In Dali, the Dali Yueyun Yage Resort Hotel is a must-experience, offering stunning views

## Cloud Dwelling: A Stay at Dali Yueyun Yage Resort Hotel The moment our car entered Dali Ancient Town, I saw it—Yueyun Yage Resort Hotel, floating like a wisp of smoke at the foot of Cangshan Mountain. This cluster of buildings named after "clouds" gleamed with a pale cyan light under the highland sun, as if truly formed from clouds that had drifted down from Cangshan and solidified. The receptionist, dressed in traditional Bai ethnic attire, wore a headdress with tassels that swayed gently with her graceful movements. Instead of a cold key card, she handed me a brass key with an indigo-dyed fabric strip attached. "Your room is in the Cloud Building," she smiled, "you can see the entire view of Erhai Lake from the terrace." The key felt cool in my hand yet surprisingly comfortable against my palm, as if designed specifically to comfort a traveler's weary hand. The corridor floors were made of local blue stone slabs, and walking barefoot on them reminded me of the courtyard in my grandmother's house from childhood. Pushing open the carved wooden door, the room's lighting was perfectly dim—the curtains were double-layered, with thick Bai tie-dye fabric on the outside and sheer gauze inside. As I pulled back the gauze curtain, Erhai Lake burst into view. The water's surface shimmered with a peculiar silvery blue in the afternoon sun, like molten metal yet light enough to evaporate at any moment. In the distance, a boat glided by, leaving a gradually dissipating trail, like a wrinkle on a blue silk cloth left by the passage of time. In the evening, I discovered the hotel's most ingenious design. The infinity pool visually merged with Erhai Lake, both waters sharing the same color. Swimming to the edge created the illusion of plunging into the lake itself. Immersed in the 28-degree constant-temperature water, watching Cangshan's snowy peaks turn pink in the sunset, I suddenly understood why the Bai people revere this mountain as sacred—those colors truly seem otherworldly. As the water rippled around me, even my bones seemed to become lighter. The night brought a surprise in the bedding. The seemingly ordinary white sheets revealed their uniqueness once I lay down—they were made of local organic cotton from Yunnan, specially processed to combine the coolness of linen with the softness of cotton. Three pillow heights were available; I chose the middle one, and my head sank into perfect support the moment it touched the pillow. Outside the window, moonlight scattered across Erhai Lake like countless silver scales, and in this unfamiliar bed, I fell asleep faster and deeper than I would at home. Bird songs woke me the next morning, revealing the courtyard designer's clever intentions. About a dozen old plum trees, seemingly randomly placed, were actually precisely positioned to ensure that the view from any guest room window formed a perfect framed scene. Outside my window, an old plum branch stretched diagonally, with two mountain tits perched on its twisted limbs, like a Chinese ink painting come to life. Breakfast was served at the Cloud Top Restaurant, where surprisingly, freshly made rushan cheese and ersi rice noodles were displayed at the center of the buffet. The chef, a Bai ethnic woman, taught me to spread rose jam on the toasted rushan: "This is how we Dali people have eaten it since childhood." The crispy rushan coated with sweet fragrant rose jam, paired with a sip of Yunnan small-bean coffee, created an unexpectedly harmonious combination. On the terrace, guests spontaneously shared tables and exchanged travel stories, with hotel staff occasionally joining the conversations as naturally as old friends. Most memorable was that stormy afternoon. Taking shelter in the library, I discovered it housed only books about Dali—from "Wild History of Nanzhao" to modern travel essays. The sound of rain drumming against the glass dome mingled with the turning of pages as a server silently delivered ginger tea and a blanket. In that moment, I realized that perhaps the true essence of a vacation is being gently allowed to return to your most authentic self in an unfamiliar place. On the day of checkout, the receptionist, remembering my compliments about the comfortable pillows, presented a pair of identical ones as a gift. "Take Dali's clouds home with you," she said as the silver tassels of her headdress clinked softly like wind chimes. Accepting the pillows wrapped in blue printed fabric, I suddenly understood why this hotel stands out among many luxury resorts—it knows how to transform local culture into tangible warmth, making every detail an anchor for memory. On the flight home, I watched from the window as Cangshan Mountain and Erhai Lake grew smaller, while the cloud-like pillows beneath my neck emitted a faint scent of sunshine. True luxury, it seems, has never been about gilded splendor, but rather the wisdom to help travelers find peace of heart in a foreign land.