话说桂林山水甲天下，在网上查了一下，发现基本上好山好水都在阳朔。于是我把这次旅行的中心定了阳朔。带小朋友去看看Stereotypical中国山水风景的发源地，就像《功夫熊猫》里的那些山山水水一样。高铁驶出重庆西站，不久就进入了西南山区里常见的“地铁”模式：几乎都是在黑暗的隧道中前行，瞬间见到天日的时候，不是在跨越深深的沟壑的高架桥，就是在山峦之间偶尔的缝隙。穿过遵义，穿过贵阳，穿过形状越来越挺拔，棱角越来越锋利的山峰。然后就一头冲进了云贵高原巨大的山体中，一直在黑暗中像找不到方向的巨龙。再突然穿出山体，眼前一片开阔，进入了平原地带。
桂林到了，再过一会儿，平原上便如长出笋尖一样，冒出了那种独特的、秀丽的中国山水写意画里常见的山形。不知道是先有桂林山水还是先有写意山水画，这样的山形几乎满足了中国人对山水所有的幻想，就像甲骨文里的山字一样。其实，我们今天的这个山字也是差不多。
车到阳朔站，本来就空的车厢里基本上没有人了。出站时走在我们前面，从人工通道出的只有一对白人老夫妇。从他们的护照来看，应该是来自与中国友好无上限的邻邦。顺便感慨一下，这次回国和去看十月份一样，几乎没见到过几个其他肤色的人。持外国护照的大多是和我们一样的黄皮肤的人。
旅行社来接站的曾师傅早就在外面等着了。出行之前，在网上找了一家旅行社，报了价，组了一个私家小团，就我们一家人。有司机兼导游带着，景点门票都有人打理，基本上走VIP通道，不用排队，其实人也不多，但还是轻松了不少。
面包车沿着弯弯曲曲的公路，在这幅山水画中穿行。山很高，但都长在平地上，公路也平，没有上坡下坎但有时候要绕着山脚绕一个大弯才能到另一边。从阳朔高铁站到阳朔县城大约需要四十分钟，经过漓江上的一座桥，再穿过一条不长的隧道，阳朔县城就在眼前了。对这个与我同名的地方，一下子就产生了好感。阳朔县城真的只是一个“县城”，它完全符合我对县城的所有想象，十分模范。曾经的那些县城，比如我的家乡，都追求大城市化，修高楼、大广场，失去了小城的感觉。但阳朔的房子都不高，占地面积也不大，一栋栋小楼相连，虽然不旧，但就像回到了熟悉的地方。
曾师傅把我们放在西街旁边的酒店，他建议我们可以去逛一逛，但不要抱太大期望。他说，西街的“西”就是西方人的意思。当年外国人发现了阳朔这个美丽的地方，便聚居在这个小镇上娱乐休闲，拿个吉他在酒馆里喝个小酒、唱点民谣。久而久之，这种休闲文化影响了阳朔人，阳朔也因此体会到休闲旅游的妙处，渐渐发展起来。再后来，有钱了，西街就被改造了，就成了我们经历过的那些“假古镇”一样，没什么特色，只是人们例行打卡的一个地方而已。外国人早就撤了，只留下没有灵魂的熙熙攘攘。
【阳朔河边的旅拍】
酒店是我们自己订的，就在阳朔人民公园门口。窗外便是几乎垂直升上去的山崖，旅馆在岩石之下，几乎不见天日。站在门口，头90度朝上仰，可以看到山上有一座亭子。一天没事，便想着走到上面去。这个人民公园倒是不错，多是当地老人休闲的地方，有打牌的老头，也有跳舞的大妈。刚入公园，便看到抗日飞行英雄莫休的墓葬。当年他在国军驾机抗日，飞机被击毁后跳伞，在伞下被日本人击杀，年仅27岁，之后归葬于家乡阳朔。向这位同为飞行者的前辈致敬后，我一路溯源，开始向山顶攀登。山很陡峭，通幽的小径几乎就是垂直爬升，走起来鼻子都能碰到前面的台阶。茂盛的树枝和蔓藤遮在头上，看不到外面。不断爬高后快到山顶时，才开阔起来，可以看到外面的景色。
厚厚的雨云下，透过的阳光给云增添了特别的纹理。近处的山显得很袖珍，特别俊美，就像盆景里的假山一样特别不真实。小时候见过的假山顶上经常有一座亭子，就像我现在所处的地方。感觉似乎自己被缩小，放在了精致的盆景里一样。远处烟云缭绕，婀娜的山在近处县城低矮的民房反衬下,反而显得更高大了。仿佛就是在一幅超现实的天然水墨画里。
本来就被这风景感动得想哭，这时下面的广场上传来广场舞大妈的悠扬的音乐：
“我和我的祖国
一刻也不能分割
无论我走到哪里
都流出一首赞歌
我歌唱每一座高山
我歌唱每一条河
袅袅炊烟
小小村落 ……”
举目四周，这歌声更让人动情了。据说这首歌词就是当年在广西创作的，不知作者是否也是因此景而动情呢。
在阳朔的几天里，雨时下时停。虽然欣赏到了水墨丹青、风起云涌的美景，充满中国味道，但这种湿漉漉的感觉也让人十分恼火。还好，现在这些地方都清洁了不少，没有泥泞，虽然湿，但至少还是干净的。
司机兼地接曾师傅，感觉年龄可能比我小一点，深谙待客之道，一路不停地说他的宗旨就是要让客人开心、玩好，但不要太累。这也非常合我心意，出门休闲，赶趟、打卡没有必要。知道COVID-19让一切变得不容易，我问他这几年旅游业怎么样。他说
“太不容易了”，关了几年，很多老百姓都没有钱了，所以贵的地方不爱去了，像阳朔这种地方消费特别贵，比桂林市区还要贵一半不止，来的人就更少了。今年五一，本来大家准备大干一场，结果来的人不多，让提前囤货的人亏了不少。的确，后来我们到桂林最大最好的饭店，饮食更好更精细，却便宜多了。这也让我领悟到为什么像家乡重庆现在反而成了人山人海的网红城市:不就因为东西便宜，消费低，还挺好吃吗。网红打卡的景点都是在街上，比如洪崖洞、穿楼轻轨之类的，也不用买票，当然受人欢迎。这不就是大家所讲的消费降级吗？
曾师傅又说，桂林一直都是靠第三产业。建国以来，工农业基本上不让发展，就是为了保持这里的山水风光。所以当地的官员也没有其他指标，不需要考虑发展的政绩，所以桂林的发展比其他地方差了好多，当然房子也不贵。
【当地有名的啤酒鱼】
因为断断续续下雨，我们就让旅行社把印象刘三姐的门票换成了桂林千古情的表演。这个景区建在阳朔另一个山谷里，采用半开放的设置，与上海利用世博园改装的风格完全不同。一大景观是门口墙上贴着各地的千古情宣传海报：杭州千古情、丽江千古情、广东千古情、张家界千古情、西安千古情等等。字体都非常粗暴，几十张海报下面无一例外地写着“总导演：黄巧灵”。我赶紧招呼小朋友来看这个display
of monumental ego。
表演很精彩，虽然与上海的表演有类似的技巧和特技，但融入了不同的背景和文化。没有了红色的宣传元素，其中米粉的故事更是催泪，把我们家老大感动得哭得泪水汪汪。
【千古情里面的催泪米粉】
后来在新坪古镇，虽然商业化了，但还是留下了不少老东西。关帝庙有一个古戏台，有近三百年的历史。当然，这在中国并不算什么，所以连门票都不要。里面经文革幸存留下的东西，比如有待考证的郑板桥蓝竹浮雕屏风，颇有意思。戏台上还有一幅对联，下联是：“好上台也好下台好好上台好好下台。”这句话很应当前的时事，可以送给很多人。
【兴坪古镇。二十元人民币取景地】
离开不过两周，又是一场几十年不遇的洪水，把桂林泡了水。当然，真正的古镇是不会被泡水，比如新坪古镇。古人没有人定胜天的思想，还是知道天时地利，不会和山水较劲。而我们游漓江的新坪码头就没有那么幸运了，一直淹到二楼。顺便说一下，前两天看到新闻，接待我们的“桂林美好国际旅行社” 因为超低价旅行团的原因上了热搜，然后就被取缔了。
Translated by ChatGPT
**2024 Return to China, Part 4: The Landscapes of Yangshuo**
It is said that "the landscapes of Guilin are the finest under heaven." A quick search online confirmed that the most picturesque spots are indeed in Yangshuo. So, I decided to make Yangshuo the focal point of this trip. I wanted to show my kids the stereotypical Chinese landscapes, just like the ones in *Kung Fu Panda*.
The high-speed train departed from Chongqing West Station, and soon entered the typical "subway mode" common in the southwestern mountainous regions: traveling through dark tunnels, with brief moments of daylight as we crossed deep ravines on elevated bridges or passed through occasional gaps between the mountains. We passed through Zunyi, then Guiyang, and the peaks outside the train windows grew sharper and more imposing. Eventually, we plunged into the massive mountains of the Yunnan-Guizhou Plateau, moving through the darkness like a dragon searching for its way. Suddenly, we emerged into an open plain.
We arrived in Guilin, and soon, the plain began to sprout those distinctive, elegant mountains often seen in traditional Chinese landscape paintings. I wondered if the Guilin landscapes inspired these paintings, or if the paintings predated the discovery of these landscapes. These formations seemed to fulfill every Chinese fantasy of nature, resembling the ancient oracle bone script character for "mountain."
When we arrived at Yangshuo Station, the already empty train car was practically deserted. Disembarking, I saw only an elderly white couple ahead of us, using the manual exit lane. Judging by their passports, they seemed to be from one of China's friendly neighboring countries. Reflecting on my recent trips back to China, I realized I had hardly seen any people of other races. Foreign passport holders were predominantly yellow-skinned, like us.
Our driver, Mr. Zeng, from the travel agency, was waiting outside the station. Before the trip, I had booked a private tour with a travel agency online. It was just our family, with a driver and guide who handled all the tickets and ensured we bypassed any queues. Even though it wasn't crowded, it still made the trip more relaxing.
The van meandered along winding roads, navigating through a living landscape painting. The mountains, though tall, rose from flat ground, with smooth roads circling their bases. It took about forty minutes to drive from the Yangshuo high-speed rail station to the county town, crossing a bridge over the Li River and passing through a short tunnel. The town appeared just as I had imagined a county town should be—modest and charming. Unlike other places striving for urbanization with high-rises and grand plazas, Yangshuo's buildings were low and compact, each little house snugly fitting next to its neighbor. It felt familiar, almost like coming home.
Mr. Zeng dropped us off near West Street, where we had booked a hotel. He suggested we explore the area but warned us not to have high expectations. He explained that "West" in West Street referred to Westerners. In the past, foreigners had discovered Yangshuo and settled in this small town, enjoying leisure activities like playing guitar in local bars, drinking, and singing folk songs. This laid-back lifestyle eventually influenced the locals, and Yangshuo began to thrive on tourism. However, as the area developed and became more commercialized, West Street transformed into a typical "fake ancient town" with little character, just another check-in spot for tourists. The foreigners had long since left, leaving behind a bustling yet soulless crowd.
Our hotel was right at the entrance of Yangshuo People's Park, with towering cliffs rising almost vertically outside the window. The hotel was nestled beneath the rock, barely seeing the light of day. Standing at the entrance and looking straight up, I could see a pavilion perched atop the mountain. With nothing else to do, I decided to hike up there.
The park was a lovely place, frequented by local elderly people playing cards or dancing. As I entered, I encountered the tomb of Mo Xiu, a hero who fought the Japanese as a pilot. He was shot down and killed at the age of 27, and later buried in his hometown of Yangshuo. After paying my respects, I began the climb to the mountaintop. The path was steep, almost vertical in places, with dense foliage blocking the view. After a challenging ascent, the trail opened up near the top, revealing a panoramic view of Yangshuo under thick clouds. The mountains, small yet sharply defined, looked like bonsai miniatures, giving an almost surreal impression. It felt like I had shrunk and was placed inside a meticulously crafted bonsai landscape.
Just as I was absorbing this scenery, music floated up from the square below:
"My country and I cannot be separated for a moment,
Wherever I go, a song follows.
I sing of every mountain, I sing of every river,
Of village smoke and small hamlets…"
Looking around, the music made the scene even more poignant. The song's lyrics were written in Guangxi, perhaps inspired by this very landscape.
During our days in Yangshuo, the rain came and went. While the changing weather added a dramatic flair to the landscapes, the dampness was somewhat annoying. Fortunately, the area was much cleaner than in the past, with no mud to deal with, so despite the wetness, we stayed clean.
Our driver and guide, Mr. Zeng, seemed a bit younger than me but was very experienced in hosting guests. His philosophy was to ensure we had fun and relaxed without getting too tired, which suited me perfectly. Knowing how hard COVID-19 had hit the tourism industry, I asked him how business had been. "It's been tough," he said. "Places like Yangshuo are expensive—much pricier than Guilin. With the pandemic, many people just don't have the money for such trips." He explained that while they had expected a boom during the May Day holiday, turnout was low, leaving many suppliers with unsold goods. This explained why cities like my hometown, Chongqing, had become popular—things were cheap, food was good, and attractions like Hongya Cave and the light rail through buildings were free. This was the so-called "consumption downgrade."
Mr. Zeng also mentioned that Guilin had always relied on tourism. Since the founding of the People's Republic of China, industrial and agricultural development was limited to preserve the natural scenery. This meant local officials didn't have to focus on growth metrics, which partly explained why Guilin lagged behind in development compared to other regions.
Due to the intermittent rain, we decided to switch our tickets from the *Impression Liu Sanjie* show to the *Guilin Eternal Love* performance. This venue, set in another valley, had an open-air design, different from the repurposed Expo halls in Shanghai. At the entrance, posters advertised various *Eternal Love* shows from different cities—Hangzhou, Lijiang, Guangdong, Zhangjiajie, Xi'an—all bearing the bold signature of director Huang Qilin. I quickly called the kids to see this display of monumental ego.
The show itself was spectacular, with similar techniques and stunts to those in Shanghai but blended with unique local elements and culture. It was free from red propaganda, and the story of rice noodles was particularly moving, making our eldest cry.
Later, we visited Xinping Ancient Town, which, despite commercialization, still retained many old features. The Guan Yu Temple housed an ancient stage with a nearly 300-year history. In China, such things aren't rare, so there was no entrance fee. The temple had survived the Cultural Revolution and featured items like a blue bamboo screen by Zheng Banqiao. A couplet on the stage read, "Good to ascend the stage, and good to descend; ascend well and descend well." This seemed fitting for many people in today's world.
After leaving Yangshuo for only two weeks, I heard news of a once-in-decades flood that submerged many of Guilin's scenic spots. True ancient towns like Xinping were unaffected, as the ancients understood and respected natural forces, avoiding battles with the elements. However, the pier we had used for our Li River cruise was entirely underwater.
Coincidentally, I saw that the travel agency, Guilin Meihua International Travel, which had hosted us, was in the news for offering ultra-low-cost tours and had been shut down．
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