Huang Luo, China
by Brian K. Smith
A ten hour trip in a sleeper bus with a cot too short, overtop of a thin metal floor that barely protected me from the rear axle was truly the highway to hell. After bouncing around in the freezing darkness on what felt like a 4×4 road, not a super highway, I arrived in Guilin in the early morning of December 24th. The economy bus ride had seemed like an eternity as I drifted back and forth from consciousness to nightmares all night.
Shortly after my arrival, my friend Yanhua, a Red Yao minority girl, met me to give me a day tour of Guilin. Her village, Huang Luo, was three hours away by local bus. Two weeks earlier I had met her at the entrance gate to the Longsheng Rice Terraces while on a tour with my guide. She has a university degree in English from the Guilin University and speaks very clearly. Her accent is slightly British and demeanor is happy and light hearted. By late morning the sky had turned to a dark sooty colour, and large, cold raindrops slammed into the pavement.
We retreated out of the icy downpour into a restaurant just in time for a traditional Chinese lunch of fresh stir-fried meat and vegetable dishes. The afternoon turned out to be a bit foggy, with filtered sun coming through the surrounding glossy wet Karst Mountains. As we walked around the lakes and canals towards the Li river, it seemed like a dreamscape. There was an ethereal glow over the city with the moist warm afternoon air.
As night time cloaked the city in darkness the buildings came alive with dazzling neon light displays. The most incredible thing I have ever seen was the Waterfall Hotel. For 15 minutes the twenty story building became a huge cascading monster waterfall. The spectacular show was breathtaking – I stood there wondering… how do they do that?
Christmas morning was grey, but without rain. Yanhua had given me a choice of going to her friends sisters wedding or back to her Red Yao village of Huang Luo to meet her family. I wanted to see what village life was like – I had been to enough weddings – as participant and observer! Three hours later we arrived at Yanhua family’s hotel. Her mother, Pan Luifeng, in full hand knitted traditional dress, greeted us as we stepped off the bus. Yanhua changed into the Red Yao woven clothing that young and single girls wear. Shortly after we arrived the three of us headed across a swinging cable bridge to take some photographs and video at the riverside. I immediately felt I had know this family for a long time. They laughed and sang songs together while my camera clicked away. The village name, Huang Lou, actually means Long Hair. Yanhua’s mother holds the Guinness world record for the longest hair. It is very black and shinny, and wrapped around her head in a traditional bonnet style.
In the afternoon Yanhua and I took a bus trip up the narrow terraced valley to Dazhai Village. From there we hike for two hours up smooth stone steps to the “Thousand Layers to Heaven” viewpoint. The terraces truly did disappear up into the etherial fog. It was so quiet on the side of the mountain – only our heavy breathing from climbing thousands of steps could be heard. We were treated to a little sun, but the clouds thickened on our return and a cool light mist fell on our shoulders. This was Christmas Day – what a special way to spend it no matter the weather was!
Shortly after arriving back at the family hotel we sat down (parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts and brother) to an amazing traditional 12 plate feast. The steaming bowls had an assortment of duck, fish, pork, beef, sautéed vegetables and rice that Yanhua’s brother, Pan Baoliang, had prepared. The dishes were rich in flavour and prepared to perfection. To compliment it we were served sweet potato wine, yam wine, rice liquor and beer. Interestedly, all alcoholic beverages are made by the women in the village, not the men! Grandpa sat beside me and kept filling my rice bowl with whatever liquor was closest to us.
Grandma sat across from me with a glint in her eye. It was that kind of glint that means “I think you are the right man for my granddaughter!” At the start of the dinner I stood up thanked everyone for making me feel so welcomed on my special day of the year to spend with family. Yanhua’s mother returned the thanks by saying I am part of the family and always welcomed!
We laughed and ate and drank through the evening. This wonderful Red Yao family wanted to make sure I did not miss my Christmas celebration. Even though I could not speak their dialect, it was easy to understand the joy and happiness that made the dinner so cozy and special on a cold winter night. Later on in their evening, Yanhua and Pan Luifeng and I watch the movie “ A Christmas Story “ on their computer while huddled together in front of glowing charcoal embers in a heating pot on the floor.
In all my years of travel this was the most special of all Christmas dinners. There are times were travel makes you wish you could ignore the return ticket home and just stay put for a comfortable while. This was one of those times!
If You Go:
Travel Recommendations: International flights from North America to Beijing. Then domestic flight to Guilin: 3 hours Also HST (train) from Beijing West train station to Guilin: 10h 40m Guilin (Bus station) to Huang Lou: 3 hours
About the author:
Brian K. Smith has traveled to 41 countries and in the last 8 years has traveled to China 8 times. He is co-founder of Adventurocity. Brian is a Master of Photographic Arts with Professional Photographers of Canada and also a National Judge of photography. He is a member British Columbia Association of Travel Writers and an Association Member of MSF Canada. In September 2015 Brian was invited to attend and participate in the Pingyao International Photography Exhibition in mainland China.
All photos are by Brian K. Smith MPA:
Washing hair in the river
Pan Luifeng preparing dinner
Rice Terrace on the way to heaven
Red Yao Chili Fish
Pan Luifeng making Yam Wine
One of the delights of staying for a few nights in a place, rather than visiting for a day, is having the time for unexpected discoveries. We passed the night in a youth hostel, and breakfast came courtesy of the vending machine: a variety of different flavored minute noodles. Another machine offered a range of both hot and cold coffees, all served in a can, the temperature indicated by the color. The man on reception even made us some green tea in a gorgeous ceramic pot.
Within minutes, we’d spotted our first deer. Soon we saw them everywhere, some condescending to be patted, others scampering away should we venture too close. Meanwhile, paths and secluded walkways enticed us in all directions. There are more than enough temples to satisfy the most ardent visitors; tea houses to partake of refreshment, vending machines for cold drinks and ice-cream (flavors including green tea), and manicured lawns stretching down to lakes for simply relaxing. We even stumbled across some vegetable gardens and a few small rice paddies, all grown by the monks who live in the temple complexes. Walking down an alley of stone stairs, we came across a group of ladies painting.
Everywhere we walked, the deer were relaxing in the shade, nibbling the grass, or simply wandering at leisure.
The walkways around the shrine are lined with some 3000 stone and bronze lanterns. These have been donated over the centuries as tokens of thankfulness and faith. During festivals in February and mid August they are lit: a spectacular time to visit. You can also buy a slip of paper (omikuji) with your fortune; if unfavorable, simply tie it to one of the trees to negate its effects. Behind the temple is the Rokuen, a botanical garden preserving Japanese plants, and famous for its wisteria, plus its Homotsuden, a hall displaying costumes, swords and ancient armor.
There are two ways to climb Fuji san. The most popular way is to climb up the mountain to the 7th or 8th station’s inn and sleep until a few hours before sunrise. This even gives you time to rest and even cook a small meal in a space oven. The other way is to climb up the mountain all night and down the next day without stopping. Guess which we opted for?
The spirit of Mt. Fuji had some surprises in store for us. The first hint this would not be a pleasant climb came when our leader, Daniel, informed us the weather forecast said “tokidoki ame” or “scattered showers.” Despite this news, our group headed into a large shop in the 5th station, with an air of naïve excitement. I put my valuables in a locker and purchased a souvenir wooden walking stick. Walking sticks can be branded for a few yen at each station. Each stamp is unique.
Maybe this angered Sengen-Sama. Next thing I knew, I was drenched, despite having raingear, and clinging to black, slippery rocks etched into the mountainside. The wind was strong. I worried one of us would be launched off the path in a strong gust. This was tokki dokki ame?
With Mt. Fuji behind us, I rode public transportation back to my home in Mito, Japan. We must have looked strange to the commuters. Everyone in our group was dripping with water, caked in mud and aching from head to toe. Trails of dirt mapped our movements. I continued to rely on the support of our walking sticks while climbing the stairs in the subway. I had suffered from a minor case of altitude sickness on the way down the mountain. Sick and sleep deprived, I was able to sleep sitting, standing up or lying on the floor while waiting for the bus. Despite being dispirited, two of my friends and I agreed to try the climb again next year, when the experience was not as fresh in our minds.
Two years later, I sadly packed my belongings to leave Japan. Japan had been my home for so long, and I had to leave quickly due to rough personal circumstances. I had no idea how to get my Mt. Fuji walking stick on the plane. It was too long for my suitcases. Airport officials would not be amused if I took it through check in. But I did not want to part with it. The stick represented my determination despite the blackest of circumstances and physically grueling of challenges.
Initially established as Hailey National Park in 1936 to protect the Bengal Tiger, Corbett forest and jungle are home to many different other species of fauna. A heaven for bird enthusiasts. It is also one of the best bird watching area in India. Surrounded with different habitat types: mountains, saal trees, grassland, it has a splendid landscape and a diverse wildlife. In 1956 this national park was renamed after Colonel Jim Corbett, who is considered the ‘missionary of wildlife conservation in India’. This oldest national park in India has following major zones: Bijrani, Dhikala, Durga Devi, Jhirna and Sitabani. This park was the first to come under the Project Tiger initiative in India.
This was the magical influence of my jungle trip where I learned to spot different species of flora and fauna, very rare, yet particular to different zones and seasons. It was one of the highlights of my trip. The experience of observing nature from so close left a mark on me. I became more conscious of natural life around me.
Our naturalist, who led our walk, was an expert and made sure that we returned back to the resort on time before dark. We took a two and a half hour walk in the jungle that day. The elephant herd that I mentioned in the above paragraph was spotted during this walk only. They were unaware of us and were busy grazing in the trees. Watching them from so close was worth taking that walk. The resort that we stayed at was inside the buffer zone and daily past midnight we could hear calls and tiger roars, as if the tiger wanted to remind us that it was nearby. Very diligently, all tourist activities are generally stopped after 6:30 pm as the animals, especially the flesh eating animals become active after dark. The retreat’s fences were also solar electric so that tigers or any other wild animal do not venture inside the resort or other human habitation nearby. Spotting huge tiger pug marks (sometimes male and sometime female) early in the morning was our favourite daily activity during our stay there and was proof enough that this beautiful beast did come near during the night.
We spotted lots of deer, sambhars, elephants in herds at both Durgadevi and Dhikala but the highlight of this day was something else that we encountered at the highway. A one toothed mast Tuskar on the road very near to Dhikala zone. Taking picture of this huge mast elephant while it charged at the vehicles (including ours) was one wildlife experience that I won’t forget. I actually got terrified as it came very near to our jeep while charging. With a heartbeat pacing at the speed of a bullet train, I started shouting loud, not knowing what would happen next. The driver was prudent enough to move the jeep away on time. Otherwise the person sitting at the back (for that matter our entire jeep) would have surely been subjected to elephant’s anger.
As I walked through the streets of the ancient city a resting group of riot policemen posed for a candid picture. This was a time when civil war was on the mountain kingdom’s doorstep. Every day rioting took place in the capital of Kathmandu. It looked as though the country was about to self-destruct.
I think a lot about those sites now. My hotel was close to Durbar Square in Katmandu – being only a brisk 10 minute walk in the cold December morning air. The first morning I arrived just as the hawkers were setting out their antiques and replicas for sale on large tarps in the outskirts of the square. Many invited me to bring them good luck by being their first sale of the day. As I walked around the square it was like stepping back hundreds of years. Beautiful temples washed in a deep red pigment paint and tile roofs in deep burnt umbra color above gave it a true organic feel. The early morning air was impregnated with the rich smells of temple incense and fresh cut flowers as the first orange colored beams of sunlight took the chill away. Ladies, dressed in traditional colorful mountain village clothes, sat on large plastic mats selling strings of brightly colored marigolds formed into necklaces and headbands.
In the afternoon we traveled to the Hindu temple of Pashupatinath. As we came around a corner onto a stone carved staircase and ashram there he sat. I can never forget that moment – the thousand mile stare of the Sadu as he looked through me as if I wasn’t there. With his legs crossed in a yoga pose, he was looking over the ceremonies on the other side of the river. Here the recently departed were being bathed in the holy water from the Bagmati River, dressed in colorful silk and placed on carefully stacked wood funeral pyres for their cremation. The holy man did not blink, move, or change any expression. It all seemed surreal me – like I was in a dream. Here I was in the holiest of Hindu temples in Kathmandu, Nepal. A week earlier on my flight to India I had not even planned to visit Nepal as part of my tour. It was close enough to my destination of Varanasi, in eastern India, that the tour company had recommended it as a side excursion during my month long road trip.
Along the streets of the old city, mixed with temples, were the fruit and vegetable sellers. Everything looked freshly picked even though the temperatures dipped below freezing at night time. Spices were overflowing out of huge containers – cumin, turmeric, and curries. The air had the smell of fragrant local food from the small portable stalls that sold all kinds of savory items. It was a feeling of being alive in those streets – excitement, anticipation, exotic smells and tastes.
I had never been to a wedding in Nepal, and it seemed obvious they were happy to have us. After all I was the only white person there – so maybe it was a sign of good fortune for them as I was not an invited guest. Part of our plan had been to have dinner at the night market, so we were very hungry. In the main area under a tented roof was seating for 1000 or more. At the front was a huge buffet with a wonderful assortment of food. We helped ourselves to a sampling of many items on the 30 foot long table. Part way through eating our dinner, a line formed beside us – it was the families of the bride and groom getting in line for dinner. We realized that we had really crashed the wedding in style! The family members smiled and greeted us as they moved past. Now Ali was really desperate to leave. I suggested after dessert would be a perfect time to head back to the hotel. On our way out I thanked the bride and groom and took pictures with them. They seemed to be very happy with our chance meeting.
