The Magic of Travel

I thought I would most vividly remember the butterflies.

The tiny silver ones that flitted low among the wildflowers; the tiger-striped and cheetah-spotted ones that liked to land on our backpacks at the campsite; the deep blue ones dropping from the trees and turning violet velvet in the sun; the flash of brilliant blue-green on black dancing by the river on rainy days; the streak of shimmering gold across dark wings fluttering into sunflowers before I could even be sure it was real.

Or the dragonflies – they came in every color, bright yellows and oranges, vibrant reds, electric blues and greens – and if you sat still in the Yulong for more than a minute, one would surely find a resting place atop your head.

I spent so much of my last few days in China trying to commit everything to memory. Walking out of Wada, I would stand in the road staring at the peaks around me, tracing their outline a hundred times in my head, trying not to lose it. I thought if I could capture the image, remember the green, the sunshine, the fluttering colors, somehow I could capture the feeling of living in that place, and take it home with me.

One of my last adventures in Yangshuo was a hike up Moon Hill. It was my last day working with the Chango Education camp, and the only thing on the schedule was a trip to Yangshuo’s most famous geological formation. After an hour or so climbing up, we let the kids color for a bit, and gave ourselves some time to enjoy the view.

I took a seat next to our trip leader, Lance, and asked him how Moon Hill came to be. He told me about the formation of this land, the power of the ocean. “It’s the bones of sea creatures, seashells,” he said, as we stared out at miles of tall hills and imagined that water still filled the space between the earth and the clouds. “These mountains are alive.”

As much as I tried to memorize the shape of the hills and the colors of the butterflies, the magic of Yangshuo does not lie in those images. Sitting atop Moon Hill, listening to Lance explain the creation of the karst peaks – that’s where the magic is. It’s in that afternoon at Wada Hostel, eating those delicious fries for the first time, talking with Melanie about how sad it is to grow up and lose imagination – “I don’t ever want to lose this childish mind, this awe at everything.” It’s in Sean’s voice, as we stood in the sun waiting for the rest of the rock-climbing crew that first day, marveling at the hills that surrounded our town - “Magic, eh?” It’s in those rooftop nights with Grant, listening to his stories from around the world, wishing they were my own, trying to learn as much from him as I could –“The hardest part is coming home.”

My time in China was fantastic. It was probably one of the happiest months of my life (so far). The possibilities were, for the first time, endless. Yangshuo opened its arms to me – at every turn I was greeted with some new opportunity for fun, exploring, adventure, learning. It was a life full of beauty, color, movement, and wonder. What I will truly remember most, what I hope I can hold onto forever, is simply the feeling of being alive in that place, at that time, with those people – the magic.

It’s hard not be sad, leaving a place that felt so different and so special. I think the only thing to do is be grateful – and I am, more than anything, grateful. I am grateful to have met so many amazing people: Melanie, who went to the bar to play Jenga and wanted to dye her hair all the colors of the rainbow; Sean, with adrenaline tattooed above his heart and mountains across his chest; Grant, who was taking a gap year – his third – and got really excited about popsicles, arty films, and infrastructure; Jessica, with her beautiful house in Shanghai, who really just wanted to adventure; Larinda, with dreams of Germany, who spent hours pouring over a map with me, pointing to places we both wanted to go; Michaela, the unfortunate Italian who was a source of endless laughter (and should always be remembered for breaking the Wada courtyard light not once, but twice). I am grateful for everything I learned – about China, about traveling, about reading your itinerary before you get to the airport. And I am grateful for the person I became – masquerading as a backpacker for a month definitely has some sort of positive affect on the soul.

Grant thought the hardest part was coming home – “because you change so much, but everything stays the same.” But everything hasn’t stayed the same. Even just a month away has changed me; maybe not in ways that are obvious, but each new experience affects how we move through our lives. So that’s what I’m taking comfort in for now: knowing that Yangshuo will be a part of me forever. And of course, it always helps to know that there will be another day, with another destination. There are many more memories and much more magic to come.