It wasn't so long ago that former premier Deng Xiaoping declared, “To be rich is glorious.” It's no surprise, then, that for the typical Chinese tourist these days, an attraction isn't worthwhile unless there's good accommodation, dining and shopping nearby. Or that foreigners are the only visitors to the stunning hillside rice terraces — and to farming communities like Pingan — near the town of Longsheng.
Comprising no more than 20 stone-and-wood huts, Pingan is one of many villages that rise gently up the Longji Hills, about 100 kilometres north of Guilin in southeastern Guangxi province.
The hills — whose name translates into “Dragon's Spine” — are home to thousands of rice terraces stacked like giant shelves.
Like China's Great Wall, the terraces are a fantastic example of what can happen when human creativity is fused with tenacity. Here is a man-made, yet organic, landscape that is at once useful farmland and a testament to our ability to exist harmoniously with nature.
The best way to get to the terraces is to sign on with a tour in Yangshuo. Although the city of Guilin is closer, its travel agents cater mostly to Chinese tourists, who prefer to take cruises along the Li River to see the area's numerous, oddly shaped limestone karsts.
About 70 kilometres south of Guilin, Yangshuo is a foreigners' haven. In addition to Western-oriented cafés, there are English-speaking travel agents who offer all sorts of day-trip possibilities, including cave exploration and rock-climbing expeditions.
I signed on for a tour of the terraces at the 7th Heaven Café and Hostel on West Street, Yangshuo's main strip.
The café's affable owner, William Lu, was extraordinarily helpful — and hopeful: “If you're lucky, you'll get some sunshine.”
But the day our group of about a dozen travellers set off in a minibus, it looked like such optimism was all for naught. Most of the four-hour drive to the village (there's no such thing as a short road trip in China) was an interminable slog through a grey and miserable morning.
As we neared Longsheng, our minibus slowly hauling its way up a winding mountain road and into the rain clouds, we were gradually enveloped in fog and mist. All we could catch were glimpses of the fabled rice terraces between gaps in the clouds.
But this obscurity soon gave way to wonder on the way down. The clouds cleared and we were finally in the middle of the Dragon's Spine, with towering stepped rice terraces as far as the eye could see.
After a final bumpy stretch along the side of a wooded canyon, we arrived in Pingan, which oversees harvesting on what I later found out is officially named the Jinkeng Red Yao Autonomous Rice Field.
We were ushered straight up to the makeshift restaurant on the hilltop. A painted sign in English proclaimed it to be the Countryside Café & Inn.
It certainly offered a fine view of the surrounding countryside terraces. Its kitchen, however, was somewhat limited. While the menu featured a cornucopia of Western food, it seemed the café happened to be out of just about everything.
How about a hamburger? “No.”
A grilled-cheese sandwich? “No cheese.”
Tomato soup? “Sorry, no tomatoes.”
I quickly headed down into the village, where I thought I had seen a ramshackle store selling various foodstuffs.
The store was more of a counter, but the owner stocked that most Chinese of meals: noodles with hot water.
I took to the hills after eating. Only by walking between the rice paddies did their true scope become apparent — the Longji Hills are an agricultural project hundreds of years in the making.
In a land where new architectural marvels are springing up in record time, it was a worthwhile reminder that truly astonishing sights take time to build.
Special to The Globe and Mail
