Most people imagine the Summer Palace, or Yihe Yuan, as it is properly known, under a blazing sun. They picture crowds shuffling across the Marble Boat, the surface of Kunming Lake shimmering with heat, and the Long Corridor packed with visitors seeking shade. This is the palace in its namesake season, vibrant, loud, and exactly as expected. But I decided to see it in its off-season guise. I went in the deep heart of winter, when the air is sharp enough to cut glass and the sun hangs low and pale in the sky. What I found was not a diminished version of its summer self, but an entirely different kingdom, one of profound quiet, stark beauty, and a unique, almost spiritual, connection to history.
The first shock upon entering the grounds is the silence. The usual cacophony of tour guides, chattering families, and hawkers is gone, replaced by a deep, resonant quiet. The only sounds are the crunch of your own boots on a dusting of snow and the occasional cry of a crow echoing from the bare branches of the trees on Longevity Hill. This silence is not empty; it is heavy with presence. It allows the place itself to speak.
The centerpiece of the Summer Palace, Kunming Lake, is utterly transformed. Instead of plied by colorful dragon boats, its surface is a vast, milky-white plain of solid ice. From the edge, you can see the bubbles trapped beneath the surface, frozen in time. The famous Seventeen-Arch Bridge no longer leaps gracefully over water, but rather stretches across this strange, new Arctic landscape. Walking on the lake itself is a surreal and permitted experience. Local vendors set up small ice-slides and rent ice chairs for children, their laughter carrying crisply across the expanse. Standing in the middle of the lake and looking back towards the hill, the perspective is inverted. The frozen lake becomes a stage, and the palaces and temples above appear even more majestic, their yellow-glazed tile roofs and intricate paintings standing in stark contrast against the gray-white winter sky. The Marble Boat, that famous symbol of misplaced funds, looks particularly poignant, forever stranded not on water, but on land-bound ice—a metaphor that feels even more potent in the cold.
The Long Corridor, a UNESCO World Heritage site famed for its thousands of intricate paintings, is a completely different experience. In summer, it’s a slow-moving river of humanity where stopping to admire a single scene is a luxury. In winter, it is yours alone. You can amble slowly, tracing the stories of myths, legends, and historical battles depicted on the beams above. The colors seem richer against the dull backdrop of the day. You can lean against the railing and watch the sunlight, weak but clear, illuminate the details without being jostled. It ceases to be a passageway and becomes a destination in itself—an open-air art gallery where the only other patrons are the spirits of the past.
Winter strips the Summer Palace of its vibrant summer palette. The lush greens are gone, replaced by the grays and browns of bare trees and the stark white of snow. This reduction to a monochromatic scheme is not a loss but a refinement. It forces you to appreciate the architecture, the lines, and the textures.
Without the distraction of foliage, the complex’s architectural genius becomes the star. The sweeping curves of the roofs against the sky are more pronounced. The intricate carvings on every eave and balustrade stand out in sharp relief. The bright colors of the painted beams—the blues, greens, and golds—pop with an unexpected intensity against the subdued winter landscape. You notice things you would otherwise miss: the way the shadows of the lattice windows fall on the frozen ground, the patterns in the stone pathways, the majestic symmetry of the Tower of Buddhist Incense as it rises, tier upon tier, into the crisp air. Winter is a master of light, and it paints the palace with a subtlety that the harsh summer sun cannot achieve.
It’s impossible to visit the Summer Palace without feeling the formidable presence of Empress Dowager Cixi, who effectively ruled China from within these walls. In winter, that presence feels closer than ever. The empty courtyards and silent halls are where she once walked. Imagining her here in the cold months is easier. You can almost see her being carried in a palanquin along the frozen paths, or warming herself by a brazier in the Hall of Joyful Longevity. The winter quiet seems to hold the echoes of her political intrigues and personal dramas. The season lends a somber, contemplative mood that feels more authentic to the complex history of the place than the cheerful bustle of a summer day.
A winter visit is also a lesson in modern Chinese leisure culture. While foreign tourists may be scarce, local Beijingers embrace the palace in winter. It becomes a popular spot for exercise and family outings.
The Chinese concept of "re wen," or hot topics/trends, is clearly visible. In recent years, visiting historical sites in winter has become a popular "re wen" among young Chinese, driven by social media platforms like Douyin and Xiaohongshu. They come to capture the unique beauty of the snow-covered pavilions, sharing photos of the frozen lake with the hashtag #WinterSummerPalace. This has created a new, quieter tourism hotspot within the well-known one. You’ll see couples carefully posing for photos in matching winter hats, their breath misting in the air, and groups of friends sharing thermoses of hot tea while admiring the view. The rental of traditional Hanfu clothing for photoshoots is just as popular in winter, the rich fabrics and flowing sleeves creating a beautiful contrast against the snowy scenery.
No winter visit is complete without seeking warmth, and the food options adapt accordingly. While the summer might be for ice cream, winter is for steaming bowls. Just outside the palace gates, the air is thick with the inviting aroma of hot street food. You can grab a bag of roasted sweet chestnuts ("hong shu") or a stick of candied hawthorn berries ("bing tang hu lu"), the sweet and sour taste a classic winter treat. Better yet, a short taxi ride away will take you to a traditional Beijing hot pot restaurant. Sitting around a bubbling copper pot, dipping thin slices of lamb and fresh vegetables into a flavorful broth, is the perfect way to conclude a day in the cold. It’s a ritual that connects the ancient experience of the palace with the vibrant, living culture of the city today.
Visiting the Summer Palace in winter is not about checking a box on a tourist itinerary. It is a deliberate choice to see a famous place through a different lens. It is a slower, more personal, and more reflective experience. The cold is a small price to pay for the reward of having this vast imperial garden almost to yourself, to hear its whispers on the wind, and to see its beauty refined by the stark hand of winter. You trade the postcard-perfect summer scene for something more raw, more authentic, and ultimately, more memorable. It’s a reminder that some of the world's greatest treasures reveal their deepest secrets not when they are most convenient to visit, but when they are least expected.
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Author: Beijing Travel
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