It still takes the more adventurous type of expat to go settle down in Chengdu. Despite reports of more bars than Shanghai with less than half the population, Chengdu is no hub of the WTO like Beijing or Shanghai, and hence perceived as somehow less civilized.

To combat the misperception, Chengdu now strives with Chongqing for the "Western China Financial Center" title, which is a shame. Let all those coastal people persist in the illusion that trade numbers determine a city's greatness. For nigh on two-and-a-half millennia, Chengdu folk have been living the principle that work for its own sake is madness, that happiness is designed for the present, and can't be postponed for the future.

So while Chengdu does its best to disguise itself as a globally-minded hive of good little worker bees, surrounding cities offer delightful evidence to the contrary. These three ancient towns are all within day-trip distance of Chengdu, each proof that whether at work or play, the Sichuanese know how to live for today.

Ping Le

The Bai Mo River is the soul of this ancient town - soft, clear and long-retired as a relentless conveyer of trade barges. Instead, the stretch of the Bai Mo that runs through Ping Le is remarkable for all the bamboo chairs dotting its banks, where all and sundry sit for the serene view. Drinking  tea  as they chat or  meditate, the leisurely move their chairs right to the river's edge in the summer, to cool their feet. Those so inclined perch by the shallows to have a go at catching river crabs.

Ping Le is famous for bamboo products. Many of  the boats plying the Bai Mo are bamboo. Back when Ping Le was an important stop on the Southern Silk Road, water craft unnumbered would pass underneath the Le Shan Bridge, built during the Qing Dynasty,  and marvel at its seven peach-shaped arches.

Near Le Shan bridge grows a banyan tree more than 1500 years old. More bamboo chairs sprawled underneath seat idlers after what is commonly acknowledged to be the best view of Ping Le. The stone road running parallel to the Bai Mo eventually takes them back downtown, many to authentic craftsmen shops selling hand-made scissors and knives, clothes, and paper.

Ping Le's claim to fame is as the home town of Zhuo Wenjun and Sima Xianglu, whose relationship is billed as a classic love story, but can more aptly be termed a cautionary tale for those who think career trumps commitment. Miss Zhuo was fair of face and rich of family, while Sima had only his scholarly essays to charm her parents with. The two eloped to Chengdu, where they opened a bar [2,200 years ago: how times change]. Sima eventually went to Chang'an for the imperial exams, and landed a good post.

Zhuo Wenjun didn't hear from hubby for five long years, after which a letter finally arrived. No invitation to pack her bags or notice of return, the missive asked if she would be terribly put out if Sima took on a concubine. In response, she penned four poems of such sweet devotion that they shamed Sima into dropping the er nai and coming back to Chengdu for his wife in a four-horse chariot. How long thereafter until Sima began regularly attending late night imperial meetings is left to historians' speculation.

Huang Long Xi

The Fu and Lu Rivers cross here, but Huang Long Xi's stone road defines it. This is where the shops that draw the tourists stand. Besides the usual ancient town knickknacks, local women turn out bamboo birdcages and straw shoes, tuning out passing strangers as you and I tune out street peddlers ["Hallo?"].

Yet industry is relegated to a middlin' slice of Huang Long Xi life.  Further along the town's stone road stand a pair of banyan trees to rival Ping Le's in stateliness, but still lush and flowering. Villagers hang red ribbons about them, in earnest of the prayers they send heavenward.  Zhen Jiang, Qiao Yin, and Zhen Jiang temples also watch the main drag, although Sichuanese worship takes a decidedly playful turn. In Gulong's main garden is a stage long-used for chuanxi opera, now the tea-drinking mecca of Huang Long Xi. 

Anyone who's had a belly full of leaf juice on an empty stomach knows the ravenous hunger that results. The Sichuan appetite whets at strong flavor, the spicier the better. Thus do a host of shops in Huang Long Xi hang leaves of corn in their doorways. Inside are jars of dou chi, traditional Sichuan condiments: black bean paste, red pepper sauce in a thousand styles. Any of them with rice is all the culinary variety you need for a year. Such snacking should make you thirsty enough to venture the dou jiang, soy juice, hand-milled for your beany refreshment.

Luo Dai

Eight out of ten people in Luo Dai are Hakka, which means not just any other ancient town. No defensive tulou structures here, testament to the tolerance of the Sichuanese, but plenty of that Dali/Lijiang restored ancient street action. Luo Dai has specialty shopping and local Hakka dim sum for the pedestrian, and amazing architecture for nerds with more than snacks and tchochkes on the brain. There are more stylized dragons per block than in a teenage Bruce Lee fan's bedroom, especially at Golden Dragon Temple.  The old guildhalls and folk houses are a treat in themselves. But the greatest pleasure of Luo Dai consists in soaking up the laid-back atmosphere, generated effortlessly by residents who know in their bones that nature never hurries, yet accomplishes all things.