Waterwheels, magical bridges....it all feels like it belongs to a different age

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Day 422: Tuesday 25th August - It feels like I’ve taken a step back in time to another century

Today I swap the fantasy world of the Longji Rice Terraces for a world of yesteryear at Chengyang. I leave Ping’ An on the 9am bus, one last look up the hill at the surreal sight of the beautiful terraces. At Longsheng I part company with Jimmy and Maria who are going on to Guilin. I take a bus to Sanjiang, two hours away. As we approach Sanjiang, driving alongside the river we pass a number of impressive bridges and their refection in the clear water. Bridges is what Sanjiang area is famous for. Sanjiang itself is a dusty, dirty small city and I stay only the length of time it takes to wait for a bus to Chengyang, 20 kilometres to the north.

It feels like I’m off the tourist trail when I arrive in Sanjiang. I ignore a tuk-tuk driver who says I need to go to another bus station to get to Chengyang. After travelling Southeast Asia I have a healthy suspicion of tuk-tuk drivers, but on this occasion the guy was telling me the truth. I take a tuk-tuk across town to another bus station where I must wait an hour until the next bus. The bus journey is like being back in Southeast Asia - packed to the brim with passengers and one woman has a live chicken in a bag with her on the bus! Half an hour and a thunderstorm later and I‘m dropped off at Chengyang.

Chengyang is famous for its Wind and Rain Bridge. Built in 1912, the 78 metre covered bridge is considered by the Dong minority who inhabit this area to be the finest of the 100+ such structures in Sanjiang County. The tourist pamphlet I am handed as I pay the extortionate entrance fee of 60 Yuan (£5) to cross the bridge to my hostel on the other side, claims that it is one of the four famous bridges of the world (what are the other three?) and one of the top ten grand astounding bridges of the world (what makes a bridge astounding?!). Sarcasm aside, the wooden bridge connected without a single nail or rivet, instead being held together by tenons is indeed a grandiose example of Dong architecture. Sydney Harbour Bridge, the Golden Gate Bridge and the Tyne Bridge are all iconic symbols of the cities they are found in and are all better known than the Chengyang Wind and Rain Bridge, and although all magnificent examples of engineering, none can match the magical feel of Chengyang’s bridge. It is part bridge, part gallery and part pavilion, made from stone and wood.

When I walk into Chengyang’s only hostel it feels like I’m their first guest in weeks. The hostel is decidedly empty and I have my pick of rooms. I choose a mid-range one which means I am still to break the 30 Yuan (£3) barrier during my time in China. The room has a balcony which looks out on to the river and I can see one of Chengyang’s covered bridges from my room but the famous Wind & Rain bridge is obscured by a tree which is a shame. I get a surprise whilst eating lunch when a guy from the Czech Republic walks past me - maybe I’m not the only guest after all. He tells me he is leaving tomorrow so my peace and tranquillity will be resumed.

And that’s what is perhaps the highlight of Chengyang - its peace and tranquillity. The bridge is what draws visitors and has a magical feel to it (especially at night when it is illuminated) but Chengyang more than anything is a place to go for real relaxation from China’s millions. I spend a couple of hours walking around the village, through the rice paddies, alongside the river, over its incredible bridges, past the waterwheels irrigating the rice paddies and I also climb the hill for an incredible view. There is such an unhurried pace of life here and it is so quiet. With the waterwheels and the fantasy bridges and the architecture of the housing you could be forgiven for thinking you were in a different era. It feels more nineteenth century than twenty-first. And that’s the beauty of Chengyang that it seems stuck in a time warp. It is another magical spot I’ve found in China. I’ve only been here ten days so far but with the exception of Kunming and the Stone Forest everywhere I’ve been has been an absolute delight. I’m racking my brains but I think only Argentina had the same immediate impact in the first week or so that China has had.

I’m becoming ever more confident in China. Initially I was overawed, worried about language problems and how hard it would be to get around. I’m beginning to love this country, it is easier to travel than I could ever have imagined. More people speak English than I expected, and I’m doing okay despite still only knowing the words for hello and thank you. This isn’t good enough and I want to learn more, but that phrasebook that I thought would be vital simply hasn’t been so far. Chengyang is a bit off the beaten path and it hasn’t proven to be that hard at all to travel to. With the help of hostels and armed with a guidebook that has the Chinese characters next to place names it is quite alright travelling around. My strategy to avoid the cities unless I really wanted to see something in them is paying dividends and China is one beautiful country.

Day 423: Wednesday 26th August - Relaxing to the sound of waterwheels in Chengyang

I couldn’t get to sleep because in the still of the night there was a constant noise coming from somewhere and this morning I was awoken early by the sound of presumably the Czech guy’s footsteps on the wooden floor above as he left the hostel. Consequently it takes me a while to get my body into gear this morning. Not that it matters, Chengyang has its own pace of life and it is slow, slow, slow.
After breakfast and some cha to get me going I set off on a walk through five of the villages that run into each other to make up Chengyang - Ma’an, Ping, Yan, Dong and Da villages. There are three others that make up the Chengyang scenic area, but they require a longer walk and I’m in the mood for a relaxing day so I don’t bother.

As I walk through Ma’an village there is a Dong cultural performance on so I sit and watch the remainder of the musical and dance performance. This isn’t free from hassle, a Dong woman keeps placing numerous handicrafts in my hand, unable to get the hint that I’m not interested. But worse than that are the Chinese tourists also watching the show (I’m the only westerner). They have no consideration for me sat behind as they stand right in front of my line of sight to take pictures. They’re noisy, seemingly unable to patiently watch the show and add this to the jostling I received in the Stone Forest and the sheer weight of numbers in the same place and Lijiang, I’ve come to the conclusion that when it comes to tourists, the Chinese are the worst in the world.

In Chengyang it is easy to escape the Chinese tourists though. Like the Japanese they’re a lazy bunch and they don’t venture too far from the main bridge, and Ma’an village. As I leaver Ma’an village behind and walk through the other four villages, I barely see another tourist, it’s just me and the Dong. It is fascinating viewing Dong life as I walk through the villages. I see them washing in rivers, working in the rice paddies, women dyeing and drying indigo stained cloth, and groups divided along the sexes sat chatting together under the shade of the covered bridge or between the tight alleyways of the villages. Each of the villages has a drum tower which is used as a meeting place, for dancing and for ceremonies. I also pass another two or was it three (?) more covered bridges as I walk from village to village beside the river which is lined with rice paddies.

One thing you have to prepare yourself for in China is the bad habits. I’ve seen man have sly cigarettes on transport where smoking is prohibited and frequently seen both men and women spitting which I’ve always thought was unnecessary unless you are doing strenuous physical exercise. The best and probably the funniest example is today as I walk through the villages of Chengyang. A Dong woman walking in front of me, unaware of my presence tilts her head back and lets one almighty globule of snot fly from her nose. At first I don’t know what I feel; surprise, disgust but this soon turns to laughter as I walk off into the distance.

I’m only out in the morning for an hour and a half but this is enough to get a feel for Chengyang. I don’t know why but it has an innocence that reminds me of my childhood. I keep thinking Last of the Summer Wine, or am I mixing that up with visiting parts of rural West Yorkshire as a child whilst visiting my grandparents?? It is hard to describe, maybe I am just associating it with my childhood because Chengyang and the Dong minority that live here have such a care free feeling, an unhurried pace of life and are contented in their simple life.

I spend the afternoon reading and writing, looking out across the rice paddies with the relaxing sound of the waterwheels turning from the river below. If I wasn’t so close to finishing my book I could stay here for days and get sucked into this pace of life and care free outlook. Beautiful sunshine, a quiet and peaceful setting, nice local people; If you want to find a place in China for real relaxation then this would be it.

Oh and the book I’ve just finished, what a book. Shantaram the true story of Gregory David Roberts, an armed robber and heroin addict who escaped from an Australian prison to Mumbai, India. He lived in a slum where he established a free health clinic and joined the local mafia. He spent 6 months in a village where he learnt Marathi on top of Hindi and ended up back in prison in Mumbai where he was tortured. He acted in Bollywood, succumbed to his heroin addiction again before being rescued from a certain overdose and fighting with the Mujahadeen in Afghanistan. If it wasn’t true, I don’t think you could write it, but a great story of eight years in the Mumbai underworld and told with moral purpose. A modern day classic.

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