Xi’an

In 1974, a group of farmers digging a well outside Xi’an stumbled upon one of the most electrifying archaeological discoveries of the 20th century: an entire army of life-sized terracotta warriors, buried for over two millennia to guard the tomb of Qin Shi Huang, the first Emperor of China. The scale is staggering—Pit 1 alone contains over 6,000 soldiers, horses, and chariots arranged in precise battle formation. Yet the true wonder lies in the details: no two faces are alike, with each figure boasting unique hairstyles, expressions, and armor patterns that reveal the astonishing skill of the ancient artisans. Standing on the viewing platform, looking out upon this silent, subterranean legion, one feels a profound connection to the immense ego and paranoia of a man who believed he could conquer death itself.

Rising seven stories above the southern edge of Tang-era Chang’an, the Giant Wild Goose Pagoda (Dàyàn Tǎ) is Xi’an’s enduring spiritual landmark. Built in 652 CE by the monk Xuanzang to house the 657 Sanskrit sutras and 150 relics he carried from India along the Silk Road, the brick pagoda has survived earthquakes, wars, and the Cultural Revolution, its leaning silhouette (now stabilized) a testament to Tang engineering. The surrounding Da Ci’en Temple complex unfolds in symmetrical courtyards, while the adjacent North Square hosts Asia’s largest musical fountain — a nightly spectacle of water, light, and music that draws locals and travelers alike. Climbing the narrow wooden stairs to the seventh floor rewards with a panorama over Xi’an’s grid of ancient walls and modern towers.

At the foot of Mount Li, steam has risen from mineral-rich waters for over three millennia, soothing emperors, concubines, and generals alike. Huaqing Palace weaves this geothermal gift into a tapestry of Tang-dynasty romance and modern history. The site’s centerpiece is the Nine-Dragon Pool, where Emperor Xuanzong and his beloved Yang Guifei once bathed beneath lotus-shaped fountains — a liaison that precipitated the An Lushan Rebellion and changed the course of Chinese history. Restored pavilions with flying eaves trace the hot spring’s edge, while the nearby Five-Room Hall bears bullet holes from the 1936 Xi’an Incident, when Chiang Kai-shek was seized by his own generals, forcing a united front against Japan. Today, visitors can soak in the same therapeutic waters at the modern spa complex, or simply stroll the gardens where plum blossoms bloom in winter and lotus flowers perfume summer nights — a place where geology, poetry, and political destiny converge.

Rising abruptly from the Guanzhong Plain, Mount Fanzhen (Fánzhēn Shān) is a sanctuary of Taoist mysticism draped in verdant forests and sheer cliffs. The mountain’s crown jewel is the Cloud Platform (Yún Tái), a Ming-dynasty stone terrace perched on a knife-edge ridge where incense curls around ancient stelae and the chime of wind-bells mingles with the breath of clouds. Pilgrims and hikers alike ascend the 3,600 stone steps — or ride the glass-sided cable car — to reach halls dedicated to the Three Pure Ones, their vermilion pillars glowing against the grey limestone. At dawn, the sea of clouds often swallows the lower peaks, leaving only the summit temples floating in an ink-wash painting. The air here tastes of pine resin and damp stone, and the silence is broken only by the rustle of macaques in the understory.

Encircling the historic heart of Xi’an like a stone dragon, the Ming-era City Wall is the world’s most complete and best-preserved ancient urban fortification. Its 13.7-kilometre circuit of ramparts, gate towers, and watchtowers rises 12 metres high, wide enough atop for four horses to gallop abreast — a military engineering marvel that has withstood sieges, earthquakes, and the passage of six centuries. Cycling the full perimeter at dusk, when lanterns ignite along the crenellations and the Bell Tower’s chimes echo across the moat, offers a cinematic journey through the Tang dynasty’s former capital. Below, the modern city hums; above, the wall’s broad promenade becomes a linear park where locals practise tai chi, fly kites, and gaze down at the grid of streets that once guided Silk Road caravans to the imperial gates.

Housed in a striking Tang-dynasty-style complex, the Shaanxi History Museum is the gateway to understanding China’s imperial cradle. Its 370,000 artifacts—ranging from neolithic pottery to exquisite Tang gold and silver—trace the rise and fall of 13 dynasties that made Xi’an their capital. The highlights are undeniable: the beast-head agate cup, the gilt silver bamboo incense burner, and the mural paintings from Prince Zhanghuai’s tomb. But the real treasure is the narrative thread that connects them, revealing how the Silk Road turned this region into a crucible of cultures. Allocate at least three hours; the audio guide is indispensable.

Tucked inside the tranquil grounds of Jianfu Temple, the Small Wild Goose Pagoda (Xiǎoyàn Tǎ) stands as a graceful survivor of Tang-dynasty Chang’an, its 13-tiered brick eaves tapering elegantly toward the heavens. Though less famous than its ‘Big’ counterpart, this 43-metre pagoda possesses a quieter poetry: its silhouette, slightly canted by centuries of earthquakes, bears the scars of history like badges of honour. The interior staircase winds upward through narrow apertures, opening onto balconies that frame the temple’s ancient ginkgo trees and the distant roar of the modern city. Adjacent, the Xi’an Museum houses a superlative collection of Tang ceramics, Buddhist statuary, and a stunning scale model of the Tang capital, making the complex a compact, high-yield immersion into the dynasty that defined China’s golden age.

Rising majestically at the geometric heart of Xi’an’s walled city, the Bell Tower is the Ming dynasty’s gift to urban symmetry. Its triple-eaved roof, crowned with dark green glazed tiles and gilded finials, glints against the Shaanxi sky, while the massive iron bell within — cast in 1384 — once marked the hours for an empire’s western gateway. Inside, a spiral staircase leads to a wraparound balcony offering a panoramic grid of the old town: the Drum Tower to the west, the Muslim Quarter’s maze to the north, and the broad avenues radiating to the four gates. At dusk, lanterns ignite the eaves, and the tower becomes a luminous anchor in a city that has mastered the art of layering millennia beneath modernity.

A stone’s throw west of its tonal counterpart, the Drum Tower mirrors the Bell Tower’s silhouette but trades the bell for a thunderous array of 24 drums — each carved with a solar term — that once signaled dusk and curfew. Built in 1380, four years before the Bell Tower, it stands on a taller brick base, giving its second-floor balcony a slightly loftier vantage over the Muslim Quarter’s lantern-lit alleys. The interior houses a modest collection of Tang and Qing percussion instruments, but the real draw is the half-hour drum performance staged daily: a troupe in Hanfu robes unleashes rolling rhythms that vibrate through the wooden floorboards, a visceral reminder of how the city’s heartbeat was once measured in skin and timber.