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MARCH in Beijing is a time of hope， and de- spair. The Siberian winds that howl in from Mongolia begin to wane； renegade centigrades make a break for positive.
Beijing may get warmer in the third month of the year， but the weather can still be abysmal. Expect encounters with the wild children of meteorology – sleet， hail， sandstorms –before spring truly arrives.
For many residents， married to the city for the pre-Chinese New Year winter work slog， March is breaking point. Enough is enough. South China， with her promise of cozy valleys， warmer afternoons and an easy good time， beckons.
So you can imagine this journalist’s joy on being granted leave smack in the middle of the capital’s March melancholy. Goodbye， Early Spring Beijing， I thought， and good riddance. It’s been awful. See you when you’ve had a change of heart.
Huangshan， You Spoil Me
I didn’t deserve Huangshan. I only knew her a short while – I left after a week， God knows why – but I’ll never forget her. She’s got looks， she’s got style， she’s got big-city smarts and smallcity charm. If you’re planning a trip to China in spring， forget about Beijing. Shack up with Huangshan instead. You won’t regret it.
Huangshan in Chinese means “Yellow Mountain.” The city was renamed after the famed peaks， the highest of which reach almost 2，000 meters above sea level， in 1987， presumably to encourage tourism. Yellow Mountain technically refers to a whole range of mountains， though it’s most often mentioned in the singular.
If you’ve ever seen traditional Chinese mountain paintings， you’ve probably seen Yellow Mountain. It’s been a favorite of painters， poets and novelists since time immemorial. It offers， without a doubt， some of the most spectacular natural scenery in the whole of China. A traditional Chinese proverb mentions five mountains in the country as being beyond and above all others in terms of beauty. But it cheekily adds that Yellow Mountain beats all of them. Needless to say， it’s also a UNESCO world heritage site.
Yellow Mountain exerts a strong influence on this picturesque pocket of Anhui Province. Such is its gravity， in fact， the region as a whole has managed to escape the rampant industrialization that has left large tracts of the Chinese countryside grimy and polluted. Huangshan’s main industry is nature tourism， and the local government wants to keep it that way. During our stay， we didn’t see a single plant， factory or industrial chimney. This shows – or rather doesn’t show – in the local air quality. Beijing’s readings of particulate matter （PM） 2.5 for the week we were in Huangshan were consistently above 100. Some days they topped 300. In Huangshan， however， PM2.5 readings were always below 10. The emphasis on pristine nature and the local aversion to large-scale industry have also resulted in Huangshan’s maintaining the laid-back atmosphere of a country town. Where skyscrapers would have been built in most other cities， old quarters remain in the center of many districts and counties of Huangshan. Vast industrial parks are also absent， meaning the land between populated locales remains undeveloped. The limits of the city are， in effect， arbitrary； it’s really just a conglomeration of villages. To outsiders， locals might say， “I’m from Huangshan.”But they’ll always specify a district or county when asked by another local.
Huangshaners themselves seem at peace with this country-town spirit. My Beijing friends would call them chunpu， which loosely translates as “unsophisticated，” or “simple.” In colloquial English I suppose we might say “genuine” or“down to earth” to allude to the same thing.
As a foreign visitor to Huangshan this“genuineness” meant being lavished with unreserved hospitality. My friends and I would talk to locals for a few minutes for directions or advice， only to have them turn around and buy us lunch. Cigarettes were perpetually offered – a （relatively） traditional greeting in the countryside.
The combination of good old-fashioned countryside hospitality， the laidback vibe of Huangshan itself， the presence of all the amenities of a modern city and the arresting beauty of the local natural scenery had a discernable effect on the Beijingers with whom I was traveling. Most had grown up in the North’s“Big Smoke.” But within hours of arriving in Huangshan most were already discussing the possibility of buying holiday homes – or relocating， full stop – to the city.
House prices were a topic of conversation throughout our stay， and justifiably so. While a dingy apartment in a 10-story block somewhere closest to the center of Beijing will set you back upwards of RMB 60，000 per square meter， one can pick up a brand new pad with a large balcony facing the mountains in the center of Huangshan for a 15th of that price.
Local developers seem to be bargaining on an influx of homebuyers in the near future. According to one government official， the city is suffering from a real estate glut， and prices have fallen back from their peak a year or two ago. That might change soon， however. Plans are currently in the works to connect Huangshan City with China’s burgeoning fast-train network. Soon， the city will be a mere three hours from Shanghai， and five hours from Beijing. Holiday homes aren’t common in China. But when they take off， expect Huangshan to be a favorite haunt.
Cultural Tourism
I had come to Huangshan with the express purpose of looking beyond the Yellow Mountain and discovering the secrets of the city that stands in its shadow. Fortunately， this was easy.
Huangshan is heir to the grand cultural traditions and architectural legacies of Huizhou， a historical region that roughly corresponds to the present borders of the municipality.
Huizhou was a cultural powerhouse in the Ming and Qing dynasties （1368-1911）， and a rich one at that. Merchants from the area grew wealthy on river through trade and became a political force capable of affecting regional and even national policies.
The monetary wealth of ancient Huizhou also translated into artistic ingenuity. The region pioneered many crafts， chief among which were wood， stone and brick carving， and inkstone production. Today， thanks to tourism and local government initiatives， these crafts are once again thriving， and we toured many an art studio and talked with a number of “cultural inheritors” during our stay in Huangshan.
The physical legacy of the Hui merchants is very visible in the Huangshan of today； their original residences line the corkscrew alleyways of old towns， and archways they constructed in honor of successful family members remain standing after hundreds of years.
Perhaps the most stunning old town in the whole area is that of Shexian， or She County. We’d heard about it before we arrived in town， but hadn’t managed to find space for it in our schedule. We were still interested in exploring the ancient alleyways， however， and so one night we sneaked out from our hotel in search of postprandial adventure.
On approach， Shexian’s old town doesn’t look like anything special. The old city wall， recently reconstructed， is lit up with gaudy fluorescent lights. In through the entrance arch， and things don’t get any better. The main street is thoroughly reconstructed and is lined with identical shops selling throwaway shirts and imitation converse footwear. But head further up the gentle incline of the main street， and the modernity begin to fade. Alleys start darting off to the sides， and the buildings start to look a little less Disney and a lot more historic.
We wandered down an alley and found ourselves on Doushan Street， and archetypal Hui Merchant residential alleyway. Buildings here trace their construction back to the Ming Dynasty. They’re all white， the hallmark color of Huizhou architecture and one that perfectly complements the dazzling yellow of the rapeseed flowers that bloom in early spring. We’d seen similarly monochromatic architecture across Huangshan City； local building codes require it. Most Doushan residences were enormous； their high outer walls extend at least several stories above the pebbled road along which we sauntered. The night was cloudless and dark， the moon being hidden behind the tall white walls. The only light came from far-off street lamps， and it was tinged an eerie yellow.
Toward the end of the street， we asked for directions from an old-timer who was playing with his grandson. He lived on Doushan， and pointed us back where we’d come from. It seemed we’d seen all we were going to see.
Just as we were turning around， an old lady sprung out of a nearby doorway and struck up a conversation with us. She seemed knowledgeable about the street， and walked with us a little way. We began asking questions – without revealing there were journalists among us – and seeing our interest was piqued， she guided us to another doorway. It turned out to be her house.
We passed under a high white wall– Mrs. Zhang’s white wall – and found ourselves in the atrium of a spectacular two-story former Hui merchant residence. Paintings and calligraphy lined the walls； bonsai trees crowded the garden in the back. The bonsais had a story of their own. Mrs. Zhang’s husband， now passed away， had been a piano teacher， and his students， when short of funds， would offer him pot plants and the like in lieu of payment. Over the years he built quite a collection， and careful grooming turned many into the immaculate miniatures they are today. One of our group， who turned out to be a bonsai enthusiast， remarked， “You know， you got get over RMB 10，000 for quite a few of these if you sold up！” Mrs. Zhang turned to him and answered， “But if I sell them I won’t have them， will I ？”
Mrs. Zhang and her husband bought the residence during the “cultural revolution” for RMB 1，600. Such prices seem a trifle today， but back then， it was a big investment worth years’ salary. The old owners were rich and moved to big cities， she said. It’s a similar case with most houses on the street， she added. Old families that own residences here generally don’t live in them； “The parents are in Shanghai and the children are doing PhDs in Australia，” is how Mrs. Zhang put it.
We asked Mrs. Zhang if she had considered moving to a smaller house now that she was by herself. She could rent the Doushan house out， we added.“Rent？ No， the tenants will just ruin the place，” she rebuffed with her characteristic frankness.
Heading back out onto the street， we decided it’s time to tell Mrs. Zhang that we were journalists. She didn’t seem interested. Then she revealed a secret of her own： her house is open to tourists， who fork out RMB 100 for the privilege of inspecting her house. We offered her payment， but she refused gruffly， and trundled off back inside.
As we wove our way out of Shexian Old Town， we bumped into another group of media types scouting a location for a documentary. One of them， a girl from Hefei， Anhui Province’s capital， asked me why I came to China. It’s an odd question； most people assume foreigners come here for the money， or the opportunity， or the adventure. I couldn’t come up with an answer on the spot， and she walked off. Later， I thought of what I should have said. The reason I’m in China is to visit places like Huangshan. It’s just a shame I had to leave.
Beijing may get warmer in the third month of the year， but the weather can still be abysmal. Expect encounters with the wild children of meteorology – sleet， hail， sandstorms –before spring truly arrives.
For many residents， married to the city for the pre-Chinese New Year winter work slog， March is breaking point. Enough is enough. South China， with her promise of cozy valleys， warmer afternoons and an easy good time， beckons.
So you can imagine this journalist’s joy on being granted leave smack in the middle of the capital’s March melancholy. Goodbye， Early Spring Beijing， I thought， and good riddance. It’s been awful. See you when you’ve had a change of heart.
Huangshan， You Spoil Me
I didn’t deserve Huangshan. I only knew her a short while – I left after a week， God knows why – but I’ll never forget her. She’s got looks， she’s got style， she’s got big-city smarts and smallcity charm. If you’re planning a trip to China in spring， forget about Beijing. Shack up with Huangshan instead. You won’t regret it.
Huangshan in Chinese means “Yellow Mountain.” The city was renamed after the famed peaks， the highest of which reach almost 2，000 meters above sea level， in 1987， presumably to encourage tourism. Yellow Mountain technically refers to a whole range of mountains， though it’s most often mentioned in the singular.
If you’ve ever seen traditional Chinese mountain paintings， you’ve probably seen Yellow Mountain. It’s been a favorite of painters， poets and novelists since time immemorial. It offers， without a doubt， some of the most spectacular natural scenery in the whole of China. A traditional Chinese proverb mentions five mountains in the country as being beyond and above all others in terms of beauty. But it cheekily adds that Yellow Mountain beats all of them. Needless to say， it’s also a UNESCO world heritage site.
Yellow Mountain exerts a strong influence on this picturesque pocket of Anhui Province. Such is its gravity， in fact， the region as a whole has managed to escape the rampant industrialization that has left large tracts of the Chinese countryside grimy and polluted. Huangshan’s main industry is nature tourism， and the local government wants to keep it that way. During our stay， we didn’t see a single plant， factory or industrial chimney. This shows – or rather doesn’t show – in the local air quality. Beijing’s readings of particulate matter （PM） 2.5 for the week we were in Huangshan were consistently above 100. Some days they topped 300. In Huangshan， however， PM2.5 readings were always below 10. The emphasis on pristine nature and the local aversion to large-scale industry have also resulted in Huangshan’s maintaining the laid-back atmosphere of a country town. Where skyscrapers would have been built in most other cities， old quarters remain in the center of many districts and counties of Huangshan. Vast industrial parks are also absent， meaning the land between populated locales remains undeveloped. The limits of the city are， in effect， arbitrary； it’s really just a conglomeration of villages. To outsiders， locals might say， “I’m from Huangshan.”But they’ll always specify a district or county when asked by another local.
Huangshaners themselves seem at peace with this country-town spirit. My Beijing friends would call them chunpu， which loosely translates as “unsophisticated，” or “simple.” In colloquial English I suppose we might say “genuine” or“down to earth” to allude to the same thing.
As a foreign visitor to Huangshan this“genuineness” meant being lavished with unreserved hospitality. My friends and I would talk to locals for a few minutes for directions or advice， only to have them turn around and buy us lunch. Cigarettes were perpetually offered – a （relatively） traditional greeting in the countryside.
The combination of good old-fashioned countryside hospitality， the laidback vibe of Huangshan itself， the presence of all the amenities of a modern city and the arresting beauty of the local natural scenery had a discernable effect on the Beijingers with whom I was traveling. Most had grown up in the North’s“Big Smoke.” But within hours of arriving in Huangshan most were already discussing the possibility of buying holiday homes – or relocating， full stop – to the city.
House prices were a topic of conversation throughout our stay， and justifiably so. While a dingy apartment in a 10-story block somewhere closest to the center of Beijing will set you back upwards of RMB 60，000 per square meter， one can pick up a brand new pad with a large balcony facing the mountains in the center of Huangshan for a 15th of that price.
Local developers seem to be bargaining on an influx of homebuyers in the near future. According to one government official， the city is suffering from a real estate glut， and prices have fallen back from their peak a year or two ago. That might change soon， however. Plans are currently in the works to connect Huangshan City with China’s burgeoning fast-train network. Soon， the city will be a mere three hours from Shanghai， and five hours from Beijing. Holiday homes aren’t common in China. But when they take off， expect Huangshan to be a favorite haunt.
Cultural Tourism
I had come to Huangshan with the express purpose of looking beyond the Yellow Mountain and discovering the secrets of the city that stands in its shadow. Fortunately， this was easy.
Huangshan is heir to the grand cultural traditions and architectural legacies of Huizhou， a historical region that roughly corresponds to the present borders of the municipality.
Huizhou was a cultural powerhouse in the Ming and Qing dynasties （1368-1911）， and a rich one at that. Merchants from the area grew wealthy on river through trade and became a political force capable of affecting regional and even national policies.
The monetary wealth of ancient Huizhou also translated into artistic ingenuity. The region pioneered many crafts， chief among which were wood， stone and brick carving， and inkstone production. Today， thanks to tourism and local government initiatives， these crafts are once again thriving， and we toured many an art studio and talked with a number of “cultural inheritors” during our stay in Huangshan.
The physical legacy of the Hui merchants is very visible in the Huangshan of today； their original residences line the corkscrew alleyways of old towns， and archways they constructed in honor of successful family members remain standing after hundreds of years.
Perhaps the most stunning old town in the whole area is that of Shexian， or She County. We’d heard about it before we arrived in town， but hadn’t managed to find space for it in our schedule. We were still interested in exploring the ancient alleyways， however， and so one night we sneaked out from our hotel in search of postprandial adventure.
On approach， Shexian’s old town doesn’t look like anything special. The old city wall， recently reconstructed， is lit up with gaudy fluorescent lights. In through the entrance arch， and things don’t get any better. The main street is thoroughly reconstructed and is lined with identical shops selling throwaway shirts and imitation converse footwear. But head further up the gentle incline of the main street， and the modernity begin to fade. Alleys start darting off to the sides， and the buildings start to look a little less Disney and a lot more historic.
We wandered down an alley and found ourselves on Doushan Street， and archetypal Hui Merchant residential alleyway. Buildings here trace their construction back to the Ming Dynasty. They’re all white， the hallmark color of Huizhou architecture and one that perfectly complements the dazzling yellow of the rapeseed flowers that bloom in early spring. We’d seen similarly monochromatic architecture across Huangshan City； local building codes require it. Most Doushan residences were enormous； their high outer walls extend at least several stories above the pebbled road along which we sauntered. The night was cloudless and dark， the moon being hidden behind the tall white walls. The only light came from far-off street lamps， and it was tinged an eerie yellow.
Toward the end of the street， we asked for directions from an old-timer who was playing with his grandson. He lived on Doushan， and pointed us back where we’d come from. It seemed we’d seen all we were going to see.
Just as we were turning around， an old lady sprung out of a nearby doorway and struck up a conversation with us. She seemed knowledgeable about the street， and walked with us a little way. We began asking questions – without revealing there were journalists among us – and seeing our interest was piqued， she guided us to another doorway. It turned out to be her house.
We passed under a high white wall– Mrs. Zhang’s white wall – and found ourselves in the atrium of a spectacular two-story former Hui merchant residence. Paintings and calligraphy lined the walls； bonsai trees crowded the garden in the back. The bonsais had a story of their own. Mrs. Zhang’s husband， now passed away， had been a piano teacher， and his students， when short of funds， would offer him pot plants and the like in lieu of payment. Over the years he built quite a collection， and careful grooming turned many into the immaculate miniatures they are today. One of our group， who turned out to be a bonsai enthusiast， remarked， “You know， you got get over RMB 10，000 for quite a few of these if you sold up！” Mrs. Zhang turned to him and answered， “But if I sell them I won’t have them， will I ？”
Mrs. Zhang and her husband bought the residence during the “cultural revolution” for RMB 1，600. Such prices seem a trifle today， but back then， it was a big investment worth years’ salary. The old owners were rich and moved to big cities， she said. It’s a similar case with most houses on the street， she added. Old families that own residences here generally don’t live in them； “The parents are in Shanghai and the children are doing PhDs in Australia，” is how Mrs. Zhang put it.
We asked Mrs. Zhang if she had considered moving to a smaller house now that she was by herself. She could rent the Doushan house out， we added.“Rent？ No， the tenants will just ruin the place，” she rebuffed with her characteristic frankness.
Heading back out onto the street， we decided it’s time to tell Mrs. Zhang that we were journalists. She didn’t seem interested. Then she revealed a secret of her own： her house is open to tourists， who fork out RMB 100 for the privilege of inspecting her house. We offered her payment， but she refused gruffly， and trundled off back inside.
As we wove our way out of Shexian Old Town， we bumped into another group of media types scouting a location for a documentary. One of them， a girl from Hefei， Anhui Province’s capital， asked me why I came to China. It’s an odd question； most people assume foreigners come here for the money， or the opportunity， or the adventure. I couldn’t come up with an answer on the spot， and she walked off. Later， I thought of what I should have said. The reason I’m in China is to visit places like Huangshan. It’s just a shame I had to leave.