Longji.

The terraced rice fields of Longji.
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Five hours and two buses from Guilin (via the dozy town of Longshen), the terraced rice fields of Longji remain an anachronism in a China struggling to take first place in the modern technological race. The sky-devouring mountains and deep valleys that seemed to stretch into an eternity would have provided an enchanting scenic bus ride， save for the fact the driver felt the need, the need for reckless, knuckle-whitening speed, as he tore full speed down and around sharp, blind corners on the narrow, one-way, debris-littered path. The short trip from Longshen to Longji itself was lengthened as the bus pulled to an abrupt halt every kilometre or so to pick up and cram in as many people and objects as possible. At one stage we patiently waited for ten minutes while a child-sized sack of Taro was maneuvered between the already present bags, the empty refrigerator box (deluxe size model), the large wicker baskets the local women used to transport their wares and an assortment of small children. I didn’t even realize until one lady got off that there had been a couple of live chickens up there too. Entry to the Longji mountain area (which is made up of several different villages and terraced sections) costs 50Y (or at least it does for foreigners). The fields and surrounding villages are 700 years old, a relic from the Yuan Dynasty (AD 1206-1358). The central village (that is, the one the bus delivers you to) is the Ping’An village, home to the wooden, stilt-born dwellings of the Zhuang minority. Other minority groups in the area are the Dong, Miao and Yao people. The Yao women are famed for their long (‘Guinness Book of Records’ long) hair, though the heavy hand of tourism has resulted in an enforced fee of 5Y per photo for the curious tourist who wishes to capture their extraordinary locks on film. When not posing for or harassing people into taking photos, the Yao women have grown excessively skilled at incessantly following tourists and offering an assortment of bizarre odds and ends that they store on their persons.

Longji farmers.
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The terraces themselves transform the mountains into fantastic, tiered, green wedding cakes, shimmering with pools of water and speckled with farmers planting, ploughing and nurturing. Quiet (if you can dodge the Yao women) and magical, viewing points at various locations offer stunning landscape views of the amazing agricultural feat. A handful of paths through the terraces provide closer contact with the locals and a chance to detach from the rest of the tourists. We chose to stay in Ping’An rather than do one of the many walks/hikes to other areas due not, in fact, to laziness but bad arrival and departure timing. Whilst beautiful, the village itself like so much of China shows obvious signs of dependence on tourism. Literally every residence is a guesthouse and everyone is looking to improve their lot just that little bit more. On a brighter note, not to be missed is the famed Longji Bamboo Rice (rice, mushroom and meat smoked inside a length of bamboo). Star gazing that night was amazing for both the fact that it was the first time since arriving in China we were able to locate stars and because neither of us were able to recognize anything the night sky had to offer. Ryan finished off the night by creating a small flood in the communal bathroom which was eventually diverted by the guesthouse owner shoving a plastic bag covered broom stick down the faucet. This pattern of destroying things is not new to us. The next day we departed to destroy Nanning.

The terraces themselves transform the mountains into fantastic, tiered, green wedding cakes...

Before this however, we rose earlier than our bodies saw reasonable in order to watch the sun rise over the glorious terraces. The calming, soothing fingers of light stroked, teased and played, reminding me why the gift of life is so wonderful. The sight of the morning light spreading like honey across the impossibly magnificent fields proved divine even for the unbeliever. The perfect curves, greens in so many shades, dappled water and early rising farmers and oxen created a vividly real yet strangely bizarre picture on those towering, movie screen mountains.