Walking through one of these towns is like going to visit an old friend; the familiar-seeming feeling is strong, even if one has not been there before.
These towns have a strong sense of composure. The buildings and the setting seem to be undisturbed by the bustle of daytime vendors and human traffic. Those locals to a preserved town also seem to wear an almost serene look as they meander down their hometown streets.
It is said that the best way to preserve a historic site is to live in it and thus care about its upkeep. Xitang exemplifies this attitude. A living ancient town in northern Zhejiang Province, Xitang is a place where time seems to have stood still for a thousand years and always contained in the list of last minute China travel deals.
Long corridor through misty rain
Backpackers usually prefer sunny weather. But, it is a real fortune if you encounter a rainfall in Xitang. The town is quite small, and a long corridor winds through it from east to west. Beneath the corridor is the river, called Yangxiujing.
Low-rise buildings were built along the flowing stream. Standing in the corridor, one can see an endless row of carved wooden windows and find themselves engrossed in the peace of ordinary life. Meanwhile, in the eyes of those looking out of their window onto the bank, you become part of the scenery.
Before leaving for Xitang, I booked a family inn along the water. The owner surnamed Zhong promised to keep a second-floor room for me, the window of which was facing the Yangxiujing River.
Like all travelers who had never been there before, my friend and I stood outside a long alley and wondered where the entrance was. The whole town was so secluded.
The owner sent his sister to pick us up. She arrived on time, and became a warm-hearted free guide. She led us through the long, winding corridor, and then one bridge after another, chatting and laughing all the way. We found out later this sincerity is common among locals in this small town.
The staircase to the second-floor room at the Zhong's was dim and steep, and led to a completely different world. Before my eyes was a room decorated with furniture in the style of the Ming (1368-1644) and Qing (1644-1911) dynasties. Facing the broad wooden window was a carved bed and a high off-the-ground tea table. Right beside the window was a dresser, with the mirror reflecting Xitang's long corridor and verdant trees.
It was the rainy season, when the downpour could begin at anytime. In the poems by ancient literaries, they describe the rainy season as when people had lots of leisure time, and invited friends home to drink, chat and play chess.
I heard the rain right after I started to unpack my bag. It sounded increasingly hasty, falling on the grey tiles and the river beneath the window. The corridor outside became unreal. For a while, I stood beside the window and listened to the rainfall. I could feel not only the tranquil world, but inside my own quiet thoughts as well. China tourism in Xitang is an important element to develop economy.
One night in the town
Xitang changes at different times of a day. During the night it appears more lively than during the day. On my first day I had a good sleep in the afternoon, breathing to the rhythm of the rain. Once I was well-rested, it was time to go outside and explore.
The rain had stopped by the time I got out onto the street. Water drops that had accumulated on the roof fell down eaves and spattered onto the cobblestone below. In the dim alley, a vendor cried about his iced mung bean soup for sale. We bought two bowls of the soup, and enjoyed it at a table in the alley. The delicious refreshment was a pleasant static moment.
Taking a walk along the river could make one quite nostalgic. Now the evening gradually fell. Riverside, red lanterns were lit all along the way. Big cloth signs, bearing huge characters for "tea" or "wine," fluttered in the wind.
Along the narrow alleys, long vines spread on the walls. Their outlines formed an abstract scene of beauty in the glimmer of yellow road lamps. You could hear the sound of boat oars slowly tapping the water. The fishermen were returning home with their daily yield. With the smell of dinner floating through the air, I imagined the scenes of family life taking place behind the brick walls inside each of the dwellings I passed.
For tourists, this was just the beginning of the night life. Walking along the winding corridor, we passed numerous tables. Around each table were two or three tourists, chatting and enjoying beer, barbeque and steamed pork slices. A few sat in sling chairs quietly, lost in tea mist and in the shadows from the dim lights reaching them from the opposite bank of the river. The tables we passed had such a range of social activity, some boisterous and some quiet - it was like walking past an accumulation of completely different existences bound together only by that moment.
A fisherman floats down the calm waterway.
We took a boat down to a bridge a little ways up the river. Voices on the bank gradually became remote. The boatman took up his pole, and shoved the boat from the dock. As we approached our destination, the ancient local opera stage, the long corridor leading to it, and those residences beside became to loom smaller and more ambiguously. Only the rows of red lanterns mirrored in the ripple upon the water's surface reminded me I was in a boat, not a tipsy dream.
From the ancient opera stage, a woman was singing a local ditty for guests. Our boatman commented on her singing -well, rather laughed at it. I felt like I was traveling backward by hundreds of years. If that did happen, I thought to myself, I would get up early and wash clothes in the river the following morning, and I would finish dinner hastily to grasp a good seat before the opera stage the next evening. My imagination began to run away with me, thinking about having my own moments like the poets; to sit with friends and play chess. The boat ride was the most unforgettable part of my popular China tours in Xitang.
Waiting for the town to wake up
I got up very early the next morning. Along the long corridor, the doors remained closed. As daybreak arrived, the red lanterns that had remained on since dusk gradually went out. It was a humid morning. The mist tinted the scene of bridge and river into an ink and watercolor painting. Most people were still in sleep. Occasionally an old man opened his door, carrying a small stove outside to make a fire. The squeaky wooden door reverberated through the sleeping town and left it in an even deeper quiet. We thus stood on the bridge, and waited for this small town to wake up slowly.
After a while, women went out to do the laundry at the riverside. They beat clothes with a stick on flat slates, and then squeezed the water out. A peddler pushed his cart out along the corridor, calling "for sale" for his bean curd jelly. A few men started to use long poles to fish out the "wishing lamps" left discarded in the water from the night before by tourists.
The most eye-catching part of the morning routine, however, was the fishermen in the middle of the river, commanding their army of workers to fish. Fisherman with an abundant load eagerly presented themselves to their bosses, looking for a reward.
Amid the bright smiles upon the faces of people scattered on the bank, the sun shines generously upon us. The sling chair that sits under a shelter of melon vines, the pair of stone lions in front of a large house, as well as the magic ancient opera stage, all have cast off the mystical coat they wore at night, and wear a brand new look. The hustle and bustle has come again, and a new day has officially begun.
For a town as small as Xitang, two days is enough. It was a short journey, that saw us walk the same corridors several times, but it is a beautiful getaway from the busy, noisy life of the big city. It was like a dream where we were drunk in the scene of an ancient poem, and were placed to float amid the flowing river and the white walls it reflects.
It is tough to achieve a calm balance in a town like Xitang where tourists come to escape the big city, but inevitably commercialism follows them to serve their needs.
Along the southern arms of the Yangtze River (Yangtze River cruise), there were once many towns like Xitang. Some had become more well-known, like Wuzhen and Zhouzhuang, but the tranquility in these towns has practically been undermined by ubiquitous commercialism.
Xitang holds a much more underground profile, and succeeds in the balance. Most tourists visit it through recommendations by friends and relatives, and the preservation of its ancient feeling is obvious. Hopefully this trend will continue. I full-heartedly recommend coming to a place like Xitang with a sense of respect for the serenity it provides, so that others can enjoy it too long after you leave.
It's hard to know, given the speed of commercialization and modernization, how long the modesty and peace of the ancient towns in this region will last. Tourists are looking for a dream of ancient times, but the locals do want the benefits offered by modernity.
But for selfish tourists like us, there's nothing wrong with finding a way to travel back in time among these mountains and rivers. At present, Xitang still retains the peaceful dream of antiquity. But if you asked me what the best time to go there was, I would say the sooner the better.
If you are interested in the ancient towns of China, you should contain Xitang in your China vacation packages.
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