Day 1: Arriving in Dali, Exploring the Old Town and Local Food, Adapting to the Rhythm
I landed in Dali at 7:30 AM on flight MU5937. As the cabin door opened, the scent of green grass drifted in, and the highland sun was already dazzling. At the gate, I found a legitimate ride-hailing car with a blue vest. Seeing our carry-on luggage, the driver took the initiative to help us and chatted all the way: “If you go to Caicun morning market now, you can still buy fresh termite mushrooms.” In 20 minutes, we reached the “Yunqili” guesthouse near the Old Town. I had booked the top-floor loft half a month in advance. The owner messaged saying “the terrace overlooks the North City Wall,” and it didn’t disappoint: the wooden floors creaked underfoot, and the terrace had rattan chairs and small clay pots. It directly faced the brick gaps of the city wall, where several stalks of foxtail grass had surprisingly sprouted, swaying cutely in the wind.
After dropping our luggage, I pulled my boyfriend toward Renmin Road. The first shop at the alley entrance was a tie-dye workshop, with blue and white curtains hanging down to the threshold. The owner sat on a bamboo chair weaving. Seeing us staring at the dye vat, he handed over a freshly dyed scarf: “This is indigo soaked from Cangshan Isatis root. it takes three full days of sun to color and feels silky smooth.” Walking another 50 meters, the glass cabinet of a flower cake stall was steaming, and the scent of roses drifted across three alleys. I bought a box of freshly baked ones; when I bit in, the pastry crumbled into my palm, and the filling was whole rose jam, sweet enough to soothe the throat. In the middle of Renmin Road, an old lady in a blue headscarf set out bamboo baskets filled with woven Mosuo safety knots—red and black threads tightly wound. I asked, “Grandma, how do you weave this?” She smiled, grabbed my hand, and with her fingertips touching the sweat on my palm, wound it three times, saying, “This can keep the person beside you close.” My boyfriend was nearby taking photos with his phone, saying he’d print them out to stick at the head of the bed.
For lunch, we headed straight to “Shijing Private Kitchen” at the South Gate. The storefront was a faded old wooden door. Upon entering, I first smelled pomegranate flowers—two pomegranate trees grew in the small courtyard, sunshine filtering through leaves onto the green tiles. The owner, a man in a blue cloth shirt, led us to a window seat, specifically noting, “This table lets you watch the pomegranate flowers fall.” We ordered Sour and Spicy Fish and Steamed Pork with Carved Plums: the fish broth bubbled with tomatoes and sour papaya, the rising steam carrying a sharp fragrance. The fish was crucifer carp from Erhai Lake; it had very few bones and the meat was so tender it trembled when picked up—I finished two large bowls of soup. The pork was layered with fat and lean; the acidity of the plums perfectly balanced the grease of the pork belly. Eating it with rice, I almost wanted to lick the bottom of the bowl. Seeing us enjoying it so much, the uncle leaned in with a smile: “Next time, try my Rushan (milk fan) Sachima, made with local milk fans, it’s not overly sweet.”
At dusk, we walked along the old city wall toward Wuhua Tower. The grey-blue brick wall was a bit bumpy, but felt solid underfoot. On the way, we met three girls in traditional Ruqun dresses, their hems sweeping past the clover at the wall’s base as they held reflectors for photos. Reaching the observation deck under Wuhua Tower, the sun was just sinking behind Cangshan Mountain: like a glowing red coal, it dyed the sky orange-red, pink-purple, and deep blue, layering over the city wall. My boyfriend held his phone to take a side profile. I leaned against the city bricks, wind blowing my hair across my face. He shouted, “Look at the camera!” I looked back and smiled; that photo later became my WeChat Moment cover. A lady nearby selling cotton candy approached with a large mushroom-like sugar ball: “Young couple, want to buy one? It’s very sweet.” My boyfriend bought it for me, the sugar threads sticking to the corner of my mouth. He gently wiped it off with his finger, and people around us saw us laughing and smiled along.
Back at the guesthouse, I took a hot bath first. The copper shower head had steady water pressure, and the temperature perfectly washed away the fatigue. Lying in bed browsing photography guides for tomorrow, I heard the hustle and bustle of the night market downstairs—the scent of grilled Erkuai (rice cake) wafted up, a charcoal aroma wrapped in sweet sauce and crushed peanuts, tempting me to throw on a denim jacket and head down. The grilled Erkuai stall was surrounded by people. The owner asked, “Sweet or savory?” I chose sweet, with rose jam and sesame. One bite revealed a crispy exterior and soft interior. The sweetness of the rose jam wasn’t cloying; it had a slight herbal fragrance. Nearby, a young man with a hand drum was playing “Going to Dali,” the rhythm as slow as the wind. I bought a cup of plum juice and sat on the steps to drink it, watching the moon climb over the city wall, casting a long shadow. When I returned to the guesthouse at 10:30, a patch of moonlight fell on the rattan chair on the terrace. I placed the silver jewelry and rope knots I bought today there, and smelling the faint osmanthus fragrance in the room, slowly fell asleep.
Personal Tips:
- Choose “Dali Transportation” official ride-hailing cars in the Old Town; avoid illegal taxis by the road to prevent being overcharged or taken on long routes;
- You can bargain for tie-dye and rope knots on Renmin Road, but don’t be too harsh—I gave the old lady 20 yuan for the knot, and she accepted with a smile, saying she “wove a double knot” for me;
- For the Sour and Spicy Fish at Shijing Private Kitchen, you must go early; it might sell out later. We arrived at 1:00 PM and just caught the last fish.
Day 2: Cycling Erhai Lake for Photos, from Longkan Pier to Xizhou Town for Couple Photos
We booked an open-top Jeep on Meituan the night before—selecting “Local Guide Ah Jie.” His page showed a photo of him in a navy polo shirt, squatting by the car with a wooden sign saying “Erhai Slow Travel,” noting “1 year of driving, new linen seat covers, stocked with mineral water and sunglasses.” At 7:40 AM, Ah Jie was already waiting at the North Gate. He smiled upon seeing us: “I checked the satellite clouds last night, today’s sunrise will be orange-red, you’re lucky.” After saying that, he helped us carry out the picnic mat, sunglasses, and the flower headband I bought earlier. The car was playing soft folk music from his own playlist, saying “listening to this makes the mood softer when taking photos.”
First Stop: Longkan Pier—Sunrise before the Crowds
Arriving at the pier at 8:00 AM, there was only an auntie packing up her grilled Erkuai stall, the aluminum steamer still warm. The wooden chairs were made of old ship wood, their armrests polished smooth. Ah Jie helped us move a chair to the water’s edge. My boyfriend pulled me down to sit, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind—I could feel the warmth of his palms, warmer than the morning breeze from Erhai. The sun just peeked over Cangshan, not a piercing light, but an orange-red glow wrapped in thin mist, spreading over the water like a handful of crushed gold. Ah Jie held up his phone and shouted: “Turn slightly, lean your head closer to his shoulder, yes, let your eyes curve when you smile.” After three shots, he leaned over to show the screen: “This one is good, no power poles in the background, your shadows overlap in the water, it looks like a painting.” Looking at the original photo later, the ripples of Erhai were very clear, the wisps of hair on my forehead lifted by the wind, my boyfriend’s chin resting on my head, even the small pattern on his T-shirt was visible.
Second Stop: Caicun Pier—Walking Hand-in-Hand on the Wooden Plank Road
Riding an electric scooter along the Erhai West line recommended by Ah Jie, Caicun is only 15 minutes from Longkan. The scooter was a vintage model with a string of shells hanging from the handle. The dashboard showed 25°C, and the wind carried the salty moisture of Erhai—not fishy, but like sea salt ice cream. The plank road at Caicun extends into Erhai, made of old wooden boards that creak slightly, as if “talking” to the lake. My boyfriend held my hand, his palm a bit sweaty. As we walked slowly, he suddenly stopped: “Wait, let me film you walking.” He took out his phone and started recording. We shuffled forward as the wind blew my bangs into my eyes. When he reached out to tuck them back, his fingertips got some sunscreen from my face, sticky but we didn’t stop laughing—because in the lens, I was in a light blue dress and he in a white T-shirt, with the sparkling Erhai as a background, even the wind helped style our hair. This photo got the most likes on social media; my friend commented: “Even the wind is helping you two show off your love!”
Third Stop: Xizhou Old Town—Freshening Up in the Rice Fields
Arriving in Xizhou at noon, we first rushed to “Yang Shunbao Broken Pastry Baba.” The owner was an uncle with round glasses. Seeing us, he wiped his hands on his apron: “Sweet or savory?” I chose sweet. He pinched a piece of dough, pressed it thin, filled it with sesame sugar, and placed it on the hot griddle. With two “sizzles,” the pastry immediately puffed up, the edges curling into waves. With the first bite, the pastry crumbled into my hand, layer upon layer like a thousand-layer cake, the sesame sugar filling flowing out, sweet but not greasy, with a roasted sesame aroma. The savory ones had ham and were very fragrant, but I loved the sweet ones more—after all, a morning at Erhai deserves something soft and sweet.
In the afternoon, we went to the rice fields behind the town. In late July, the rice was just heading, dew hanging on the leaves. I squatted down to touch them—cool and refreshing. Ah Jie helped us find a small hill, saying “the view here is good, with rice fields and Cangshan as the background.” My boyfriend squatted on the ground holding the phone while I stood on the ridge in my white dress. The wind blew the skirt up, with green rice fields behind and Cangshan floating in the clouds. He told me to tilt my head slightly, saying “it looks more natural, like you’re enjoying the sun.” He took over a dozen photos, and later I picked my favorite: I was squinting and smiling, sunlight filtering through rice leaves onto my face, my boyfriend’s shadow at my feet, even the dew on the rice leaves was visible.
Returning to the Old Town at dusk, Ah Jie didn’t leave immediately, saying “I know you’re tired after a day of shooting, let me take you for something warm.” We followed him to a small alley in the town, at the end of which was a couple’s BBQ stall. The wife was flipping Rushan rolls on the grill, cheese flowing out, fragrance drifting far; the husband was grilling eggplant, covered in a thick layer of minced garlic and green onions. The eggplant was soft, the garlic aroma wrapped in its sweetness. We sat at a small roadside table, eating BBQ and listening to the busker across the street singing “A Little Happiness.” My boyfriend suddenly said: “I’m going to print today’s photos into an album and write a sentence on every page.” I smiled and nodded. The air was filled with the smell of BBQ and the music of the Old Town, making everything feel sweet.
Personal Reminders (Lessons Learned):
- Sun protection in an open-top Jeep is a must! Although there’s a canopy, the Erhai sun is very strong—I applied SPF 50+ sunscreen and wore a wide-brimmed hat, otherwise my shoulders would have surely burned;
- You can ask the driver to help contact an electric scooter at Caicun, 80 yuan/day. The condition was good, but remember to ask for helmets (Ah Jie gave us two new plastic ones, although ugly, they were safe);
- Eat Xizhou Broken Pastry Baba while it’s hot! I bought a sweet one and kept it in my bag while taking photos for half an hour; the crust was still crispy and the sugar hadn’t solidified—if it gets cold, the taste drops by half;
- Don’t step on crops when taking photos in the rice fields! Ah Jie specifically reminded us to “walk on the dirt road beside the ridge,” otherwise farmers will scold you (we saw someone step on them and had to retreat quickly, it was quite embarrassing).
On the way back to the guesthouse, I imported today’s photos into my phone, scrolling through them one by one: the sunrise at Longkan, holding hands at Caicun, the back view in the rice field… every photo carried the scent of the wind, the salt of Erhai, and the warmth of my boyfriend’s hand. Lying in bed, a message popped up from Ah Jie: “If you want to shoot cherry blossoms at Xilin Garden tomorrow, remember to get up early, the blooming period is only half a month.” I replied with a smile “Okay,” as the moon outside climbed over the city wall, casting a long shadow, just like our overlapping shadows in today’s photos.
Day 3: Dali to Lijiang, Exploring Shuhe Old Town for Preparation
At 8:30 AM, I wandered from the South Gate of the Old Town to the West Bus Station—on the way, I met an auntie selling freshly ground soy milk. The milk in the bamboo tray was steaming. I bought a sweet cup, the soy aroma drilling into my nose with the warmth. The electronic screen at the station entrance flashed “Lijiang Departure 9:00.” I scanned my pre-booked ticket and found window seat 12A. Sitting next to me was an auntie in a floral shirt, holding a ball of yarn and knitting a pink sweater. Seeing me put down my luggage, she smiled: “Going to Lijiang, young lady? It’s chilly there in the morning and evening, remember to bring a jacket.” Her stitches were very tight; she said she was making winter clothes for her granddaughter, and there was even a hair clip from her granddaughter on the yarn ball.
The bus started on time, and Cangshan Mountain slowly retreated outside the window. Halfway through knitting, the auntie suddenly handed over an orange: “Lijiang oranges are sweet, eat it on the way.” As the peel was stripped, the juice splashed on my hands, incredibly sweet. I charged my phone and looked through the photos of the Longkan sunrise from yesterday—my boyfriend wrapping his arms around me, the orange-red sea as a backdrop, even the little dinosaur on his T-shirt was clear. The auntie peeked over: “Your boyfriend’s hands are very steady, my grandson’s photos are always blurry.” We both laughed. The folk song recommended by Ah Jie played in the headphones, the melody wrapping around the wind, drifting toward the distant rice fields.
2 hours later, we arrived in Lijiang. At the bus station entrance, we took a 10 yuan bus to Shuhe. Getting off, the Shuhe wind carried the scent of green grass, the blue stone road faintly glowing, and the shops on both sides had wooden storefronts decorated with dried flowers and handmade soaps. The first stop was “Grandma’s Cured Spare Rib Hotpot”—the shop was near Xiangshan Market, with red lanterns hanging low, and the waiting line filled the steps. A stout man called out numbers in a local dialect: “Number 32!” We quickly responded and found a window seat. We ordered the pot with potatoes and cabbage. The broth served was milky white, bubbling with heat, and the cured ribs were piled high—the meat was firm, the lean parts weren’t dry, and the fat had translucent oil streaks. I first took a sip of the soup; it was savory and fresh with a cured aroma and a hint of pepper, warming my stomach. The potatoes were cooked soft and had absorbed the broth, powdery to the bite; the cabbage leaves wrinkled by the end were sweet. I finished three bowls, and my boyfriend patted my shoulder with a smile: “Slow down, no one’s snatching it.”
In the afternoon, we explored Shuhe, which was as quiet as a poem compared to Dali. The blue stone roads were wider, and the flower cake shops carried the scent of roses. I stepped into “Jiahua Flower Cake Shuhe Store”—the rose cakes in the glass cabinet were freshly baked, the crust so flaky it crumbled, the scent hitting my nose. The owner was a middle-aged woman with a ponytail. Seeing us, she smiled and handed one over: “Fresh from the oven, still warm, have a taste.” I bit down, the crust crunched, and the rose jam inside was made of fresh petals, sweet but not greasy. My boyfriend bought a box, and the owner helped vacuum-seal it: “This way they won’t break on the way back, they can last a week.” Holding the packed cakes, my fingertips carried a hint of rose fragrance. Even a passing cat approached, staring at the box in my hand and meowing.
At dusk, back at the “Yunqi Shuhe” guesthouse, the room had heating, and I could see the Shuhe stream from the window. I sorted out the gear for climbing the snow mountain tomorrow: first, I went downstairs to the shop recommended by the owner to rent a down jacket—a young man with glasses brought out a light blue thin model: “50 yuan a piece, it’s 100 on the mountain. It’s windproof and light, with heat packs in the pockets.” I tried it on, a perfect fit, and a note in the pocket read: “It’s cold on the mountain, don’t take off the jacket.” Next, I bought two oxygen bottles. The young man emphasized: “10 yuan a bottle, medical grade! They sell for 20 in the scenic area, don’t be a sucker.” I also packed some dark chocolate; the owner said: “Eat this when climbing the snow mountain, it replenishes energy quickly and isn’t greasy.”
After organizing the gear, I sat on the terrace to watch the stars. The stars in Shuhe were brighter than in Dali, like crushed diamonds on black velvet. The sound of the stream drifted from below, and the owner’s dog ran in the courtyard, its tail wagging like a small flag. My boyfriend brought hot milk: “Early start tomorrow, I’ll wake you.” Holding the milk cup, smelling the faint lavender scent in the room, I thought of the cured ribs, rose cakes, and the auntie’s orange—even the snow mountain tomorrow felt soft and worth looking forward to.
Day 4: Lijiang Jade Dragon Snow Mountain + Blue Moon Valley, Watching the Snow and Photographing Blue Water
At 6:30 AM, I was shaken awake by my boyfriend—he waved his phone: “Quick! The Jade Dragon Snow Mountain official account released tickets!” Squinting, I reached for my phone, my fingertips stiff with cold, yet I accurately clicked into the “Big Ropeway Reservation” page. The 140 yuan/person tickets popped up instantly, and I paid quickly before dozing off for a bit more. At 7:00 AM, we headed downstairs with our bags. He gripped a thermos, the ginger tea inside still steaming: “Have a sip first, don’t freeze on the snow mountain later.”
Taking the shuttle bus to Jade Dragon Snow Mountain, during the 40-minute drive, the vegetation outside slowly changed—from the green trees of the mountains to low shrubs, and finally only bare rocks and snow. The heating in the bus was strong. I held the thermos, watching him fiddle with the camera settings: “When I take photos of you later, I need to adjust it brighter because the snow reflects light.” The bus stopped at the Big Ropeway entrance. There were many people in line, but since we pre-booked tickets, we got in quickly by scanning our ID cards. After getting the ropeway tickets, we went up in the cable car. The cabin was fully transparent; at first, we could see the coniferous forest below, then it turned into bare mountain, and finally, everything was white—Glacier Park had arrived.
The moment the door opened, the wind hit with snow particles. I shivered and wrapped the down jacket tightly (rented in the Old Town this morning for 50 yuan; the owner said it was “windproof and lighter than those on the mountain”). My boyfriend took off his gloves for me: “My hands are hot, you wear these.” The warmth of his palm reached me through the wool. I tucked my neck in and followed him toward the snow slope. The snow was soft underfoot, making a “crunch” sound, and the glacier in the distance glowed blue like a giant crystal. My boyfriend suddenly squatted: “Stand there, with your back to me.” I stood on the slope, wind blowing my hair everywhere. He held his phone: “Smile! Look here—yes, like that!” Looking at the photos later, behind me was the rolling snow mountain, sunlight on the snow was so bright it made me squint, but in his lens, I looked silly yet radiant.
At noon, we headed down the mountain straight to the “Blue Moon Valley Restaurant”—it was actually a large shed with plastic tables and chairs, but very crowded. We found the last table and ordered hot noodle soup. The menu said “Yak Bone Broth.” When it was served, the broth was steaming, with two slices of yak meat, some bitter greens, and a braised egg. I took a sip of the soup; the savory taste was wrapped in the richness of the bone, and the bitter greens were refreshing. My boyfriend slurped the noodles: “Much better than what I cooked this morning.” I smiled and poked the braised egg toward him: “I saved this for you.” After eating, my whole body was warm, even my fingertips were no longer stiff.
In the afternoon, we went to Blue Moon Valley. From the entrance, we walked along the lakeside plank road. The wooden road was a bit old and creaked underfoot, but felt very grounded. Wild chrysanthemums grew along the road, their yellow flowers swaying in the wind. At the end was the observation deck. I leaned against the railing—the water in Blue Moon Valley was stunning! It wasn’t a dull blue, but a transparent, sky-like blue as if the sky had been crushed and settled in the water, sunlight reflecting off the surface like crushed gold. My boyfriend stood beside me, and I leaned gently on his shoulder. He held the phone: “Don’t move, let me take a photo of you with the lake.” In the lens, I was in a light pink dress with the snow mountain and blue water as a background, the wind blowing the hem of my skirt, and even the little dinosaur on his T-shirt was clear. We took over a dozen photos, each like a movie scene. I stared at the screen and smiled: “This one is going to be my desktop wallpaper!”
Returning to Lijiang Old Town at dusk, we went back to the same cured rib hotpot shop from this morning. The owner recognized us and smiled: “Eating hotpot after climbing the snow mountain, impressive!” We chose the pot with potatoes and cabbage again, the broth as thick as before. Sipping the soup, I listened to him talk about today’s photos: “The one where you stand on the snow slope, I’m setting it as my lock screen.” I picked up a piece of potato, powdery and full of broth: “I’ll come again next time to have you take more photos of me.”
Walking out of the shop, the town lights were on, the blue stone road had puddles reflecting the lamplight. My boyfriend held my hand, his fingers still carrying the mountain wind: “Going to Lugu Lake tomorrow, should we bring some cured ribs for the road?” I nodded with a smile. The air carried the scent of hotpot and music from the bars—this day, with the snow, the photos, and the hot noodles, even the wind felt sweet.
Personal Pitfalls & Practical Tips:
- Big Ropeway Tickets are a Must: The Big Ropeway is the only way to reach Glacier Park! Book tickets 1 day in advance at 8:00 AM on the “Jade Dragon Snow Mountain” official account. Set an alarm! Otherwise, you can only take the Spruce Meadow small ropeway, which misses the glacier;
- Keep Warm: Glacier Park is around -10°C! Rent a down jacket (50 yuan/piece, cheaper in the Old Town than on the mountain), bring gloves (10 yuan/pair), and sunglasses (to prevent snow blindness)—my friend didn’t bring sunglasses and her eyes kept watering from the cold;
- Choosing Photo Spots in Blue Moon Valley: Don’t just take photos halfway! Make sure to walk to the observation deck at the very end! That’s the best angle to capture the snow mountain + blue water + you. Have your boyfriend squat down for a more atmospheric shot;
- Cured Rib Hotpot at Xiangshan Market: Avoid touristy shops! The old shops in Xiangshan Market have broth simmered for 4 hours and real yak meat, much better than those in the scenic area—we finished every drop of the soup.
On the way back to the guesthouse, I imported today’s photos. Scrolling through the back view on the snow slope, the photo by Blue Moon Valley, the steam of the noodles… every photo had a temperature: the cold of the snow, the heat of the soup, the warmth of my boyfriend’s hand. Lying in bed, his message popped up: “Tomorrow at Lugu Lake, I’ll take photos of the starry sky for you, wear your white dress.” I touched the oxygen bottle under my pillow as the moon climbed over the city wall. Suddenly, I felt all the preparation was worth it. After all, being with the person you love, turning the mountain snow and valley water into our story, is what matters.
Day 5: Lijiang to Lugu Lake, Afternoon Circle to See Mosuo Culture
At 7:30 AM, my boyfriend’s alarm went off for the third time before he pulled me out of bed—he waved the windbreaker I bought yesterday: “The wind at Lugu Lake is like a knife, wear this!” I groosily put it on, grabbed the lip balm under my pillow (afraid the highland wind would crack my lips), and followed him to the Lijiang Bus Station. At 8:00 AM, we held our pre-booked tickets (70 yuan/person, booked on the “Lijiang Passenger” official account) and found window seats 15B. He tucked my thermos into the mesh pocket: “Drink ginger tea on the way, don’t get cold.”
When the bus started, the Jade Dragon Snow Mountain still showed half its snowy peak like a sleeping giant. We stopped at two observation decks. The first offered a “tip” of Lugu Lake—as blue as freshly dyed cloth. The second was more stunning: the whole lake looked like a piece of shattered sky, light blue next to deep blue, willows by the shore dipping into the water, softening the blue. I took photos with my phone, and my boyfriend squeezed in: “Take a photo of me! I want a picture with Lugu Lake!” He stood by the railing, the wind blowing his hoodie cap, the background a blue that stretched to the horizon. I laughed: “You’re more eye-catching than the lake.”
4.5 hours later, the wind of Lugu Lake hit the bus door with the scent of grilled meat. My boyfriend pulled me toward “Mosuo Grandma’s BBQ”—an auntie in an indigo apron was flipping the grill. Seeing us, she smiled and brushed off the cumin: “Get the pork belly! It needs some fat to be fragrant!” She pinched a piece of meat; the grease “sizzled” over the charcoal, the edges curling. She sprinkled a handful of pine needle powder (later I learned it was a Mosuo secret recipe). The meat was still hot when handed over; one bite and the oil exploded in my mouth with the crisp bitterness of pine needles. I finished three bowls of rice with it. My boyfriend laughed holding his empty bowl: “Were you a hungry ghost in a past life?”
In the afternoon, we rented a vintage electric scooter. The handles had shells, and the seat was worn leather that felt like an old sofa. My boyfriend drove me toward Lige Peninsula. The mountain road twisted like a braid, and the lake water on both sides pulled at our gaze—sometimes deep blue, sometimes light green, like God tipped over a palette. In less than an hour, we reached the peninsula. Walking down from the observation deck, the wooden steps creaked, and every step carried the scent of pine needles. The small pier was at the bottom, the plank road extending into the water, waves hitting the pillars like a greeting. My boyfriend squatted: “Stand there, with your back to me.” I leaned against the railing, the wind inflating my dress, with the “shoe-shaped” outline of Lige Peninsula in the background—the shoreline meadows and distant mountains all framed in the lens. This photo later became my computer desktop.
Next was Lover’s Beach. The pebbles on the beach were slippery, as if soaked by the lake for hundreds of years. We took off our shoes and stepped in barefoot—the water was cool, reaching over my ankles, with a bit of fine sand that made me laugh from the itchiness. My boyfriend stepped in too, splashing water high. The sunset dyed the lake gold-red, like a handful of crushed gold. He suddenly shouted: “Don’t move!” and pointed the phone at me—I was bending over to pick up a stone, hair flying in the wind, face splashed with water, smiling so hard my eyes became crescents. “I’m printing this one!” He came over, wiped the water from my face with his finger, the sunset coloring his silhouette in gold, even the lake light reflected in his eyelashes.
At dusk, we returned to the Lige Peninsula guesthouse, choosing a lake-view room at “Hupan Xiaozhu.” The stairs were made of old wood with a scent of resin. The room window directly faced Lugu Lake—pushing it open, the wind carrying the lake’s breath rushed in, the distant mountains floating in the mist like a painting. The old lady landlord brought a plate of apples: “Just picked from the field, very sweet.” I took a bite, crisp sweetness with a hint of earthy flavor. Lying in bed at night, listening to the lake—not splashing loudly, but gentle like someone whispering—my boyfriend leaned into my arms: “Sunrise tomorrow?” I nodded, smelling the pine needle scent on the pillow, slowly sinking into a dream.
Personal Pitfalls & Practical Tips:
- Choose Official Buses: Don’t take illegal taxis from Lijiang to Lugu Lake! The “Lijiang Passenger” buses are on time, and the observation deck stop gives a full view of Jade Dragon Snow Mountain + Lugu Lake, well worth the 70 yuan;
- Get Fatty Mosuo BBQ: Pork belly is best when grilled until crispy! The grandma’s pine needle powder is a secret recipe, giving it a more authentic Mosuo flavor than just chili;
- Scooter Battery is Enough for the Loop: Rent the vintage model for 80 yuan/day, it can cover 80 km. Ask the owner for a charger just in case;
- Go to Lover’s Beach Early for Sunset: Go around 5:00 PM! Wear a light-colored dress (I wore light blue). The moment you step in the water, you’re dyed gold by the sunset; every snapshot is movie-like;
- Stay in a Lakeside Room at Lige: Open the window to see the lake! Listening to the lake while sleeping is better than any sleep aid; even my dreams were blue.
Day 6: Lugu Lake Starry Camping, Boating to See the Sunset and Milky Way
At 8:30 AM, the guesthouse owner’s knock brought the lake’s chill into the room: “The boatman is waiting at the pier!” An uncle in a navy sheepskin vest squatted on the steps, holding a copper bell that rang clearly when he saw us: “Young couple, want to take a pig-trough boat to the ‘Dear Guest’ island?” 150 yuan per boat, enough for us and two empty seats. He smiled and patted the boat: “Sit tight, I’ve rowed for thirty years, won’t flip.”
The boat cut through the water, the spray making me tuck my neck in—the lake was deep green, like tea-soaked jade. The uncle said, “The water here shows the ripples, ten times clearer than Lige Peninsula.” The creak of the oars, the willows on both sides dipping into the water, turned our shadows into crushed gold. On the island, prayer flags hung along the wooden plank road, fluttering loudly in the wind. We walked to the small pier with the outline of Gemu Goddess Mountain in the background. My boyfriend held my hand on the wooden boards. The uncle held up his phone and shouted: “Smile! Heads closer, don’t shake!” Looking at the photo later, our shadows overlapped on the wood with the bright blue water as a background, even the red ribbons of the prayer flags were clear.
At noon, back at the guesthouse, the owner served warm Mosuo Baba—freshly removed from the griddle, the crust crumbled onto the plate. One bite and it was full of walnut bits and sesame, so fragrant I ate two. The owner sat nearby and smiled: “This was freshly ground this morning with a bit of lard to make it crispy.” I wiped my mouth and told him “I’ll take some back tomorrow as souvenirs.” He readily packed a bag: “Come get it tomorrow morning, freshly baked is best.”
At 4:00 PM, we carried snacks toward Goddess Bay. The gravel road was lined with Galsang flowers, the wind carrying a sweet scent. At the bay, we found a high hill to spread the picnic mat. I took out chocolate and apples. The boatman uncle joined us, pulling out a wrinkled cigarette pack: “Here, have a milk candy I saved, it’s sweeter than chocolate.” He talked about Mosuo walking marriages: “Our boys know how to weave shawls, and girls can row boats. We don’t need to buy a house to fall in love, just two hearts coming together.” I bit into the candy, listening, feeling even the wind slow down.
At 5:30 PM, the sun began to sink. First, it dyed the lake orange-red like a layer of liquid honey, then turned gold-red, and finally “plumped” behind Goddess Mountain. My boyfriend squatted beside me, fixing my wind-blown hair: “Look at the camera, don’t blink.” He held the phone from the ground, aiming at my profile—the sunset dyed my silhouette gold, my eyes reflecting the last glow. He took a shot and showed me: “Look, even your eyelashes have light.” That photo later became my phone’s lock screen.
In the evening, we rented a navy tent—the owner patted the fabric: “Windproof, with thick sleeping bags, you won’t freeze.” 100 yuan a night. We set it up on the grass by the lake, laying out apples, chocolate, and mineral water. The owner brought a cup of hot milk tea: “It’s salty with yak butter, good for warming up at night.” The aroma of the tea wrapped with the lake smell. I took a sip, my stomach felt warm, and even the wind became gentle.
After 8:00 PM, it was completely dark. The Milky Way climbed out from behind Goddess Mountain like a handful of crushed diamonds; even the dimmest stars were visible. We lay on the grass outside the tent, listening to the uncle’s hand drum—he sang Mosuo folk songs in a low voice, like talking to the stars. My boyfriend suddenly pulled a small box from his pocket; inside was a handmade silver ornament with my name carved on it: “I found a master in Shuhe to make this this morning. It’s a bit plain, but I wanted to give it to you.” I took it, my fingers trembling, tears falling on his hand. He quickly wiped them with his sleeve: “Don’t cry, it’s so ugly you’re crying.” The wind was light, the stars bright. I leaned into his arms, listening to the “splash” of the lake, feeling the whole world had gone quiet, leaving only our heartbeats.
Day 7: Returning from Lugu Lake, Buying Souvenirs and Ending the Journey
At 6:00 AM, I was pushed awake by my boyfriend. The tip of my nose still carried the pine needle scent from the pillow—he peeked out the window and shouted: “The mist has covered the pier!” I threw on the thin down jacket borrowed from the boatman (the fabric still held his warmth) and pulled him toward the lake. The blue stones of the pier were cool from the morning mist. We found a stone polished by the lake. My boyfriend squatted to adjust the phone angle: “Back to the mist, tilt your head slightly.” In the lens, I was wrapped in the fluffy jacket, hair damp with mist, against a white lake and the faint outline of Gemu Goddess Mountain. After three shots, he squinted and smiled: “This is perfect, like you floated out of the mist.” Zooming in later, even the mist drops on my eyelashes were clear, like crushed diamonds.
At 7:30 AM, we ducked into the “Mosuo Intangible Heritage Center” on Lige Peninsula—the wooden door had a copper bell, and entering, there was a mix of resin and indigo dye scents. The owner in an indigo apron sat on a bamboo chair, her silver bracelets clinking: “Young couple picking souvenirs?” Her fingers were wrapped in blue thread from weaving shawls. The shelves held indigo, vermilion, and dark green shawls, coarse to the touch but carrying the warmth of the sun. I picked a vermilion one. She pulled the edge: “This thread is yak hair mixed with cotton, it won’t fade in the sun or pill in the wash.” My boyfriend chose a silver bracelet with Mosuo patterns. The owner took out a small hammer: “Want names carved? 10 yuan extra, for ‘Axia’ (him) and ‘Azhu’ (me)—meaning ‘my partner’ in Mosuo.” The hammer clinked against the silver “ding ding.” I watched her carve our names inside the bracelet; my finger traced the marks, my heart feeling as soft as melted yak butter.
At noon, checking out, the owner stood at the door with a bag of warm Mosuo Baba: “Freshly steamed, eat it on the road.” The sesame scent of the Baba filled my nose. I took a bite, the crust falling on my hand, filled with walnut and brown sugar, sweet enough to soothe the throat. On the 4.5-hour bus ride back to Lijiang, the auntie in the floral shirt next to me smiled at my shawl: “That color suits you! my girl bought one last year too and wears it every day.” She pulled a wooden comb from her bag: “For you two, carved by an old Mosuo carpenter; it won’t make your hair frizzy.” The handle had small azalea flowers carved on it. I thanked her quickly. She waved it off: “It’s nothing, come visit my son’s guesthouse next time you’re at Lugu Lake.”
As the bus headed toward Lijiang, I scrolled through my photos: sunrise at Longkan, hand-holding at Caicun, snow at Jade Dragon, blue water at Blue Moon Valley, the pier at Lige, sunset at Goddess Bay, and the Milky Way outside the tent… every one carried a temperature—the boatman’s bell, the sweat on my boyfriend’s palm, the resin scent of the center. My boyfriend held my hand, the silver bracelet feeling cool: “When we get home tomorrow, let’s print the photos for an album to put by the bed.” I smiled and nodded. The clouds outside moved slowly like the Lugu mist or the Jade Dragon snow, carrying us back to daily life, yet keeping all the sweetness of the trip in our pockets.
Personal Return & Souvenir Tips:
- Catch the “Morning Peak” of Mist: 6:30-7:30 has the thickest mist. Wear light colors (I chose a white jacket) for a magical look—my boyfriend said I looked like I “walked out of a painting.” No editing needed;
- Souvenir Pitfalls: Don’t buy mass-produced shawls at the entrance! Handmade ones have tighter weaves. Watch the master when carving silver—our marks are deep and won’t wear off easily;
- Bring Back “Heartfelt” Gifts: The owner’s Baba and the auntie’s comb have more soul than store-bought gifts—a bite of warm Baba when hungry on the road makes you miss Lugu Lake;
- Layer Your Clothes: Wear a down jacket in the morning mist and carry it in the warm afternoon—the weather at Lugu Lake is more fickle than a boyfriend’s mood;
- Scrolling Through Photos is a “Healer”: Recalling the boatman’s folk song, the sunset profile at Goddess Bay, and the small silver gift under the stars makes all the fatigue worth it.
Arriving in Lijiang, the sunset turned the station honey-colored. My boyfriend picked up my suitcase: “I’ll make you cured rib hotpot when we get home, with the potatoes we bought yesterday.” I took his arm, the shawl fluttering in the wind to reveal the silver bracelet—carved with our names, as if locking these days onto our wrists. The journey ended, but the misty photos, handmade warmth, and the gift under the stars became our “secret base,” hidden in our hearts, never to expire. Next time, we’ll still watch the Lugu mist, carve another pair of bracelets, and turn every second into “our story” with the person we love.
Keep Reading
- Girlfriends’ 5-Day Photo-Shooting Guide | Dali S-Bend + Shaxi Ancient Town + Lugu Lake Goddess Bay + Jianshui Small Train, Moments 9-Grid
- Family 8-Day Slow Travel Route | Kunming Haigeng Dam + Fuxian Lake + Jianshui Ancient Town + Yuanyang Terraces, Comfortable for Elders and Kids
- Couple Self-Driving 4-Day Western Yunnan | Lijiang Shuhe + Shaxi Ancient Town + Jianchuan Shaxi, Niche Highways & Artistic Homestays
- Yunnan 5-Day Independent Travel Budget Guide | Transportation + Accommodation + Tickets, How to Spend Over ¥2000 Per Person Most Wisely
- Kunming-Dali-Lijiang 7-Day Public Transport Guide | High-speed Rail + Coach + Bus, Budget-friendly and Flexible Route Planning
Lijiang — — Key Facts
Tickets & Booking
- Jade Dragon Snow Mountain Yak Meadow cableway: Official figure CNY 65 per person (round trip); advance booking required (Same mini-program as above)[src]
- Baisha murals / Baisha Ancient Town: Baisha murals ticket: null (no official single-ticket price found); OTA has a “Jade Dragon Snow Mountain + Baisha murals + Dongba Valley + Yushui Village and others” combined ticket about CNY 218[src]
- Lashihai Wetland Park: Adult ticket about CNY 29; ticket + boating + glass walkway CNY 50; Tea Horse Road horse-riding + lunch + transfer package about CNY 138–140[src]
Transport & Schedules
- Lijiang Old Town → Jade Dragon Snow Mountain | Bus/direct shuttle: Bus 101 about CNY 15 per person (outbound 7:00–16:00, return 7:00–17:20); old-town round-trip direct shuttle about CNY 41[src]
Where to Stay · Room Type · Nearby
- Lijiang Old Town (Dayan) | Room tip: Guesthouses are concentrated and transport is convenient | Nearby add-ons: Sifang Street, Mu Mansion, Lion Hill Wangu Tower, Great Waterwheels[src]
- Shuhe Ancient Town | Room tip: Quieter and more secluded than the old town | Nearby add-ons: Shuhe residential building complex, Baisha Ancient Town[src]
Typical Climate & Packing (Past Years)
- January: 0.3 °C–14.0 °C °C, [1981–2010 climate averages, daily average 6.4 °C]
- February: 2.5 °C–15.0 °C °C
- March: 5.4 °C–17.3 °C °C
- April: 8.3 °C–20.2 °C °C
- May: 11.3 °C–22.9 °C °C
- June: 14.5 °C–24.1 °C °C, Rainy season
