I often recall the words of Mr. Jiang Xun: “In this lifetime, one must take the time to truly see a mountain.”
In my childhood, surrounded by the southern hills, I grew accustomed to the tranquil, unhurried rhythm of life—mountains standing as quiet sentinels around my home, their peaks veiled in clouds, birds singing, and flowers blooming. The subtle shifts in the fragrance of blossoms as the seasons changed have become, for me, the most sensitive of memories, marking time with a gentle, almost imperceptible grace.
Later, when I settled in Beijing, I found myself often yearning for the fleeting peace of mountain life. The ancient villages and forests in the western outskirts had their own unique traditions and rhythms, but for someone shaped by the softer, more poetic beauty of the southern landscape, finding both comfort and a sense of beauty in Beijing’s rugged, formidable mountains was no simple task. Xitan had long been a name I’d heard. As the only Relais & Châteaux property in northern China, it first captured my attention with the inviting warmth of its hearth upon opening. After last year’s floods and its meticulous restoration, its name lingered in my mind, and I felt an undeniable sense of connection—as though some invisible thread had always been drawing me toward it.
Architecture: From Ruins, It Blooms
When I finally arrived, the gates opened to reveal a scene of rolling ridges, tall pines, and clouds flowing down the slopes. It felt like stepping into a private home, only to find that the reception hall framed a living landscape painting. I came with curiosity, hoping to see how mountain living and luxury could intertwine. In that first moment, the view alone was enough to meet my expectations. Here, the mountains are not just a backdrop—they set the tone, like the opening notes of a symphony, shaping everything that follows.
Perched on the sunlit slopes of Yuancun, an ancient village beside the thousand-year-old Tanzhe Temple, Xitan stretches gracefully from east to west, embracing the natural curves of the highland. Locals like to say, “First came Tanzhe Temple, then came Beijing,” and Xitan carries this heritage forward, offering a vision of refined mountain living rooted in the city’s earliest origins.
Under the soft warmth of the winter sun, the mountains exuded a quiet tranquility, disturbed only by the occasional gentle greetings of passing staff. Strolling through the grounds felt like wandering through a gallery, each step revealing new compositions of light and shadow. It was a space that invited you to retreat from the noise of the world. The remnants of the old village, lovingly preserved, blend seamlessly with the hotel’s modern architecture. Without someone pointing them out, it was hard to tell where the past ended and the present began.
The walk from the lobby to my room followed a gently undulating path, as though the stones underfoot carried the weight of stories long past. Here, where nature and design entwined, you could pause—not just to look at the mountains, but to truly see them, to feel them in your heart.
Beneath the Zen Chamber lies a quiet arrangement: a tearoom to the right, a café to the left. Beyond the tearoom, an open triangular courtyard reveals a panoramic view of the mountains and valleys surrounding Xitan. Though winter had stripped the land of spring’s greens and summer’s clouds, the names of these spaces—Half-Green Mountain Tearoom and Half-White Cloud Café—seemed to hold the essence of this place. Their poetic simplicity reflected the spirit of the mountains themselves: at once stark and welcoming.
Walking past the ruins of Tianxian Temple and through an arched gateway, I encountered an unexpected, striking contrast—a bold structure of postmodern design. This was Infinity, envisioned by architect Li Daode. Climbing its spiral staircase, I arrived at the hotel’s swimming pool, seemingly suspended between tradition and futurism. Just beyond, the building’s semicircular rear rose gently from the earth, as though drawing strength from something deep and ancient below. It felt ready to break free, its energy pressing against the confines of traditional gray tiles.
This bold yet respectful design captured the essence of Xitan: deeply rooted in history, yet looking with purpose toward the present and future.
Mountains: Beijing’s Retreat, Tranquil and Neat
The mountains surrounding Xitan are known as Jiulongshan, the Nine Dragon Mountains, their ridges sweeping gracefully from west to east in a natural U-shape. Below, an expansive valley unfolds like a vast amphitheater, where the seasons perform their quiet transformations. Unlike the gentle allure of Jiangnan’s southern hills, the northern mountains in winter possess an austere tranquility, their stark beauty imbued with a solemn stillness. Perhaps it is this quiet majesty that informs the architecture of Xitan, with expansive windows—some spanning the width of entire rooms. These windows, framing the mountains like living paintings, transform every shift of light and shadow into art.
Seated indoors, I could watch the ever-changing interplay of light and shadow across the mountain forest. With the range facing east to west, sunlight graced the verdant hills from dawn to dusk, painting a scene of quiet brilliance throughout the day.
Design: Cosmopolitism in Heart of The Mountains
Yet, beyond the grandeur of its scenery, what impressed me most about Xitan was the quiet cosmopolitanism woven into its ancient façade.
From landscaping to interiors, from furnishings to cuisine, Xitan reveals an ambition to blend the local with the global, tradition with modernity. The delicate touch of Japanese master gardener Nomura Kanji complements the stone sculptures of Masatoshi Izumi. The smoky richness of Basque cuisine coexists seamlessly with the refined flavors of the Rongfu Feast. Belgian artist Lina Kusaite’s sweeping murals echo the intricate embroidery of Liao Chunmei, a Taiwanese Taixiu heritage artist. Throughout the hotel, pieces from Italy’s finest private furniture collections add quiet elegance.
It is often said that true refinement reflects a life well-traveled, rich in experience. The same could be said of Xitan.
Nestled within these secluded mountains, it feels like an elder, worldly and wise, who, after journeying far, has chosen to rest at a quiet peak. Encountering such a place is like meeting such a person—a serendipitous meeting that lingers, leaving you wishing for more time. This elder carries both pride and peace, full of stories that unfold only in the stillness of poetic surroundings. To truly understand him requires a kindred spirit, for his tales are not just narratives, but the result of a profound dialogue—a union of East and West, ancient and modern, flourishing here in the secret wilderness of Beijing’s western hills.
By night, the full moon rises above the treetops, casting a glow over the slumbering forest. In the mountains, the moonlight feels sharper, more luminous, as if the world has been distilled to its essence. On the terrace square, the Wunian Bar lights its fireplace, filling the night air with the warmth of amber glow. With a drink in hand, life in the mountains feels effortless and serene.
As a child, I would gaze earnestly at the mountains of my southern home. Now, in Beijing, I have encountered a new landscape, one that deserves the same attention—a place to linger, to observe, to dwell with care. Xitan, with its timeless rhythm and vision of wholeness, feels fitting. It is not just a mountain retreat; it is a place where time finds its pace, and life finds its fullest bloom.
