These days, a holiday doesn’t really feel like a holiday unless I get out for at least a short trip. That is especially true with a child at home. Every break, the same question comes up: where are we going this time?
Staying home may be the easiest option, but it never feels festive. At the same time, I have no interest in squeezing into the same crowded attractions as everyone else, taking the same photos in the same places. So the only workable answer is to choose quieter routes and less popular destinations. Highways are notorious for holiday traffic, so I usually prefer national roads instead. Even if the drive is slower, I do not have to worry about being trapped for hours, and the road itself becomes part of the trip: different scenery, different towns, different local rhythms.
The same logic applies to where I stop. If major tourist sites are packed, then the better option is to look for more natural, less manicured places—spots that are not social media-famous and therefore not overrun. This particular National Day holiday also had one unexpected advantage: days of steady rain. The weather discouraged a lot of people from going out, especially those planning to hike.
I have always thought rainy weather is unfairly maligned when it comes to the mountains. A light rain makes a hike better, not worse. The air is cleaner, the plants look alive, and when the rain pauses the birds seem to sing more brightly. Everything feels fresher. As for the hiker, less sweating often means better stamina than on a hot sunny day. Many people treat rain as nature’s way of telling humans to stay away, but that makes little sense to me. In light rain, a mountain can be more comfortable and more beautiful than it is under clear skies.
I also disagree with the usual argument that risk alone should be enough to keep people from going. Adults should learn how to handle risk, not spend all their energy trying to erase it. Life is always tied to uncertainty. No one can shield themselves from every danger. If someone spends ordinary life avoiding all risk on principle, then when unavoidable danger does arrive, it may hit them harder than it hits others—like a greenhouse flower that cannot withstand wind, rain, or pests.
That is why, when news broke a couple of days earlier about someone going missing while crossing the Ao-Tai route in the Qinling Mountains, my reaction was very different from the mainstream one. Most people see entering remote mountain wilderness as sheer recklessness. Once something goes wrong, they argue, public rescue resources are wasted, so the government should ban these activities altogether. In Shaanxi, that has effectively happened. Crossing routes in the Qinling have been closed off; vehicles are not allowed in, and warning signs have been posted wherever people might try to enter. Some routes that used to be drivable were also shut down after accidents, including vehicles falling from cliffs. Yet even under such strict control, people still go missing or die in the Qinling every year.
My view is that a different approach might make more sense: commercialize rescue, so whoever requests it pays for it. Beyond that, professional rescue personnel could also offer paid guiding services, or rent out equipment such as GPS units and satellite phones to people attempting these crossings. That would be more practical than simply pretending bans can eliminate the urge to go.
For this National Day trip, I planned to drive from Xi’an across the Qinling and Bashan mountains into southern Shaanxi. In the end, I did not even make it out of Xi’an before traffic police informed me that the national road was closed, so I had to take the expressway through the Qinling after all, then switch back to national roads through the Bashan region.
Those roads wind constantly along mountain slopes, which means they often climb to fairly high ridgelines. Much of the drive took place among clouds and fog. One thing I noticed this time was how the post-rain cloud layer tended to hang roughly 300 to 600 meters above the lowlands. Once the road rose above about 600 meters, it often felt as if I were driving on top of the clouds. At least in the Bashan area, that seemed to hold true.
https://www.leitao.cn/wp-content/uploads/2021/10/2021年国庆巴山大雾驾驶.mp4?_=1
The video was played at double speed; because of low visibility and collapsed sections near the road edge, I stayed close to the inside lane for safety.
I love driving in big mountains. Every turn opens onto a different view. Every time you crest one ridge, you have no idea whether an even higher one is waiting ahead. At the foot of the mountain it may be drizzling, halfway up you may be swallowed by thick fog with visibility reduced to only a few meters, and by the summit the rain may already have stopped. Then, once you circle around to the far side, the sky may be clearing. In the span of one or two hours, you can pass through several versions of the same day.
The appeal of wild spots lies precisely in their wildness. They feel more purely natural, with less human interference and fewer swarms of visitors. It is easier to relax there. My son has gradually grown used to these places under my influence, though he has developed a funny habit: when we arrive somewhere that feels too barren and offers nothing to do, he will complain, “This place is too wild.” That probably says something true. Untouched nature is wonderful, but if a place is too plain, it may still fail as a destination. Even a scenic spot needs a little character.
Compared with undeveloped mountain areas, the more polished scenic zones were clearly more popular. Even in rainy weather, plenty of people were still climbing, though obviously far fewer than on a sunny day.
My travel interests are very narrow in the best possible way: mountains and water, little else. I have no interest in giant commercial complexes that package food, lodging, shopping, and entertainment into one polished tourism machine.
One place I specifically wanted to see on this trip was Ying Lake in Ankang, known as a water source connected with the South-to-North Water Diversion Project. From the descriptions, I had imagined something like a northern version of Qiandao Lake. What I found was very different. Flooding had turned the normally clear water unusually muddy, and the lake surface was littered with drifting logs and household trash. The sightseeing boat took visitors in sequence to three islands, but the time spent cruising felt more substantial than the time spent on the islands themselves. To me, those islands added nothing. The natural scenery was barely there, and there was even less to say for the human-made attractions. Because the route never went deep enough into open water, the lake never really felt expansive. The entire ride felt more like moving along a section of the Han River than touring a vast lake.
What interested us more than Ying Lake was the Ankang Hydropower Station. I had assumed there would be tickets available to go up onto the dam, maybe even an opportunity to see the turbine hall inside. After all, local tourism materials included something described as industrial tourism centered on the hydropower station. But when we got there, there was no sign of any ticket office for such a visit, and not even an obvious place to ask.
Another first on this trip was a cave. It was my first time visiting one, and my son’s as well, so we looked at everything with unusual seriousness.
As for cultural attractions, the only kind that really interests me is historical remains—especially places where traces of ordinary life still linger. Unfortunately, many so-called ancient streets today are ancient in name only. Their faux-classical buildings are thrown together as casually as cheap costume props in a period TV drama.
In the end, the biggest practical gain from this trip was discovering a large free parking lot in a folk village, complete with lighting and public toilets. That made it possible for me and my son to try camping for a night. Once the pandemic eases, I want to plan a longer summer journey and take him farther afield. Ideally, we will be able to find suitable campsites all along the way.