This week I have been in the city of Hangzhou in China for a workshop. Every morning, I have walked the shore of Xihu, or West Lake, the graceful expanse of water lapping the city’s western edge.

Looking out across the water from the promenade, lined with thick-branched camphor trees, I see layers of forested hills and majestic pagodas rise softly through the mist. The human structures enhance the harmony of the hills and water. Along the promenade, groups of men and women practise tai chi, fending off the morning chill with puffer jackets and berets. Their movements are slow, deliberative, meditative and accompanied by Chinese classical music that drifts across the lake to the cormorants fanning their wings in the weak morning sunlight.

Looking behind me, the concrete and glass tower blocks of the modern city of Hangzhou stir into wakefulness. In the 12th century, this city was Lin’an, likely the largest city in the world, with 1-2 million inhabitants and a prosperous proto-industrial economy. Marco Polo, that renowned visitor from the backwaters at the other end of Eurasia, described it as the ‘City of Heaven’ and ‘beyond dispute the finest and noblest in the world’. The afterglow of that splendour can be seen in its historic quarter with low-rise Song Dynasty architecture and bustling street markets, its rooftops a sea of curved grey eaves and tiles washing against the rise of the hills.