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I was not in the best of moods. Here we were, rattling along a rough cobble stone road with the damp mist bearing down on us obscuring every inch of what should have been gorgeous scenery. All that greeted our eyes were trees shrouded grey in the mist and glistening moist cobbles that seemingly stretched uphill without end. Considering we were cycling through an area famous for its spectacular rice terraces that stretch up to 1800m high, the foul mood wasn’t without reason.
Misguided and illuminated
Nestled high in the Ailao mountain range of South Western Yunnan in China, Yuanyang County remains a little left of the tourist trail. Upon crossing into China at the Heko border from Vietnam we knew we had to view the paddy terraces that had been deemed “supposedly the most spectacular in Asia” in our rather outdated guidebook. There was little in terms of information except that we had to head to Yuanyang, a city marked prominently on our map. But once we rode the 164 km from Heko to Yuanyang, the only sign of terraces we saw were in grainy billboards dotting the palm fringed lanes of a city designed somewhat to exude
the air of a prospering Arab town. The palms did it. As it turns out there were two Yuanyangs - the new and the old.
We were in the new Yuangyang or Nansha , we were told and the old Yuanyang called Xinjie was were we had to head for the terraces. The administrative seat of the county had been transferred from Xinjie to Nansha awhile ago and with it the claim to the title. Xinjie lay 28 kms uphill through a winding steep mountain road that took you from an elevation of 240 m to 1600 m to reach the old county seat. Armed with a map printed out for us by folks at the local Lenovo showroom we’d mistaken for a cyber café, we were able to plan a route that would allow us to make a loop around the northernmost belt of terraces and back down to the Hong He valley to rejoin the road towards Kunming.
Bleak and grey but breathing mountain air
Distance becomes relative when travelling by bicycle. There was a fierce hail storm that evening the residue of which was palpable the next morning in the grey skies and light
drizzle under which we started the laborious uphill climb towards Xinjie. It didn’t help that the road was a steady incline all the way. By the time we pulled into town the drizzle had subsided but the mist hung around - sometimes thicker, now dissipated by the steady north wind only to regroup again within seconds. We lingered awhile in the town square cum viewpoint in downtown Xinjie enjoying a sudden spot of sun with locals and tourists alike. It lasted long enough get a sneak preview of a deep tremendous valley below us and with it the realization that we were back in the mountains, back among the clouds.
Eager to escape the grubby town we pedalled another hard 6 km uphill to reach till Qingkou where thickening mist and a nice clean roadside inn made us decide to stop for the night. Through the pale gloom we caught the first glimpse of what we’d come this far for - shimmering like mirrors carved in intricate patterns and framed by soft squelchy mud banks lay the first of our terraces. The delicate patterns softened by the dimming light and pale mist suspended us in a mesmerised silence; broken
First proper sighting
sometime when weather began to clear on second day only by a sudden curt “damn!” from my partner as a thick mass of fog rolled in to blur our vision and remind us of the cold.
The weather was no better the next morning. We pedalled through the mist, dull grey except for small chinks of shimmer from the water logged terraces through the translucent void. The road soon reached a fork; a right that led to the southern belt towards the most photographed of terraces caught in brilliant sunset hues and a left- towards the terraces that received the sun rise and the route we chose. This is where we left all semblances of tar to bump along on quaint cobblestones. The novelty wore off the next couple of days we spent riding them as the experience came just a little short of trying to pedal a jackhammer.
Sometime during the day the fog suddenly lifted and we faced our first stretch of endless terrace fields stretching below us as far as our eyes could see. It was indeed a spectacular sight. Far from being simply picturesque and pretty, it dawned on us that we were gazing down on history, a testament of man’s ingenuity and
Smoky grey and bright
A little after Ga Niang ability to carve life out of earth and rocks in the strife to survive. For the last 1300 years descendants of the local ethnic Hani tribe have been sculpting the mountain slopes with minimum ecological damage. Each terrace is weaved along precise contour lines making the slopes resemble one giant relief map.
Salvaged from obscurity
The earliest known record of these terraces date back to agricultural records maintained by the Tang Dynasty (618 - 907 AD). While numerous political upheavals rocked China’s tumultuous history very little changed in this tucked away corner, secure in its relative remoteness and inaccessibility. It was only recently the Chinese government became attentive to the potential of the place and with it came attempts to make the place more tourist friendly. The sign of their enthusiasm is evident in the hastily built concrete view points, ticket booths beside and road repair crew posted almost every 10 kms. Last year the government also submitted a report contesting for an UNESCO World Heritage Site status for the region.
Due to the high elevation and cold, the terraces support only one crop a year leaving the empty water logged fields free to reflect the changing
Piggy's day out
The mud was great for them but not for our gears and brakes. We had many long stretches of road like this. light of the skies from mid-November till April when planting resumes. The mountain tops retain their natural forest cover that acts as a water catchment area from where an intricate system of channels ensures the fields receive all the water required. All around us lay signs of the engineering genius of people who farmed these lands. We had to marvel.
All Pain; No Pear
We spent four days making a rough loop of 175 kms from Nansha all the way back down to the Hong He Valley along which the city lies. The riding was rough with plenty of rutty mud roads where the cobblestones had worn off and the constantly changing weather. Our nights were spent in rather seedy truck stop dorms which was the closest thing to a hotel in the little towns that we passed. Xinjie (the old county seat), Ga Niang, Xiao Xin Jie and Tengchulin are the bigger towns in the area which have resthouses and restaurants. All these towna are connected by the lone rough stone road which we were on and often get cut off by landslides. We were lucky to be on bicycles as we simply hauled our bikes over
Towns and Terraces
A peek of a mountain town close to Duoyshu on such road block between Shang Xin Chen and Tengchunlin unable to disguise our rather cheeky grins from stranded cars we crossed along the way. I was knackered but the reward for the pain is quite obvious in the goofy grin I’m sporting in a photograph I was bullied into taking with a group of Hani women who plonked their headdress on me without invitation.
We had met them just outside the village of Bada on our second day. They looked rather more smart than resplendent in their dark blue and black suits with distinctive head gear adorned with tassels in the front and a long metal bead encrusted strip behind. Far from reserved or shy they hailed us for a playful exchange of laughs and exaggerated sign language banter. We left them with a lighter heart and our last pear they playfully demanded. But what cracked me up as we cycled away was to hear my rather bemused partner solemnly quip, “All pain; no pear!”
(Slightly edited version of the story as published in Jetwings, an inflight magazine that has agreed to take on some of my stories. Yeah! can't escape the irony.)
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baruk
non-member comment
chinese ethnic tribes
really good read. i must admit i had never thought of the chinese as being divided into 'tribes' or ethnic groups, i thought of the 'chinese' as one whole. on retrospect, an extremely silly thought, considering the sheer insanity of the diversity on china's western and southern (i know little of northern) borders. do you think the groups you have met have similarities/resemble any you have known? there seem to be some cultural links between the NE and the pacific islands, though it is too early to say if it is because of any shared heritage. the hani women headdress reminds me of the laddakhi one, or am i stretching it a bit far?