Impressions of Zhangjiajie
The mountains of Zhangjiajie are all imbued with spirit. Famous rivers and peaks each have their own legends and tales. Rank them in China and you'll often find several "First Bridges" and "First Springs"—yet later generations happily continue this simple game. As a traveler, seeing a "first" also greatly enriches your journey.
This article is compiled from the original travel notes on the "Zhangjiajie Tour Guide Network" (33519.com); it is a record of trips from earlier years. Time-sensitive information such as ticket prices, schedules, and accommodation prices is subject to the latest announcements from scenic areas and transportation authorities; the itinerary ideas and attraction introductions still have reference value.
The mountains of Zhangjiajie all have a spiritual quality.
Famous rivers and mountains all have countless legends and stories of their own. In China, if you rank them, you'll often find several 'Number One Bridges' and 'Number One Springs,' yet later generations will tirelessly continue this simple game and enjoy it. As a tourist, seeing a 'Number One' will make you feel greatly pleased with your trip, and then on second thought, it seems you've encountered such a 'Number One' somewhere, sometime before.
The saying 'After returning from Huangshan, no need to see other mountains' has been passed down for a long time. Every tourist who goes to Huangshan will silently recite this old saying a few times in their heart. When I went to Huangshan last year, it was also in winter, just after the New Year, and there were still traces of spring festivities at the foot of the mountain. We climbed until drenched in sweat. The legendary 'mountain atmosphere' that fills the eyes was indeed visible, but I always felt something was missing. The jagged rock faces—one after another. But the snow everywhere, with half the road cleared clean, and the endless snowball fights along the way—the whole group had a great time.
After returning from Zhangjiajie, I started missing it. Haigui said he felt that Zhangjiajie's scenery was even more spectacular.
Thinking of Zhangjiajie, that unfamiliar image in my mind was actually like a primeval forest. Heaven knows how I came to define it that way. It also seemed to merge with Mengdong River, and Mengdong River was probably like the canoe drifting in the Brazilian primeval forest on TV. Now I realize these were indeed naive and laughable ideas, but that was truly my first impression of Zhangjiajie.
The summer vacation plan for Xiangxi fell through, so I changed course to the eight-hundred-li Qin Chuan and visited Huashan, one of the Five Great Mountains. Truly, it is the most precipitous mountain in the Central Plains, though the climb was more thrilling than dangerous. Looking back, I finally found time to go to Zhangjiajie—exactly one year since the first time the idea crossed my mind.
This is indeed the most outstanding spot in Xiangxi; Jishou was merely a transfer midpoint. The truth is, an unplanned stop often brings many rewards. On the deserted path in the mountains of Dehang, by the lonely pool beneath the Liusha Waterfall, that sense of solitude and mystery emerged. Walking through the curtain of rain falling from the waterfall, with water landing on my body, my heart felt as joyful as a blooming flower. Suddenly, there were only four people in the whole world, and the others besides me seemed very far away.
Taking the morning train to Zhangjiajie, I stepped out of the station into a fine drizzle. To encounter such weather—this was the worst scenario I had anticipated for coming here. I asked Mr. Shi anxiously whether he would return disappointed; his answer was just two words: luck. Along the way into the mountains, local villagers tried to sell us things or offer to carry our luggage. Even after refusal, they followed hopefully, expecting a change of heart, with excuses all strikingly similar. At that moment, I felt quite annoyed—where on earth had that supposed mountain simplicity gone?
Strolling leisurely along the Golden Whip Stream, famous and named stone peaks lined both banks, as exquisite and unique as in photographs, and the legends sounded plausible—whether to believe them or not was entirely up to one's own preference. Ascending to Yuanjiajie at an altitude of over 1,000 meters, it began to snow. Snow pellets fell one by one on my body; the rain had finally stopped. In the deserted corridor of the Back Garden, shops had closed early. This world-renowned landscape had surprisingly few visitors. I felt somewhat lucky and couldn't help feeling pleased with myself. Distant and nearby mountains were shrouded in a thin mist; the Front Garden of Huangshizhai was completely invisible. As consolation, the peaks right before my eyes did have the Zhangjiajie style—quartz sandstone formations, admirable for standing upright for tens of millions of years. With that thought, the originally delicate peaks gained an added sense of majesty and uprightness.