A Love Letter to Romantic Dalian

A Love Letter to Romantic Dalian

The moment I stepped into Harbor Letter,
I didn’t think about recording anything.
But the way the light fell on the floor-to-ceiling windows
made me stop in my tracks.
This isn’t “beauty” in the traditional sense,
it’s a bit heavy, a bit old,
like a thick book, each page quietly moving you.

The lines are restrained in a Bauhaus style,
not flashy, yet creating order.
Wood tones, stone, empty space, shadows,
it’s like life is speaking, just at a very low volume.

The window takes up the entire wall.
Opposite is the harbor, ships coming and going,
the industrial toughness here becomes very soft,
especially at night, when the sea breeze brushes the edges of the curtains,
the whole room seems to be gently breathing.

If you want, you can write a letter,
and stick it on that wall,
it will remember it for you.

I like the light here.
It’s neither hurried nor cold,
just quietly falling in the corner, like the breath of the space.
Every piece of furniture here isn’t just decoration,
they are companions with a sense of time.
You can sit among them,
or let yourself become part of the scene.

Harbor Letter isn’t a check-in spot,
it’s more like a house you happen to come across on your journey,
gentle, silent, caring, but not clingy.
It won’t disturb any of your plans,
but you will remember it,
on some tired night,
when you once slept well in the harbor breeze.

I leave this night here,
turn down the volume of life a little,
and then find that I seem to understand myself again.