As a young girl, I was fascinated by ancient Chinese paintings. Depictions of soaring craggy mountains with peaks looming high above stylised clouds. An unimaginable vision to my less travelled self. So when a recent opportunity arose to visit Shanghai, I set about discovering this eerily mystical place etched in my child’s mind. Did this vision even exist or was it Shangrila?
As it turns out, the place in my head is called the Yellow Mountains, or rather Huangshan in China’s province of Anhui. And it’s only a two-and-a-half hour bullet train away from the city fondly dubbed the Paris of Asia thanks to its abundant French architecture juxtaposed against the vast modern skyline.
The train journey – my first ever bullet train experience – was interesting in itself. I’d bought a Business Class ticket and discovered that in China, Business Class is the same as First Class back home. This meant I was the only person sitting in the cabin which had plush red leather seats and reclined almost flat for those who prefer to sleep over taking in the window views.
The view was proof of a country so highly populated that you could be forgiven for thinking you never left the city. There was simply concrete edifice after edifice, mostly clustered together in a giant swirl of grey. In some areas, ornate homes were peppered around. No doubt this was where wealthier people lived, I mused.
Then, finally, the mountains arrived, and with gravitas. It was unlike anything I’d encountered before in China. The land was mostly uninhabited and uninhabitable. Just blissfully wild and far reaching. It looks remarkably like a painting. The etchings had come to life.
Arriving late in the afternoon at Huangshanbei station, I picked up a pair of walking sticks for 25 Chinese Yuen each (about $1) and caught a cab, hoping to reach my homestay before dark. The sun had almost fully descended when I reached my home for the night. But I could still see it was wedged into the side of a green pine forest.
Travelling alone and with a yearning to experience a traditional side of China, I’d deliberately picked a place with a white painted stone-walled garden and this one had a pond with orange and white spotted Carp fish swimming under a decorative small arched bridge and with a wooden pavilion nearby where I was offered herbal tea.
For the rest of my stay in Huanshan Scenic area, I was struck by how few Westerners I came across. It made feel quite the little adventurer. Perhaps, closer to the truth was fewer foreign tour groups chose to visit in the height of the summer holidays. With a growing middle class population in China and the State now actively encouraging workers to take holidays, more people are exploring their own backyard. Perhaps, the muggy 38 degree temperatures was also off-putting. Either way, I felt like a walking novelty to the locals but clearly a heartily welcomed one judging by the warm reception I received from passing strangers. One often said refrain, was: “You are very welcome in China.”
The language barrier was not a problem because everyone uses an English translator on their mobiles. And I quickly adapted to using We Chat, We Pay and AliPay. The other particularly useful app is Holafly, which enabled me to stay connected with the world.
Generously written reviews with precise travel information and tips on Trip.com gave me the lay of the land, which is important when travelling solo. Apart from an inability to use Google or Safari or nearly any of my social media with the exception oddly of Instagram, I managed well and focused more on my surroundings without all the distractions.
Much of my initial travel research was all neatly mapped out with my oh so very decisive AI travel guide, right down to what apps I needed to download, and particularly what matters when it comes to making payments. WePay and AliPay are literally the mainstay in China.
There’s been a few blips where I was happy I’d stashed a few hundred US dollars away. Once, when my Chinese apps inexplicably were not being accepted by my Wise account. And, a Chinese family kindly paid for my iced tea. Embarrassing but all part of the journey.
From my homestay, I was driven to the nearby gateway to enter the Yellow Mountains. In my head, scenes of floating clouds were starting to appear before me. I caught a shuttle bus up the winding road to the main cablecar entrance.
It was a steep incline going up but with fogged up windows it was hard to fathom how much we’d climbed until we arrived. And there it was: a live canvas of a striking Chinese landscape for as far as the eye could see.
And then began the march. Along with everyone else, young and old. A Chinese student practicing her English on me was curious as to why I’d chosen the Yellow mountains, which she said were by no means the most popular. I told her, as I did many others sharing my journey and stopping for a chat albeit in broken English, that I’d come in search of the first images of China I’d ever seen. And they came in the form of printed etchings. Not a mobile, nor a TV screen.
The part I failed to research was exactly how far away my final destination was, one of only a few hotels on the mountain. The night before I’d packed a small backpack to bring with me and apart from four bottles of water, I was fortunately travelling relatively light. I’d left my suitcase in safe-keeping at my homestay which is commonly done.
That night I skipped dinner and just sat gazing at the mountains as the sun slowly set throwing a golden tinge across the sky.
In the morning, I was up and hiking from 5.45am. The mountain was virtually devoid of people at first and for a few glorious hours, it felt like those of us who’d stayed at the 1,600 metres above sea level had stolen the views from everyone else.
The walk was almost entirely upwards on the way to Brighton Summit which is 2,400 m above sea level and the Grand Canyon. There were times when, briefly, I thought is the view any more special than what I’ve already seen? Then I’d spot a view like Monkey Staring At Sea, which is a singular rock and site to behold.
Fortunately, pride also prevailed and finally after three hours of huffing and puffing like the Magic Dragon, I finally reached the top. I held out my poles as if this was Everest. Well it was my Everest, and I posed for a happy snap of me on the top of the world looking down, down, down to the cavernous beyond. No clouds, it has to be said.
Weirdly, I’d dreamt of clouds the night before. They appeared in my dreams as cotton wool enveloping me, taking care to ensure I was snugly wrapped up and was feeling pampered. It was the child in me, coming out to play. So I did experience the clouds of sorts, but only cloudless skies in the real world.