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Black Dragon Pool Park-Lijiang old town scene

Lijiang – Whispers of Water and Stone China Travel Series – by Kim NgânSome places don’t speak — they whisper. And Lijiang is one of them.Tucked in the northwestern mountains of Yunnan, this ancient town doesn’t call you with grand promises. It draws you in with cobblestone alleys that glisten after rain, with canals that carry time like silk, and with roofs that seem to listen more than they shelter.&nbsp; A Town Built on Stillness We arrived on a misty afternoon, just as the old city was emptying from the morning's foot traffic. Our guesthouse was hidden behind a red wooden gate, covered in moss and stories. The owner welcomed us with warm pu-erh tea and a smile that needed no translation.That evening, we sat by the window, watching the lanterns flicker to life one by one — their light reflecting in the water like memories gently resurfacing.No itinerary. No checklist. Just water. Stone. And time moving as slowly as it needed.&nbsp; Walking the Language of Lijiang Each morning, we let our footsteps decide the way. The alleys led us past old Naxi houses, crumbling walls covered in ivy, and bridges so small they felt like secrets.We passed a woman weaving near an open doorway, her loom tapping softly like a breath. A man played the erhu by the canal, the notes trembling into the dusk like stories unsaid.And I realized:In Lijiang, even the silence has a sound.<figure id="figure-s14x0bmbl7mdd2hd72"><img id="s14x0bmbl7mdd2hd72" src="https://media.gettyimages.com/id/512860319/photo/lijiang-old-town.jpg?b=1&amp;s=2048x2048&amp;w=0&amp;k=20&amp;c=6QHwB-Pxa738oK8itdT72IXkt3P-MsuHVEn1r4yytZ0=" alt="Lijiang old town" title="Lijiang old town" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 rounded-sm md:rounded-md lg:rounded-lg" style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="undefined" data-positiony="undefined" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://media.gettyimages.com/id/512860319/photo/lijiang-old-town.jpg?b=1&amp;s=2048x2048&amp;w=0&amp;k=20&amp;c=6QHwB-Pxa738oK8itdT72IXkt3P-MsuHVEn1r4yytZ0=" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;"></figure> &nbsp; “There was something in Lijiang’s slow grace that reminded me of Hội An — the way light bends over water, the way a city holds both stillness and story.<a title="”→&nbsp; Hội An – Where Lanterns Remember" href="https://thekimngan.com/blog/h-i-an---where-lanterns-remember" target="_blank" rel="noopener" data-mce-href="https://thekimngan.com/blog/h-i-an---where-lanterns-remember">”→&nbsp; Hội An – Where Lanterns Remember</a> &nbsp; The Art of Doing Less We didn’t see the entire town. We didn’t “do it all.” But we felt something settle in us — like dust in sunlight, like calm in the bones.One afternoon, we sat beside a carved stone basin where spring water trickled endlessly. A local woman handed us rice cakes wrapped in leaves, and said with a wink, “Lijiang doesn’t age. It just rests.”That night, we walked along the canal. The water was still, dark, holding the shimmer of lanterns like stars caught just above the surface. There was the soft creak of a shutter opening, the smell of wood smoke, the hum of a lullaby from an open window. Lijiang didn’t sleep. It hushed — as if to let the past breathe through the cracks of stone.

Lijiang – Whispers of Water and Stone

Kanazawa – Where Time Strolls in a Kimono Japan Travel Series – by Kim NgânIf Kyoto is a well-composed haiku, then Kanazawa is a brushstroke paused mid-air — elegant, quiet, and full of meaning between the lines.We didn’t come to Kanazawa for the castles or the samurai houses. We came because someone once told us, “It’s a place where you can still hear the rustle of silk.”And they were right.&nbsp; A City That Moves at the Pace of Beauty We arrived in early spring, when plum blossoms were just beginning to wake. The air was cool, laced with rain and memory. Streets in the Higashi Chaya District glistened, as if they had just been polished by time itself.Women in soft-colored kimono strolled silently past wooden teahouses. No rush. Just grace.Even the footsteps felt measured — like notes in a slow composition.That morning, I paused to watch an elderly woman adjust the collar of her kimono by a wooden doorway. The fabric shimmered softly in the light — not flashy, not loud — but with a dignity that made you want to lower your voice. She bowed slightly, then disappeared into a side alley as if she had stepped back in time.&nbsp; Stillness That Lives in the Details We stayed in a machiya-style guesthouse, where sliding doors revealed light like a painting. Breakfast was quiet: miso soup, pickled plum, rice steamed just right, and green tea that tasted like patience.Each day, we walked without plan — letting Kanazawa show itself, one turn, one stone path, one bowl of gold leaf-topped ice cream at a time.In the Kenroku-en Garden, we sat by a koi pond for nearly an hour. Not because it was an attraction. But because stillness asked us to stay. <figure id="figure-pmse0xjalmdd1w2sy"><img id="pmse0xjalmdd1w2sy" src="https://media.gettyimages.com/id/2048569533/photo/nishi-chayas-traditional-retreat-kanazawa-ishikawa-japan.jpg?b=1&amp;s=2048x2048&amp;w=0&amp;k=20&amp;c=97XvMk3pNQc7UKm2RjBQe83d0PhsdxEBrpovDOm4-eA=" alt="Journey Through Time: Nishi Chaya's Traditional Retreat, Kanazawa, Ishikawa, Japan" title="Journey Through Time: Nishi Chaya's Traditional Retreat, Kanazawa, Ishikawa, Japan" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 rounded-sm md:rounded-md lg:rounded-lg" style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="undefined" data-positiony="undefined" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://media.gettyimages.com/id/2048569533/photo/nishi-chayas-traditional-retreat-kanazawa-ishikawa-japan.jpg?b=1&amp;s=2048x2048&amp;w=0&amp;k=20&amp;c=97XvMk3pNQc7UKm2RjBQe83d0PhsdxEBrpovDOm4-eA=" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;"></figure> “There was a moment by the koi pond that reminded me of Da Lat — not in landscape, but in the way silence could hold you without effort.” <a data-mce-href="https://thekimngan.com/blog/da-lat---where-the-mist-knows-your-name" href="https://thekimngan.com/blog/da-lat---where-the-mist-knows-your-name" title="→ Da Lat – Where the Mist Knows Your Name" target="_blank" rel="noopener">→ Da Lat – Where the Mist Knows Your Name</a> &nbsp; The Elegance of Slowing Down Kanazawa taught me that elegance isn’t always visible. Sometimes, it’s in the way things take their time: The ink that dries slowly on calligraphy. The way tea cools in your hand before it’s sipped. The bow that lasts just a moment longer.One afternoon, we joined a tea ceremony in a quiet room near the garden. The tea was slightly bitter, the air smelled of tatami and incense, and the silence was so complete I could hear my own breath. There was no conversation — only gestures, glances, and the soft click of porcelain. And yet, I felt more present than I had in months.Japan isn’t just about temples and trains. It’s about the pause — the in-between — the part we often overlook.Kanazawa gives you that pause, without asking anything in return.And when we left, we didn’t feel like tourists leaving a city. We felt like a page gently turned in a quiet story still unfolding.

Kanazawa – Where Time Strolls in a Kimono

Jeonju Hanok Village with spring cherry blossoms

Slow Mornings in Jeonju – The Soul of Hanok Korea Travel Series – by Kim NgânThere’s something sacred about mornings in Jeonju. Not in a religious way, but in the way time seems to kneel beside you — slowly, gently, without needing to be noticed.We stayed in a traditional hanok guesthouse, tucked along a narrow lane paved in stone and memory. The kind of place where doors still slide, tea is still poured with care, and silence is not awkward — but ancestral.&nbsp; A City That Moves Like Ink on Rice Paper Jeonju doesn’t rush. Even its famous bibimbap takes time — each ingredient arranged like a quiet blessing.We wandered the Hanok Village before the world fully woke. The air was cool, still holding on to a bit of night. The smell of roasted barley tea drifted from behind wooden walls. Children in school uniforms bowed as they passed. Cats stretched lazily across low rooftops.It felt like time had been diluted — not gone, just softened.&nbsp; A Meal that Tastes Like Time For lunch, we sat at a low table in a quiet alley eatery — no menu, just a smile and a warm bowl of kimchi jjigae. The stew arrived bubbling, surrounded by tiny side dishes like a painter’s palette: lotus root, pickled radish, steamed egg, and namul seasoned just right.We ate slowly, letting the heat spread from our hands to our hearts. Every spoonful felt like a story passed down in taste.&nbsp; In Stillness, Stories Live Longer We visited a calligraphy shop run by a man who looked like he had been writing poems for centuries. He offered us warm yujacha and a place to sit.“You don’t need to understand the words,” he smiled. “You feel them.”That afternoon, I watched my husband nap on the ondol floor, a book resting on his chest, while light spilled through paper windows in lines so soft they barely existed.No itinerary. No noise. Just the quiet architecture of a life well-lived.<figure id="figure-ih4mzr09achmdd18w1e" class=""><img id="ih4mzr09achmdd18w1e" src="https://media.gettyimages.com/id/1498992208/photo/jeonju-hanok-village-townscape-aerial-view.jpg?b=1&amp;s=2048x2048&amp;w=0&amp;k=20&amp;c=fcqEs8XwHgr4yQUvkJbph4U95fQnQI5eQiePxhRJ7LU=" alt="Jeonju Hanok Village townscape aerial view" title="Jeonju Hanok Village townscape aerial view" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 rounded-sm md:rounded-md lg:rounded-lg" style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="undefined" data-positiony="undefined" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://media.gettyimages.com/id/1498992208/photo/jeonju-hanok-village-townscape-aerial-view.jpg?b=1&amp;s=2048x2048&amp;w=0&amp;k=20&amp;c=fcqEs8XwHgr4yQUvkJbph4U95fQnQI5eQiePxhRJ7LU=" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;"></figure> “There was something about Jeonju that reminded me of Vietnam’s Hue – a city that also speaks in silence and rain.” →&nbsp; <a data-mce-href="https://thekimngan.com/vietnamtravel" href="https://thekimngan.com/vietnamtravel" title="Hue – A City That Speaks in Rain&nbsp;" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Hue – A City That Speaks in Rain&nbsp;</a> &nbsp; The Gift of Ordinary Days In Jeonju, I learned that not all travel has to be about discovery. Sometimes, it’s about returning — not to a place, but to a way of being.To walk without urgency. To eat with reverence. To be a part of the world without needing to capture it.And when we left, we didn’t pack souvenirs. We packed slowness — like a handwritten letter folded into the heart.

Slow Mornings in Jeonju – The Soul of Hanok

The magically forested view of Singaporean Green Corridors and Keppel Bay from Henderson Wave, Singapore.

Singapore Beyond the Skyline – Finding Calm in the Concrete Singapore Travel Series – by Kim NgânYou don’t come to Singapore expecting quiet. You come expecting speed — steel, glass, precision. And yet, somewhere between the MRT and Marina Bay, between the corporate towers and endless escalators, I found stillness.It wasn’t loud. It didn’t arrive with grand gestures. It came slowly, like the scent of pandan in warm kaya toast, or the hush inside a neighborhood library no tourist ever visits.&nbsp; A City That Balances Edges and Echoes I had lived in Singapore before. But coming back this time — as someone who had chosen to live slowly — made me see the city differently.There was a rhythm beneath the rush, a pulse beneath the shine. You just had to lean into it.We stayed in a small HDB rental tucked between two hawker centres, where mornings smelled of garlic and soy, and the only alarm clock was a sweeping uncle downstairs humming in Hokkien.I walked. A lot. Not with purpose, but with attention. And that changed everything.&nbsp; Stillness Lives in Unlikely Places In Tiong Bahru, we found a bookstore where the floor creaked, and the air smelled of paper. A woman brewed tea in the back corner, and no one asked us to hurry.In the Botanic Gardens, we sat under a rain tree so wide it felt like a cathedral. No rush. No noise. Just dragonflies, the occasional drop of rain, and time stretching softly around us.Even in the city center, I noticed it — moments of pause in between pulses: The way someone slowed to help a child cross the street. A barista who remembered our names. An old woman reading the newspaper upside down on a park bench, smiling at nothing.Singapore wasn't less busy. I was.<figure id="figure-ijcxpm20rfmdd0lmbg"><img id="ijcxpm20rfmdd0lmbg" src="https://media.gettyimages.com/id/2165996064/photo/illuminated-buildings-by-river-against-sky-at-night.jpg?b=1&amp;s=2048x2048&amp;w=0&amp;k=20&amp;c=0n3oHLA8fV0bB_P6Zqhma2B6ZNeu90Vij_zmSG9qgRA=" alt="Illuminated Buildings By River Against Sky At Night" title="Illuminated Buildings By River Against Sky At Night" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 rounded-sm md:rounded-md lg:rounded-lg" style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="undefined" data-positiony="undefined" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://media.gettyimages.com/id/2165996064/photo/illuminated-buildings-by-river-against-sky-at-night.jpg?b=1&amp;s=2048x2048&amp;w=0&amp;k=20&amp;c=0n3oHLA8fV0bB_P6Zqhma2B6ZNeu90Vij_zmSG9qgRA=" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;"></figure>&nbsp; “In Vietnam, I had learned to breathe slowly again — but here, in this glass-and-green city, I realized that even concrete can cradle calm.” →<a title=" Living in Vietnam – A Slow Morning in Hoi An " href="https://thekimngan.com/blog/---a-slow-morning-in-hoi-an---breathing-with-the-lanterns" target="_blank" rel="noopener" data-mce-href="https://thekimngan.com/blog/---a-slow-morning-in-hoi-an---breathing-with-the-lanterns"> Living in Vietnam – A Slow Morning in Hoi An </a> &nbsp; When You Choose to See Differently There’s a stillness in Singapore you won’t find in guidebooks. You’ll find it in the rhythm of a noodle seller’s hands, the shadow of a cloud on a rooftop, or the echo of your own footsteps at 7AM on a bridge no one’s crossed yet.Stillness isn’t about escaping cities. It’s about learning how to walk through them with your whole self.

Singapore Beyond the Skyline – Finding Calm in the Concrete

Panorama view of Chiangmai Chiang Mai city taken from Doi Suthep Mountains. Lovely views of the Old city at Sunset Sunrise lovely tropical mountains and beautiful nature in the foreground

Chiang Mai – A City Wrapped in Stillness Thailand Travel Series – by Kim NgânThere are cities that ask you to explore, and then there are cities like Chiang Mai — that simply ask you to breathe.When my husband and I first arrived in Chiang Mai, we didn’t rush to visit temples or night markets. We were drawn instead to something gentler — the quiet that hung in the air like incense smoke, lingering, soft, and welcoming.It was early winter. The sun was mild. The streets were not crowded. And my mind, usually full of checklists, felt unusually calm.&nbsp; A City That Lets You Set the Pace Chiang Mai never pressures you to be anywhere. Here, mornings begin with slow walks, the sound of sweeping brooms, and the clinking of spoons in roadside coffee stalls.Our days began with warm soy milk, sticky rice with mango, and silence. Sometimes, we sat in a quiet café near the river, reading books without checking the time. There was no schedule — only rhythm. A slower rhythm. A kinder one.And I remember thinking, “This is what peace tastes like — sweet, warm, and entirely unhurried.”&nbsp; Stillness in the Smallest Corners One of our favorite moments was in a small temple tucked behind a mango grove. No tourists. Just an old monk watering bonsai, and a cat sleeping in the sun.We didn’t take pictures. We sat on the low stone steps and listened to the wind passing through bamboo. It felt like the world was whispering — You’re safe here. You don’t have to be more.In that moment, I realized how deeply we long for permission to just exist. And somehow, Chiang Mai gives that to you — freely, without expectation.&nbsp; The Joy of Doing Little Evenings in Chiang Mai weren’t about plans. They were about twilight strolls past lantern-lit alleyways, stopping to eat bowls of khao soi, and sitting at wooden tables with no Wi-Fi, just conversation.We didn’t chase attractions. We let the city come to us — through jasmine in the air, the gentle clink of temple bells, the warm smile of a street vendor offering grilled banana.&nbsp; Leaving with a Quieter Heart We left Chiang Mai not with a checklist of sights seen, but with a heart quieter than when we came.It’s the kind of place that doesn’t demand memories — it becomes one. Not because of grand landmarks, but because of how it makes you feel: unrushed, unjudged, and gently whole.&nbsp; More slow journeys at:<a title=" thekimngan.com " href="https://thekimngan.com/" target="_blank" rel="noopener" data-mce-href="https://thekimngan.com/"> thekimngan.com </a> Next in Thailand Travel: <a title="Bangkok, but Seen Gently (coming soon)" href="https://thekimngan.com/thailandtravel" target="_blank" rel="noopener" data-mce-href="https://thekimngan.com/thailandtravel">Bangkok, but Seen Gently (coming soon)</a>

Chiang Mai – A City Wrapped in Stillness

Aerial view of the town in the early morning mist

Da Lat – Where the Mist Knows Your Name Vietnam Travel Series – by Kim NgânThere’s a certain kind of quiet that only exists in Da Lat. It’s not the silence of absence, but the soft hush of belonging — like the mist that drapes the pine trees without asking for permission, or the morning chill that slips gently into your scarf.My husband and I arrived just after dawn, the kind of arrival that doesn’t need fanfare. The streets were still sleepy, cafés just beginning to wake, and the sky—painted in a hundred shades of pale—seemed to breathe with the hills.We came here not for adventure, but for a pause. A pause from Saigon’s rush, from deadlines, from too many tabs open in our minds. In Da Lat, even time walks a little slower.&nbsp; A City Wrapped in Fog and Memory Da Lat always feels like a dream I’ve visited before. The scent of wet earth after the rain. The delicate petals of hydrangeas spilling onto the sidewalk. The way strangers here speak with a softness that seems preserved in altitude.We stayed in a small house nestled among pine trees, where the mornings smelled of wood smoke and roasted coffee beans. The kind of place where slippers wait by the door, and windows invite fog in like an old friend.Breakfasts were simple: hot soy milk, warm bánh mì, and quiet. Sometimes we didn’t speak until mid-morning — not because there was nothing to say, but because there was nothing urgent.&nbsp; Markets, Mornings, and Moments Every morning, I’d wander to the local market just a few minutes before the sun fully rose. Vendors in wool hats, their smiles lined with cold air, offered strawberries, artichokes, wildflowers. One woman placed a bunch of lavender in my hand and said, “This smells like peace.”She was right.Peace, in Da Lat, comes in scents and silences. It comes in the way the city never rushes you. No loud horns, no neon distractions — just winding roads, stone steps, and mist that knows your name.&nbsp; When Slowness Becomes a Way of Being One afternoon, we sat by Tuyền Lâm Lake. The surface was still, mirroring trees and clouds like a secret it promised never to spill. We didn’t take photos. We just... were.I remember thinking:“Here, I don’t have to try to be calm. I just am.” Da Lat didn’t teach me something new. It simply reminded me of what I already knew but had forgotten — that life isn’t meant to be raced through. It’s meant to be felt, like cold air on warm cheeks or the sound of wind in tall pine.&nbsp; Leaving Slowly When it was time to go, we didn’t say goodbye. Da Lat doesn’t ask for goodbyes. It simply lets you carry a little fog in your breath, a little stillness in your step, and the soft echo of pine trees in your memory.And so we left — slower than we arrived, quieter than we thought, but somehow more ourselves.&nbsp; More slow stories at: <a title="thekimngan.com" href="https://thekimngan.com/" target="_blank" rel="noopener" data-mce-href="https://thekimngan.com/">thekimngan.com</a> Next stop in Vietnam <a title="Travel: Hue – A City That Speaks in Rain (coming soon)" href="https://thekimngan.com/vietnamtravel" target="_blank" rel="noopener" data-mce-href="https://thekimngan.com/vietnamtravel">Travel: Hue – A City That Speaks in Rain (coming soon)</a>&nbsp;

Da Lat – Where the Mist Knows Your Name

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