They call Kunming the City of Eternal Spring, and it lives up to the name. Morning air is crisp; the light, almost golden. Under willow trees, locals practise tai chi while gulls skim across Green Lake. Somewhere, the scent of coffee mingles with osmanthus blooms—an apt prelude to Yunnan, the province often described as China’s national garden. Stretching from tropical valleys to snow-lined peaks, it’s a land of 25 ethnic minorities, countless microclimates, and infinite colour.
The provincial capital sits nearly 1,900 metres above sea level, about four hours by air from Singapore. Mild year-round, unhurried and creative, Kunming makes an elegant alternative to Bangkok, Bali, or Hong Kong for a long weekend.
I’m staying at Shangri-La and Jen Kunming, a new dual-branded complex where two hotels share generous wellness spaces and skyhigh views. At its heart is Suma, a destination bar that captures Yunnan’s spirit in liquid form. I make a mental note to return after dark. Breakfast is a primer on the province’s pantry: clay pots of herbal chicken soup with goji berries and mushrooms; flaky pastries filled with rose petals and Yunnan ham; and savoury tofu slicked with chilli oil and scallions.
To walk it off, I head for Green Lake Park. Retirees play mahjong beneath the willows, their grandchildren feeding the gulls. I follow the citrusy aroma of Yunnan-roasted beans to a coffee stall and sip as the city wakes. The nearby Jingxing Bird and Flower Market is a riot of orchids, birdcages, and embroidered crafts—a symphony of texture and sound. Cages of canaries and lovebirds hang above buckets of peonies, roses, and marigolds.
A short ride away, at Zhuanxin Farmers’ Market, I find the same produce that inspired Suma’s cocktail menu. Bar manager Frankie Zou once mapped Yunnan’s terroir here, tracking everything from mountain herbs to wild mushrooms. The abundance borders on surreal.
Lunch is Yunnan’s most famous comfort food: Crossing-the-Bridge Noodles. A steaming bowl of broth arrives first, followed by plates of raw meat, tofu sheets, and greens—ingredients meant to be swirled in and cooked on the spot. It’s simple, theatrical, and deeply satisfying. I like it so much I order it again before my flight home, this time at OpenHouse Café Bar in the hotel—faithful to tradition but beautifully plated.
A steaming bowl of broth arrives first, followed by plates of raw meat, tofu sheets, and greens—ingredients meant to be swirled in and cooked on the spot. It’s simple, theatrical, and deeply satisfying. I like it so much I order it again before my flight home, this time at OpenHouse Café Bar in the hotel—faithful to tradition but beautifully plated.
The city’s old quarters are evolving, their carved-timber façades now concealing design studios, cafés, and perfumeries. On Wenming Street, a leather artisan displays handmade bags beside a local brand distilling the scent of Yunnan’s roses into bottled nostalgia. Even the Starbucks Reserve feels contextual—housed in a stone building with latticed windows, serving espresso made with local beans.
Further south, Park 1903 has become Kunming’s creative epicentre. Behind its French-style façades lie concept shops, galleries, and ateliers. At CGK Contemporary Gallery, the city’s artists gather to debate, drink, and dream. Elsewhere, young jewellers reinterpret the Yi minority’s flame and tiger motifs in sculptural silver— heritage reframed through a modern lens.
As dusk falls, lanterns flicker over street stalls and the Old Town hums to life. The air smells of charcoal, chilli, and rain. I graze from stall to stall—marinated mushrooms, skewered beef, fried crickets (nutty, surprisingly pleasant), even dragonflies that taste faintly of shrimp. A vendor laughs: “Because they land on pond water.” In quieter alleys, bakeries tempt with rose-petal pastries still warm from the oven.
I end where I began—at Suma Bar. Named after the Yi word for azalea and woman, the space is a collaboration between Shangri-La Group and Shingo Gokan’s SG Group (of The SG Club and Speak Low fame). Designed by Avroko, it’s a study in atmosphere: crimson walls, woven textiles, and embroidery echoing Yi and Bai craft.
Zou slides me a menu shaped like a fan. “Each cocktail starts with a question,” he says. “What memory are we trying to evoke?” The answers unfold in flavour: Por Amor celebrates Yunnan’s roses with osmanthus rice wine and tequila; Cucumber Salad riffs on a local appetiser with gin, spiced rum, and pineapple; Mushroom Manhattan conjures a forest after rain.
When he serves the Yak Butter Old Fashioned—whisky fatwashed with yak butter, brown-sugar syrup, bitters—he smiles. “We’re not trying to make Yunnan trendy,” he says. “We just want people to understand its many facets.” The drink is smoky, silky, and quietly complex—the kind that lingers, revealing itself slowly. Much like Kunming itself: layered, unexpected, and impossible to rush.
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