The Sanjiang Autonomous County in Northern Guangxi Province is a maze of terraced paddy fields, emerald winding rivers and jagged forest hills bearing the mysterious and captivating wooden houses of the Dong Minority People.

Our bus has lurched and growled for some hours since we departed Guilin. My ears continually pop as we claim altitude. Guilin’s picture perfect and instantly recognisable limestone outcroppings - that are so synonymous with the natural landscape of southern China - are already a distant memory as we climb into the steep, forested mountains that dissect the three provinces of Guanxi, Hunan and Guizhou. This tough terrain, which would be better negotiated if our driver knew how to change gear, has helped protect and preserve several tribal minority cultures in south China, including the Dong, Zhuang, Miao and Yang. The first indications that we have made it into Dong Country are the site of wooden farm houses in the hills and valleys beside the road. The Dong are renowned carpenters who traditionally mistrust stone dwellings.

The Dong Capital of Sanjiang is a messy little place best used as a jumping off point for exploring the surrounding countryside. We get off at the long distance bus station and stretch our legs. We discuss the prospect of further downsizing our means of transport. The major highway bus had been uncomfortable enough. What was village transportation going to be like?

The local bus station is located north of bridge in the town centre, a short motor-rickshaw ride away. The buses were indeed less than congenial but having seen nowhere in Sanjiang any sane man would care to eat in, we resolved to venture forth and try our luck in the country. After a slow start (local buses only leave when every seat and every space between the seats have been filled) we are on the road again. The journey takes us just half an hour north.

Chengyang Village was every bit worth the uncomfortable wait. The bus dropped us at the spectacular and elaborate ‘Wind-and-Rain Bridge.’ There are many in the region, and a number of others in Chengyang village proper, but Chengyang’s first fengyu qiao, with its skilfully and distinctively decorated pagodas is one of the finest and a national protected cultural relic.

Nearby the bus stop there is a visitor centre and besides the river a number of entrepreneurial farmers have opened guest houses. One such entrepreneur is Michael Yang, who studied English at Hangzhou University. His Dong Village Hotel is large wooden structure at the opposite end of the Wind-and-Water Bridge overlooking the water wheels still used to irrigate the rice paddies. His en suite rooms (60Yuan / 9USD per night) are clean, orderly and come with a balcony and western-style toilet. Michael is friendly and informative. He tells us he was preparing for the arrival of a group of American students that were coming to learn traditional farming techniques. After a few Li Quan (Guilin brewed) beers and a home cooked country meal – we just described whatever we fancied and Michael’s wife rustled it up as best she could – we decided to take an evening stroll through the village.

There have been some obvious attempts to open up Chengyang to tourism. Sign-posts are written in English as well as Chinese. The local government has erected wooden tourist maps and plaques explaining Dong culture. Within the Wind-and-Rain Bridges and on street sides, old ladies have set up stalls selling local handicrafts. However, despite these minor developments, Chengyang remains very much a functional, agriculture-based village. Men and women are scattered amongst the fields labouring by hand or with primitive wooden machine-tools, whilst grandparents mind playful children who pay curiously little attention to the strange looking foreigners wandering amongst them. And despite opening up to tourism nothing can really take away Chengyang’s idyllic splendour or diffident charm.

The traditional, warped wooden houses we walk amongst are built very close together. They are three storeys high, with the ground floor inhabited by animals and as we stroll about we occasionally hear the snort of a pig or the grunt of an ox. To this end, the Dong Autonomous County is very much the land that time forgot. Apart from electricity (which came in the mid-1980s) visitors to Chengyang get to experience a feudal existence the likes of which belongs to the history books of developed countries.

As the sun sets on the village farmers begin to return from their fields. There is of course no street lighting in the village, so as the light fails; my photographer and I reluctantly retire to the hotel for a good rest before the next days trek.

We organised our trek via Michael Yang who simply asked a local farmer to guide us up into the hills for 100 Yuan (15USD) per day. A variety of routes can be organised including one mammoth eight day hike all the way overland to Guizhou province. We opted for the rather less ambitious two day trek beginning at seven in the morning.

As we begin our walk, mist still hangs about the mountains. Our guide, Mr. Yang first takes us to the small hamlet of Pingtan where we have time to photograph the Drum Tower and adjacent festival stage. The Drum Tower is the centre of Dong cultural life, acting as a place where legal disputes are resolved, important decisions are made and social events are held. The stage is used for performances during festival times though Mr. Yang informs me that his wife puts on a twice daily performance for tourists in Chengyang.

After Pingtan, we continue our assent, traversing the extraordinary terraced mountains, following ancient irrigation channels and the narrow borders of the lush paddies that segment the hills. Wooden settlements abound so that only the remote mountain tops remain uncultivated. Occasionally we reach a village where we can rest in the shade and get a drink.

Mr. Yang asks me many questions about the economic crisis in the US and the UK.

“It has made a deep impression here,” he says.

“Really, how?” I ask. Where could be more removed from the international financial banking system than Dong Autonomous County?

“Many have come back to villages. People can’t find work.”

“Where?”

“Guangdong. I worked there last year as a migrant labourer but after the crisis they sent me home.”

I am suddenly struck by the notion that as Americans complain they can’t afford to renew their car this year, Mr. Yang and many other Dong may not be able to support their family as result of the credit crunch.

As we get higher and further from the main road, the views become more drastic and captivating. Yang explains we are walking a road made in dynastic times. “It looks like it,” I say struggling in the midday heat. We arrive in Gao Long Village after our six hour assent, drenched in sweat and in need of a reprieve.

Mr. Yang’s old friend, Mr. Long opens his front door in a greeting reminiscent of a Monty Python sketch – first he comes out smiling and waving, then a horse follows him. Upstairs his portly wife prepares us various local dishes including a sweet rice and egg porridge that tastes mysteriously alcoholic. We watch as Mr. Long and his oddball companion Mr. Wu get progressively drunk throughout the dinner.

After lunch we relax next to the drum tower and wait for the afternoon heat to pass before resuming our assent.

The last leg of our journey is the most exhausting and I’m left awed by the resilience of these people that carve out and existence in such unforgiving terrain. While Mr. Yang explains how rice fields are cultivated with fish or ducks living in the water to conserve farm space, I am less and less sociable, focusing most of my energies on moving forward whilst wondering why Mr. Yang still hasn’t broken a sweat.

Past the rice fields the path deteriorates further as Yang leads us into dark and ominous forest. Occasionally he stops to slay snakes. As the sunsets my fatigue is congealing with trepidation and my thoughts grow irrational and pessimistic. Where is this nut leading us? I begin to ask myself.

Qing Ju Village hangs high-up on a perilously steep mountainside. We get there after dark. Mr. Yang has apparently not arranged anywhere for us to stay. He calls to the villagers. A young, well built man comes out and invites into his home. The wooden farm house is well kept and clean. Mr. Wu is welcoming and speaks reasonable Mandarin. After a bucket of boiled water for a shower we sit down for dinner. His wife is a gifted cook and we our ravenous. We try the Dong’s famous sticky rice and pickled vegetables. Wu has a few Li Quan beers he shares with us. He apologises that they are not ice cold as his fridge is broken, but we wash them back, forever grateful after such a long day’s climb. At the table we further discuss the economic crisis which also had Mr. Wu sent home from Guangdong.

After dinner we watch television (yes, the village has a satellite dish). There is an evening talent show being broadcast from one of China’s major cities. The show reminds me of the sweeping changes and contradictions a foot in modern China. As the world’s attention is increasingly focused on the modern and rapidly developing eastern seaboard, Dong villagers in Chengyang and around live almost as they have done for centuries, serving as a stark reminder of how much of China remains untouched, pristine yet impoverished and underdeveloped.

The next morning is cool and the view from the Wu household, staggering. Blue-grey clouds embrace the forest and terraced hills all the way to the horizon. Far beyond those clouds lies modern China, but here ancient China stubbornly persists, steeped in ritual, and bound by custom, tied to nature and subject to her elements.

We pay Mr. Wu 120 Yuan (17USD) for his hospitality (and towards fixing his fridge) then begin our descent back to Chengyang.

For tours and travel in the region see http://www.backroadsofchina.com/

Michael Yang’s hotel can be found at www.donghotel.com

China Southern Airlines fly regularly from Hong Kong to Guilin www.csair.com

Text by Thomas Bird.

Photographs by Gareth Philips.

---

Add this page to your favorite Social Bookmarking websites