River-side in the picturesque
Xitang
Many ancient towns which sit upon the southern arm of the Yangtze River appear similar: a calm river over which spans small arched bridges, and on the water bob several boats with black awnings. The streets are humid flagstone, and the scene has been the inspiration for many nostalgic poets.
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.
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.
