I awoke Saturday morning to a misty fog both out of doors and in my head. The coffee machine in the restaurant of our resort had broken and I was without caffeine. After a long day yesterday this was not the way to start off. We boarded our bus in the drizzle and loaded our suitcases and overnight bags. We were required to bring other bags for our stay that evening as we would be heading to Longsheng Rice Terraces 1,000 meters above sea level. Our bus would drop us off at the bottom and we would hike up to the lodge.
As we drove through the mountains the rain subsided although it never did clear. This area gets lots of rain - 192 cm per month! I was thankful it would be dry even if very humid. We stopped to transfer from our tour bus to a local bus and were quickly greeted by minority women known as Yao. Longsheng is made up of four ethnic minorities: Zhuang, Miao, Dong and Yao. Within those minorities are other groups such as the red skirt, black skirt, long skirt and short skirt. It was difficult to tell who was what. When seeing a woman with a short red skirt was she red skirt or short skirt? Only our guide Peter could figure it out.
The Yao women were very persistent and being typical tourists we could not resist purchasing scarves and embroidered items. Yao women cut there hair only once in their lifetime at the age of sixteen. That means a young girl has become a woman and it is time to marry. After marriage the Yao women tie their hair in a bun in the center of their head close to the top of their forehead. This makes it clear to all that the woman is spoken for. Their hair can only be taken down for their husbands to see.
On the local bus we wove our way through the mountainside twisting and turning our way to the next stop. Once there I grabbed my backpack and stepped off the bus to Zhuang people with large baskets tied to their backs. They wanted to carry our bags up to the lodge. I was conflicted. I was more than happy to pay them. Their sources of income are few. Yet the basket carriers were old! I mean elderly. How could I expect someone 20 years my senior to carry a basket full of overnight bags and backpacks? Then I realized this was my issue not theirs. They were strong and happy to make the money. I gave them my backpack and proceeded up the muddy trail.
Thank goodness there were steps, although over 700 of them, but it made it easier to walk through the village up to the top. The village is built on the slopes of the rice terraces. The path up is narrow and sometimes steep. The homes and shops often seem to hang by a thread to the sides of the mountain. Sedan chairs carried by four men carted people to the top, women sat weaving shoes, boys led donkeys laden with supplies and children played with toys next to their mothers selling goods.
We climbed slowly to the lodge finding it hard not to stop too frequently for photos and to look at the wares being sold along the way. Most of the merchants were Zhuang and although they did not speak English they were very friendly. The tourists of course bring revenue that is badly needed so they were happy to see us trudging along.
Our lodge was amazing with views overlooking the rice terraces. Each room had a different theme. Meike and I were in the Batik room with beautiful framed batiks and blue ginger pots. The walls and ceiling were made out of woven grasses and bamboo. Each guest was given slippers to wear while indoors. We hurried through lunch to get back outside.
As we walked to the top of the mountain we were in awe. Being in the center of Dragon’s Backbone Rice Terraces was breathtaking. The terraces coil around the mountainsides and cover an area of 66 square kilometers (16,000 acres). The layers of green spread out around us. This was truly one of the most spectacular things I had ever laid eyes on.
Everyone split off into small groups to explore. I can’t imagine how many photographs were actually taken that day. It seemed every time you saw something amazing you happened upon something else.
During our hike back down through the village we encountered several men butchering a hog. Of course this happens, but it took place right next to the main trail with little children playing along side them. We literally had to step over a puddle of blood to get by. And of course one of the items for dinner that night was pork. I suppose it was very fresh!
Back up at the lodge we randomly gathered for cocktails on the balcony overlooking the terraces. As night quickly fell I realized these people were no longer strangers they were friends. I was certainly blessed to be on this journey with them.
The next morning I learned it had stormed overnight although I must confess I didn’t hear a thing. I was lucky enough to have several cups of real coffee before heading down the mountain. Although we left early the Zhuang came to retrieve our bags and haul them down for us. The shops were shut tight. Chickens and rats scurried about. A dense fog hung around us. Life on Dragon’s Backbone had not yet begun. Maybe this was the way to leave while everything was quiet. We could slip away before we had a chance to want to stay.
The several hour ride back to Guilin went quickly even with a bus change. In Guilin we stopped at Reed Flute Cave. The cave received its name from the reeds growing outside of it which were used to make flutes. I must admit that after visiting Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico no cave has ever come close to its grandeur in my estimation. In typical Chinese fashion colored lights illuminated the stalactites and stalagmites. The Chinese love their colored lights! This was a very anticlimactic way to end the trip. I suppose this actually made it easier to leave.
We had more Chinese food in Guilin before we headed to the airport. I thoroughly enjoy Chinese food, but the huge amount of sodium I had consumed the past few days was making me blow up like a puffer fish. My feet and ankles were swollen and others commented about their hands and even legs. It was time to get back to Hong Kong and a salad.
We luckily landed in Hong Kong Sunday evening right after a storm had blown through. Having a Hong Kong identity card made coming into the country nothing more than slipping my card into a machine and pressing my thumb on a scanner for identification. No passport control, no long lines. We could do that in the states, but of course the ACLU would fuss. Why not make it voluntary I thought? Well it doesn’t matter. I was back to my Hong Kong life and home.
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