple is a Tibetan Buddhist temple surrounded by towering pine trees and enclosed by striking red walls. As one of the significant Tibetan Buddhist sites on the mountain, it embodies the deep influence of Tibetan Buddhism in this holy region. Tibetan Buddhism, commonly known as Lamaism, developed in Tibet and has unique practices and rituals distinct from Chinese Buddhism. The most prominent school of Tibetan Buddhism is the Gelug Sect, founded by the revered monk Tsongkhapa during the Ming Dynasty. Monks of the Gelug Sect traditionally wear yellow robes, which is why they are often referred to as the “Yellow Sect.” Luo Hou Temple has rich Tibetan architectural elements inside.
Prayer wheels are an integral part of Buddhist practice. They can be found in the Tibetan temples. These wheels, inscribed with sacred texts, mantras, and symbols, hold deep spiritual significance. They are made of bronze and wood, often adorned with intricate carvings and Buddhist imagery. Some larger ones are made of metal and stand on beautifully crafted pedestals. The most common mantra found on these wheels is “Om Mani Padme Hum”, a powerful Tibetan Buddhist chant associated with wisdom and compassion. Pilgrims turn the prayer wheels in a clockwise direction, following Buddhist tradition. This movement symbolizes the cycle of karma and spiritual purification.
This is the pavilion of ‘Doushuai’. In Chinese culture, Doushuai is known as Tuṣita in Sanskrit which is a heavenly realm where Bodhisattva resides before their final rebirth into the human world to attain Buddhahood. It holds great significance in Buddhist cosmology. It is one of the Six Heavens of the Desire Realm in Buddhist cosmology. This celestial realm is believed to be a place of bliss and enlightenment, where bodhisattvas cultivate wisdom before descending to the human world. This pavilion is dedicated to Maitreya Bodhisattva, the future Buddha who currently resides in Tuṣita Heaven. It is a multi-storied structure, a rare architectural feature in Buddhist temples, symbolizing the celestial nature of Tuṣita Heaven.
The tiered golden roof is adorned with dharma wheels, lotus motifs, and small golden pagodas, symbolizing wisdom and enlightenment. The curved eaves sweep upward in the traditional Chinese style. The golden tower is a small, gilded stupa. The Dharma Wheel is one of the most sacred symbols in Buddhism, representing the Buddha’s teachings and the path to enlightenment.
In the scenic spot of Wutai, Dai Luoding is one of the most important temples, known as the “Small Wutai” because it is home to five Manjushri Bodhisattva statues, symbolizing the five major peaks of Mount Wutai. It is a revered pilgrimage site where devotees come to worship, ascend the sacred steps, and seek wisdom from Manjushri Bodhisattva. Of course, visitors can choose cable car to the top, but it lost the sacred meaning.
It is situated on a small peak, offering a panoramic view of the surrounding temples and landscapes of Mount Wutai. It is regarded as a miniature version of the Five Terraces of Wutai, allowing pilgrims who cannot visit all five peaks to complete their worship in one place. Devotees believe that climbing Dai Luoding and worshiping the five Manjushri statues brings the same blessings as visiting all five mountain peaks. To reach the temple at the summit, I climbed the 108 steep stone steps, symbolizing the 108 afflictions in Buddhism that one must overcome to attain enlightenment. It was really an exhausting trip of spirits.
The Tianwang Hall is the first major hall that pilgrims encounter when they ascend the 108 sacred steps leading to the temple. It serves as the entrance to the sacred realm of Manjushri Bodhisattva. The Tianwang Hall follows a classic Chinese temple layout, with a grand double-eaved roof supported by intricately carved wooden beams. The roof ridges are adorned with mythical creatures and Buddhist symbols.
In front of the main hall, many Buddhists and pilgrims burn incense outside the hall and offer prayers in front of the Manjushri statues in the main hall. It is believed that circumambulating (walking around) the incense burner in prayer brings wisdom and enlightenment. incense burning is not allowed inside the halls. Many temple halls are constructed with ancient wooden architecture, making them highly flammable. The smoke from incense can damage murals, ancient statues, and wooden structures as well.
Standing atop Dai Luoding, I was greeted with a breathtaking panoramic view of Mount Wutai’s sacred landscape, where ancient temples, rolling peaks, and mist-covered valleys create a scene of profound serenity and spiritual grandeur. Although I have a bit fear of height, I still enjoy climbing to top of mountains. It will bring me a sense of conquest. From the elevated position of Dai Luoding, I could gaze down upon the cluster of ancient temples. During summer, the mountain comes alive with lush greenery and vibrant flowers. The surrounding pine trees, cypress groves, and meadows make the scene fresh and full of life. Whether admiring the golden temples below, the misty peaks beyond, or the ever-changing sky above, I could not help but feel a deep sense of cleansing of the soul.
In Wutai Mountain, I have seen many temples of Tibetan style. Mount Wutai is believed to be the bodhimaṇḍa (道场, sacred site) of Manjushri Bodhisattva. Manjushri is highly revered in both Han Chinese Buddhism and Tibetan Buddhism, making the mountain a common pilgrimage destination for both traditions. Tibetan Buddhists also consider it a sacred place where Manjushri appears in various forms.
During the Yuan Dynasty, Tibetan Buddhism (Lamaism) gained imperial support. The rulers built Tibetan-style temples on Mount Wutai to establish religious unity and strengthen ties with Tibetan Buddhist leaders. The Qing Dynasty actively supported Tibetan Buddhism to maintain control over Tibet, Mongolia, and other Tibetan Buddhist regions. Emperor Kangxi and Emperor Qianlong frequently visited Mount Wutai and ordered the construction of Tibetan-style temples like the Guanghua Temple in this photo to promote harmonious coexistence between Han and Tibetan Buddhists.
The colorful stupa is the symbol of Tibetan Buddhism temple. It has multiple layers stacked in a gradually tapering form, representing the spiritual ascent toward enlightenment. It is adorned with bright reds, yellows, blues, purple and greens, which symbolize the Five Wisdom Buddhas. The spire begins with a lotus-shaped base, symbolizing purity and spiritual awakening. Above the lotus base, the spire features thirteen golden rings, symbolizing the thirteen stages of Buddhist enlightenment. A golden umbrella-shaped structure sits atop the rings, signifying royal dignity. At the very top of the spire is a flaming jewel, representing the highest state of spiritual awakening.
I spent nearly one day in visiting most of the famous temples. Pusading temple was the last one visited in the afternoon. Perched on a high ridge overlooking the valley. During the Ming and Qing Dynasties, it became a Tibetan Buddhist monastery where Dalai Lamas and Panchen Lamas would stay when visiting Mount Wutai.
This mountain was intertwined with the legend of Lu Zhishen. The Wenshu Monastery in Pusading templeis is where he took refuge as a monk. He is my favorite characters from the classic Chinese novel Water Margin. He’s a man of contradictions — a powerful warrior with a tender heart. I admire his unwavering sense of justice and it is a great honor for anyone to have a friend like him.
Pusading Temple is famous for its dazzling golden-roofed halls of Manjushri, which shimmer in the sunlight, symbolizing divine imperial honor. The roofs are built in the Tibetan Buddhist style, featuring layered eaves and upturned corners, similar to the Potala Palace in Lhasa. Pair of deer is placed atop the main hall’s roof, these sacred symbols represent Buddha’s first sermon at Deer Park. The gold-plated tiles and finials symbolize spiritual enlightenment and the wisdom of Manjushri.
From the Hall of Manjushri, visitors can enjoy a breathtaking panoramic view of Mount Wutai’s temple-studded landscape. It was one of the most memorable experiences of my trip. From the terraces of Pusading, my eyes are drawn to the countless temples scattered across the mountain slopes. In the distance, Tayuan Temple’s Great White Stupa rises majestically, its pristine silhouette standing out among the temple clusters.
Looking beyond the temple complex, the vast five sacred peaks of Mount Wutai—stretch into the horizon, each bathed in golden sunlight under the blue sky. The rolling green valleys and deep ravines carve through the landscape. The distant echoes of Buddhist chants and the rhythmic ringing of temple bells float through the air, blending seamlessly with the gentle rustling of pine trees in the breeze.
For my trip in Wutai Mountain, I cannot help but feel a profound sense of reverence and awe. The golden stupa tops, endless mountain peaks, and tranquil monastic life create a view that is not only visually stunning but deeply spiritual. Whether bathed in morning light or embraced by twilight mist, the soothing scenes capture the essence of Buddhist devotion and the eternal beauty of nature, making it an unforgettable experience for all who visit.
The Yungang Grottoes stand as one of China’s most magnificent examples of ancient Buddhist art, carved into the sandstone cliffs near Datong in Shanxi Province. This UNESCO World Heritage Site, dating back to the 5th and 6th centuries during the Northern Wei Dynasty, showcases a remarkable fusion of art, religion, and cultural exchange. Comprising 45 main caves and over 51,000 intricate statues, the Yungang Grottoes reflect the early spread of Buddhism along the Silk Road, blending Indian, Central Asian, and traditional Chinese artistic styles. The towering Buddha statues, detailed reliefs, and carvings within these caves transport visitors back to an era of profound spiritual devotion and artistic achievement.
Set against a rugged natural backdrop, the grottoes not only capture the essence of ancient craftsmanship but also tell the story of a pivotal period in Chinese history when Buddhism flourished as a unifying force. The Northern Wei Dynasty (386–534 CE) was a pivotal period in Chinese history, marking a significant cultural and political transformation. Initially established by the Tuoba clan, a nomadic people of Xianbei origin, the dynasty later underwent a comprehensive process of Sinicization (adoption of Chinese culture) to consolidate its rule over a predominantly Han Chinese population. Over centuries, intermarriage between Xianbei and Han Chinese resulted in the genetic assimilation of the Xianbei people. The Xianbei were absorbed into the Chinese ethnic and cultural identity gradually.
The Yungang Grottoes are located near the city of Datong, in Shanxi Province. They are situated about 16 kilometers west of Datong’s city center, along the southern foothills of the Wuzhou Mountains. I visited this famous world cultural heritage by bus on July 6th, 2023. The public transport system in China is well established and most attractive sites are easily accessible by public transport. This is the entrance of this monument, a specially designed hall with ancient architectural style.
At the entrance, there is statue of Yun Yao. He was a key figure in the construction and artistic direction of the Yungang Grottoes during the Northern Wei Dynasty. As a prominent Buddhist monk, he played a leading role in promoting and overseeing the carving of the grottoes. The Yungang Grottoes were constructed as an imperial initiative under the Northern Wei Dynasty to demonstrate devotion to Mahayana Buddhism which was introduced to China via the Silk Road.
After the Northern Wei court officially embraced Buddhism, Yunyao was entrusted with the task of coordinating the creation of these massive cave temples. His influence is reflected in the grandeur and spiritual essence of the grottoes, as well as their intricate carvings and statues.
This is the example of one tower sculpture during the Northern Wei Dynasty. The Northern Wei Dynasty rulers used Buddhism to legitimize their authority, presenting themselves as Chakravartins (wheel-turning monarchs). Supporting Buddhism aligned the dynasty with divine and moral authority, reinforcing their position as rightful rulers.
The construction of pagodas became a significant expression of Buddhist devotion. Pagodas in this era were influenced by Indian stupa designs, but they gradually adopted a more vertical, multi-tiered structure to align with Chinese aesthetic preferences. Some pagodas had octagonal bases, a design seen as both practical and symbolic in Buddhist cosmology.
On the route towards the grotto, there is a small man-made lake, providing reflective surfaces that mirror the grottoes and surrounding cliffs. The lake is surrounded by gardens, walking paths, and wooden bridges, offering visitors picturesque spots for relaxation and photography. Pagodas, pavilions, and stone carvings are strategically placed near the water, enhancing the Buddhist cultural theme of the area.
The grottoes are carved directly into the sandstone cliffs along a stretch of approximately 1 kilometer. The cliff side is uneven and natural, but it has been transformed by the carved entrances, niches, and facades that house the caves, creating a dramatic visual effect. The grottos appear to rise from the mountain, with the larger caves recessed deep into the rock, while smaller niches dot the cliff face like a honeycomb.
As I moved closer to the wall, I could observe clearly many caves with stone reliefs and ornamental carvings, including niches housing small Buddha statues. These carvings highlight the spiritual significance of the grottoes and showcase a fusion of Indian, Central Asian, and early Chinese Buddhist art styles. The sandstone cliffs have been weathered over time, giving the exterior an aged look now.
There are more than 20 caves in this scenic area and travelers can go through them slowly one by one. The Linyan Temple Cave is the third cave. It is named after the temple that once existed in its vicinity. The main Buddha statue of 10 meters height in this cave is a central focus, flanked by smaller figures of bodhisattvas, disciples, and guardian deities. This statue looked friendly and seemed to say hi to all the visitors. The carvings display a transition in artistic style, blending Indian Gandharan influences with early Chinese Buddhist art. Unfortunately the color of the surface has been eroded severely.
The Cave 5 is a very impressive cave. It has a rectangular layout, with the main Buddha of height 17 meters seated at the center facing the entrance. The Buddha of Gandharan style is depicted in a serene, meditative posture, embodying compassion and enlightenment. Surrounding the main Buddha are several bodhisattvas, disciples, and heavenly kings carved into the walls, each symbolizing different aspects of Buddhist philosophy. The open space within the cave is designed to inspire awe, allowing me to fully absorb the spiritual and artistic significance of the Buddha statue. This is the highest and largest Buddha statue of the Yungang grotto.
The statues inside remain remarkably intact. The art style and the color combination really left me a deep impression. The ceiling was intricately decorated with lotus motifs and flying apsaras (celestial beings) in dynamic poses, symbolizing joy and divine presence. The cave walls are adorned with vivid bas-reliefs depicting Buddhist sutras and stories from the life of the Buddha, such as his enlightenment and teaching journeys.
It shows the exceptional craftsmanship, with innovations in stone carving and iconography. Techniques such as high-relief carving, detailed mural painting, and layered sculptural arrangements illustrate the advanced artistry of the period.
This is the entrance cave 6. There are some elaborate carvings adorning the entrances of the larger caves like cave 5 and 6. These carvings depict guardians and heavenly kings. The walls are painted with images of the Eighteen Arhats, nine on each wall, holding different instruments and standing among the sea of clouds. The guardians are often depicted with fierce expressions, dynamic postures, and ornate armor, contrasting with the calm demeanor of the Buddha. Cave 6 has been well-preserved compared to other caves in the complex, thanks to its relatively sheltered location.
The figure in the cave 6 is a large, seated statue of Shakyamuni Buddha, radiating an air of wisdom and compassion. The Buddha is depicted in the teaching mudra (gesture), symbolizing his role as a spiritual teacher who imparts the path to enlightenment. The bas-reliefs and carvings are extremely extraordinary. They cover nearly every surface of the cave, depicting key moments from the life of Shakyamuni Buddha. Bodhisattvas stand alongside the Buddha, symbolizing compassion and the aspiration to help all sentient beings achieve enlightenment. They are elaborately adorned with jewelry, crowns, and flowing robes, reflecting their role as semi-divine beings who bridge the human and celestial realms.
At the left side of this photo, it is a massive central pillar. Visitors walked around this pillar in admiration of the statues. They were carved on all sides of walls, richly decorated with scenes of Buddhist cosmology and stories. The reliefs depict dozens of stories about the life of Sakyamuni. They narrate the story of Siddhartha Gautama, a prince of the ancient Indian Sakya clan, who was born with extraordinary intelligence. He was deeply troubled by meaning of life, and decided to become a monk to look for personal liberation. He overcame all kinds of difficulties, defeating the demon army, and finally attained enlightenment and became the Sakyamuni.
The cave walls are covered with rows of small Buddha statues, known as thousand-Buddha motifs. These figures are arranged in orderly tiers, symbolizing the omnipresence of the Buddha and the infinite nature of his teachings. Each figure is meticulously carved, despite their small size, and their uniformity emphasizes the collective spiritual power of the Buddhist community.
The walls and ceilings of the cave feature numerous apsaras, or celestial beings, in mid-flight. These figures, often carved in dynamic poses, appear to float above the central statues, scattering flowers and playing musical instruments. In addition to apsaras, the cave features lokapalas (world protectors) and devas (celestial beings), depicted in graceful poses. For people who are interested in art of Buddhism, this place is really a treasure-house.
The Yungang Grottoes feature a wide array of niches, from tiny alcoves to large, open niches housing monumental statues. Early niches were influenced by Indian and Central Asian styles, emphasizing simplicity and symmetry. Later the niches evolved to include Chinese aesthetic elements, such as pagoda-inspired frames and detailed ornamentation. The integration of local culture led to unique styles, blending Indian iconography with Chinese craftsmanship. These niches are unique artist element. They are small but profound architectural and artistic features that encapsulate the spiritual essence of Buddhist devotion.
There are many colored Buddhist statues in the Yungang Grottoes. The statues were painted with natural pigments, including red and yellow ochres derived from iron oxide, white kaolin clay for highlights. azurite and malachite for blue and green tones. In that period, people could not manufacture dyes using chemical methods. Purple and gold are rare pigments, so they are not used so much in Yungang Grotto. In Chinese culture, red symbolized vitality and sacred energy, blue was associated with calmness and the infinite nature of the cosmos. Colors brought lifelike qualities to the statues, making them more relatable and engaging for devotees.
I have visited more than 20 caves and I will only highlight the caves with most impressive statues. Cave 13 is dedicated to Manjushri Bodhisattva, the embodiment of wisdom in Buddhism. The central figure is Manjushri which is often depicted riding a lion, representing the power of wisdom to overcome ignorance. The statue is elegantly proportioned, with a serene expression, intricately carved robes, and elaborate adornments that reflect the high artistic standards of the Northern Wei period. Due to the huge size of the main statue, the Bodhisattva’s raised right hand could not be suspended in the air, so the Yungang craftsmen “tailor-made” a four-armed warrior to hold up the huge arm. This design solved the problem of supporting the huge arm.
Several huge caves are exposed directly in air. Cave 19, known as the Baosheng Buddha Cave houses the second-largest Buddha statue in the entire complex. The Buddha statue of height 16.8 meter is colossal, with their serene faces and intricate details still visible despite centuries of exposure. It is carved directly into the cliff face. Exposed statues face greater risks of damage from natural elements and human activities. Efforts are ongoing to protect and preserve these cultural treasures, including stabilization of the cliff face and protective measures to prevent further degradation.
The most magnificent, iconic and representative statue must be the one in the cave 20. The seated Buddha is monumental, standing approximately 13.7 meters tall, with a serene expression. The Buddha’s face exudes tranquility and compassion, characterized by an elongated, oval shape, narrow eyes, and a slight smile. The both hands rest on the lap, symbolizing meditation and inner peace. The Buddha is framed by a carved halo (aureole) adorned with intricate patterns of lotus flowers and celestial motifs, symbolizing divinity and enlightenment.
This is the panoramic view of the Buddha statue. Flanking the central Buddha are smaller statues of disciples, depicted with detailed robes and jewelry. The robe is really an artistic marvel, with finely carved folds that flow naturally over the body, showcasing the sculptor’s attention to detail and mastery of stone-carving techniques. The cave appears as an extension of the rock itself, seamlessly blending human artistry with the natural world.
Walking through this area felt like stepping into a living history book. The moment I oberseved it, the grandeur of the carved cliff face took my breath away. Towering statues of serene Buddhas gazed down with an air of wisdom, their expressions calm yet commanding. It was as if the past was alive, speaking silently through these ancient masterpieces.
The artistic style of Cave 20 reflects a fusion of Indian Gupta influences (rounded faces, gentle expressions) and early Chinese aesthetics (elongated features, focus on symbolism). Its open structure allows natural light to illuminate the statues, creating dynamic shadows that enhance the sense of depth and divine radiance. Every visitor will take a memorable photo at the platform in front of the statues. Standing before the Grand Buddha was really a stunning experience, as its immense scale and intricate details create an overwhelming sense of spiritual awe. Human being looked so tiny at this moment.
In the west of cave 20, there are some small caves which were built in the later period of North Wei Dynasty. Many of them were not conserved very well. Unlike the earlier caves adorned with intricate reliefs and detailed carvings, the small caves often feature minimalist designs. Due to their smaller scale, many of these caves have suffered significant erosion and degradation over time. The sandstone of the Yungang Grottoes is inherently soft and porous, making the smaller caves particularly vulnerable to erosion. Some caves have small side niches or inscribed panels, but they lack the complex architectural elements and spatial divisions seen in earlier caves. The small caves reflect a localization of Buddhist art as the religion became more integrated into Chinese society.
There are totally 40 caves here and needs around 2 to 3 hours to finish all of them. At the heart of the cave 39 is a five-level stone pagoda carved entirely from the rock, symbolizing Mount Sumeru, the cosmic center in Buddhist cosmology. These pagodas are often multi-tiered with overhanging eaves, mimicking the design of wooden pagodas. The five levels represent spiritual ascension and the five elements in Buddhist philosophy: earth, water, fire, wind, and space. As I walked around it, I could see the miniature Buddha reliefs seated in niches. The delicate carvings and faded traces of paint really invited closer observation.
An upper-level platform allows visitors to explore the smaller caves after number 20 that is carved higher up along the cliff face. These caves were built as Buddhism spread and became more localized. Smaller caves catered to individual or small group meditation rather than grand communal ceremonies. The initial construction of the Yungang Grottoes involved significant state resources, reflecting the Northern Wei court’s commitment to promoting Buddhism. Over time, as the dynasty’s priorities shifted to the new capital Luo Yang, the scale of cave construction decreased, leading to smaller and simpler designs.
As my journey through the Yungang Grottoes came to an end, the overwhelming sense of wonder remained etched in my heart. Each cave and each statue told a story of the spread of Buddhism along the Silk Road, the political aspirations of the Northern Wei Dynasty, and the universal human pursuit of enlightenment. Beyond their artistic splendor, the Yungang Grottoes is also a symbol of resilience of Chinese culture, which have endured the ravages of time, weather, and human impact, still standing proudly as a UNESCO World Heritage Site for travellers from all around the world to visit.
