Taipans & Teahouses
Shangri-La Hotel, Guangzhou
With the Spring Festival approaching, every day another flower market emerged on the streets and the city became increasingly colourful, as if an artist were completing his masterpiece using every hue on his palette. Red peonies, peach blossoms and golden kumquats blossomed around every corner and the atmosphere verged on electric. Yet in the company of the flowers, I felt strangely at peace, as if the flora was already imparting its positive energy on to everyone that stopped to admire it. I took my time to meander back to the hotel, strolling through the streets of Guangzhou contemplating its dichotomies. One minute I was being dwarfed by a towering skyscraper, home to one monstrous corporation or another, and the next, I was adrift down a quaint alleyway admiring an old Chinese temple or teahouse. It was not too long, however, before I found myself back at the tranquil gardens of the hotel, my home, my sanctuary for the week.
Upon arriving at this flourishing oasis, I was greeted with a notable hush and a remarkable freshness in the air. The hotel, with its lush gardens, was like a miniature rainforest nestled in the middle of the bustling city, where the sounds of chirping birds and rustling trees were surreal; for if one had not voyaged through the city to arrive at this peaceful haven, it would not be unexpected to be completely oblivious to the city’s existence at all. An intriguing bronze sculpture perched on top of a quaint marble fountain greeted me the moment I stepped into the lobby. Drawn to it, I admired it closely for some time, looking down into the water cascading ever so gently from one tier to the next. Its soothing sound must have taken me somewhere rather far away, as when I returned, darkness had already fallen on the city outside, whilst inside, the lobby was aglow with a brilliant golden light.
At Summer Palace, the dim sum was of such authenticity that when I closed my eyes I was transported back in time to a quaint teahouse on the side of the famous Silk Road. Before me, a sumptuous array of delicately wrapped dumplings was on display, and as I savoured the dumplings one by one, sipping oolong tea between bites, I did not desire to return to the real world for quite some time. The city was nothing but a distant memory the moment I sat down at the poolside bar, hidden amidst the hotel’s lush gardens. The week had been manic, but slowly, surely, I began to unwind, my mind emptying into a blissfully vacuous state. To perfect the moment, a kind-hearted waiter took it upon himself to bring me my favourite drink, a green apple martini, saving me the bother of having to engage myself in any thought processes at all.
The soft pounding of Himalayan drums and a quaint lotus pond welcomed me warmly at the spa doors. The musky aroma of sandalwood incense drifted in and out of the room, bringing about a gradual and genuine calm that one can only achieve during meditation. Nonetheless, there in the spa I felt utterly at ease, and try as I might to hold on to my worries, I could not fight the spa. Its peacefulness permeated every inch of my body and everything that had troubled me that week dissipated into thin air. When the heavy teak door closed behind me, the detachment from the outside world was palpable. There, in the secluded sanctum of the spa suite, my therapist touched on all of my pressure points with the utmost of accuracy, and slowly, gently, months of built up tension began to dissolve away, until I was left almost unrecognisable to my own self; relaxed, happy and carefree.
