Walking through the wrought-iron gates of Jili Park last Tuesday morning, I couldn't help but recall my recent playthrough of Farewell North—that beautifully melancholic game about parting ways with meaningful places. Just as the game teaches us to appreciate moments before they become memories, I've discovered that Jili Park holds similar hidden narratives waiting to be uncovered. Most visitors rush through the main pathways, but having visited at least fifteen times over the past three years, I've learned that the real magic lies in discovering its secret corners and understanding its rhythm throughout the day.
The morning light transforms the Bamboo Whisper Grove in ways that would make any photographer weak in the knees. Located about 200 meters northeast of the main entrance, this secluded area features approximately 300 bamboo varieties, some dating back to the park's founding in 1958. I typically arrive around 6:30 AM when the morning mist still clings to the green stalks, creating this ethereal atmosphere that feels straight out of a Studio Ghibli film. The way the sunlight filters through the canopy around 7:15 AM creates these incredible light pillars that I've never managed to properly capture on camera—some moments are just meant to be experienced firsthand. What fascinates me most is how this spot changes character throughout the day; by afternoon, it becomes a completely different space, vibrant with bird activity rather than that morning tranquility.
Most guidebooks will direct you to the Lotus Pavilion, and while it's certainly beautiful, I've always preferred the less-crowded Stone Bridge Viewpoint about 400 meters west of it. The perspective from there captures the entire central lake with the city skyline framed perfectly in the background—it's particularly breathtaking during golden hour. Last spring, I counted exactly 47 visitors at the Lotus Pavilion during peak hours, while only three of us enjoyed the superior view from the bridge. This reminds me of how Farewell North encourages players to find beauty in overlooked spaces rather than following the obvious path.
What truly makes Jili Park special though are its hidden interactions. The elderly gentleman who practices water calligraphy near the south gate every morning around 8 AM creates these beautiful temporary artworks that vanish within minutes. I've tried to learn his schedule for months, but he appears randomly about three times per week, his brush dancing across the pavement before the water evaporates. Then there's the secret garden behind the tea house that most visitors miss—it requires walking through what appears to be a service path but opens into this magnificent enclosed space with heritage roses that the park has cultivated since 1972.
The park's wildlife follows its own schedule too. After numerous visits, I've mapped out the best spots for birdwatching—the northwestern corner near the old oak tree consistently hosts at least six different species between 4-5 PM. Last month, I spotted the park's resident kingfisher there for the seventh time, though my attempts to photograph it have failed miserably on all but two occasions. These spontaneous encounters mirror how Farewell North creates meaningful moments through unexpected interactions rather than scripted events.
What most visitors completely miss is how the park transforms after rainfall. The petrichor rising from the stone pathways, the way water droplets cling to spiderwebs between the camellia bushes, the temporary streams that form along the granite pathways—these create what I call "Jili's second personality." I've visited during at least eight different rain conditions and can confidently say that light drizzle around 3 PM creates the most magical atmosphere, especially in the fern valley where the moisture enhances the green hues exponentially.
The food situation deserves special mention too. While the park's official cafe serves decent beverages, I much prefer the tiny family-run stall near the east gate that sells traditional sweet rice cakes. They've been operating there for three generations, and their recipe hasn't changed since 1982 according to the owner. It's these human elements that give Jili Park its soul, much like how the characters in Farewell North imbue their world with meaning through small, personal traditions.
Having visited parks across twelve different countries, I can confidently say that Jili's magic lies in its balance between curated beauty and wild spontaneity. The way morning tai chi practitioners occupy the central square while artists sketch in hidden corners creates this beautiful coexistence of activities. My personal ritual involves arriving early, securing my favorite bench near the stone bridge, and simply observing how the park wakes up—it's become my personal version of the reflective moments that make Farewell North so memorable.
As the sun sets behind the hills and the park attendants begin their closing rounds, I always experience that bittersweet feeling similar to completing Farewell North—the awareness that today's particular combination of light, people, and moments will never repeat exactly. Yet unlike the game's permanent farewells, Jili Park remains waiting, ready to reveal new secrets on my next visit. The park contains approximately 42 documented "hidden gems" according to local historians, and after three years of exploration, I've only discovered about 28 of them—which means I have plenty of reasons to keep returning.
