The bumpy ride that threw us from side to side with each turn, because we managed not to drive of the edge of the mountain, proved to have some of the best views we’d seen so far. Through the van window the land fell away, steeply down through trees and undergrowth, and gave us a panoramic view of the surrounding mountains as far as the eye could see, untainted by visible buildings or smoke or even roads besides the one we were on. Down the side of our mountain and up the sides of those around us sat levels and levels of rice paddies, causing it to look like we could walk down a giant set of stairs to the foot of the mountain. Because we were so high up and there were few tall trees or anything obscuring our view it felt like we could see everything. That was what struck me most about this view: the way the mountains were arranged only a tiny portion of the land was blocked from view, the part directly behind you, and other than that you could see mountains and fields and empty sky in every direction you looked; it was all encompassing.
Our first full day here is the one (if I’m forced to pick) I’ll call my favorite, even with its frozen start. We woke up around 5 AM that day, which was rather painful, bundled up, and headed out for a sunrise. I have no idea how the driver managed those roads in the dark, but somehow he did and we got to a viewing platform built on the side of the mountain that was already filled with people despite the freezing cold and the time of day. We were all there to watch the sunrise. It turned out to be a little underwhelming for how long we stood in the cold, and the atmosphere wasn’t really one conducive to admiring nature’s beauty as we were constantly elbowed by other tourists who wanted a look from the packed railing, bumping our toes into the tripods of the dozens of photographers with fancy cameras set up, and hearing voices shouting on phone calls or to find the other members of their group. As the sky lightened it just got more and more crowded and we could feel our toes and fingers less and less, but the light shining off the pools of water in the paddies, making them look pristine and white, was certainly beautiful. Gradually the mountains around us emerged from the dark, and berated by loud voices and strangers we decided to head off. It wasn’t overall the most pleasant experience, but I still enjoyed being in the mountains and watching as all the scenery around us materialized with the touch of sunlight. We eventually got back in the van, which was blissfully warm, and then drove to another viewing platform where we could admire the vista. By now the sun was completely up, and, like cold blooded animals, we were soaking up as much heat from it as we could. It made the terraces glow golden yellow, and the sky turn a perfect blue. We had a stunning view of gold and green. Pulling over alongside the road a few times to take pictures seemed rather risky to me (I kept imagining a car coming around a corner and knocking our van clean off the mountain, cartoon-style,) but we couldn’t help it. each time we rounded a bend there were more breathtaking things to see. We came to one little stop with a path that wound down through the mountain to another village, and our guide Jack offered to lead us through it.
As with any national park or wonder I’ve seen, it always gets even more beautiful when you get to walk and explore within it, rather than just looking from the outside, the edge, the top. Despite being absolutely freezing all morning by now the sun had warmed us up - the change in temperature must have been about 40 degrees - and we headed down along the path. Half stairs half hills, sometimes stone sometimes packed dirt, a few times made just of the narrow rim of tightly packed mud and grass holding the water in a paddy, the path took us down the side of the mountain and then a little bit back up again. On each side of the path, occasionally crossing under it beneath a stone, ran a narrow gutter of flowing water that supplied all the paddies on its way down from the top of the mountain, and the small rush of water was the background noise to our whole walk. Not five minutes after we’d started walking we passed five or so water buffalo and the man herding them along, and just passed to the side of them as they flicked their wiry tails and stepped slowly along. All throughout the walk we saw old women and men bent over in the fields working, most of them in the traditional blue and white Bai clothing of the local minority. Old women passed us on the path with gigantic baskets on their backs, full of vegetables from a morning market, or tools for working in the fields that looked far to heavy to be lifted, but on they walked, not blinking an eye. In the countryside many middle aged people, parents, have gone to the cities to find work and send home their wages to give their kids a better life. While they’re in the cities, however, the grandparents stay home to raise the young kids, so most villages are composed of people over sixty and under fifteen. Walking the path in my jeans and converse I felt extremely out of place, like if someone in a period piece movie had suddenly pulled out an iPhone and started texting. A common theme of our travels was the intermingling and convergence of old and new, the traditional and technological. In many places they blended rather seamlessly, but in that moment the path seemed to be something untouched by the present we were used to. Soon enough we saw once again that just like everywhere else, the new was finding its way into the old, however often they were still in stark contrast to one another.
By now we’d shed as many of our layers as we could; the sun was bright and despite feeling frostbitten that morning we were now sweating. As we kept walking we eventually came to the outskirts of a village made up of houses built mostly in the traditional way and painted their original yellow color, but Jack told us that they were almost all built recently and with more practical modern methods, they were only designed to look old. We spotted a little coffee shop as we were walking by, and decided that sitting down for a while would be nice. We ordered drinks, sat at a circular glass table looking out at the fields through a big glass window, connected to the wifi, and chatted with our tour guide Jack. Once again it felt like two worlds had combined in an unexpected way: here we were accessing the internet and drinking coffee from shiny stainless steel machines while through the window we were watching an old man with a scythe rest before heading back down into the fields. Talking politics with Jack, opinions on things happening across the globe, it felt like the world was simultaneously incredibly connected and distinctly separate. Eventually the path found its way to a second village, our destination, and we walked passed an elementary school with high walls and a gate, where a dozen or so boys huddled in the courtyard, past old men sitting in doorways talking and smoking, past more women with gigantic baskets on their backs that looked like they weighed more than me.
Over the past three or so hours we’d seen mountains, fields, villages, a small forest that was so different from ours at home, streams, many local people and water buffalo, modern coffee shops, and some other tourists from around the world. We were overheating and tired from climbing up and down hills in the hot sun, and still drinking in the views around us. I could have looked at the terraces and mountains for ages and ages. Seeing a life so previously unknown to me, walking through the beautiful landscape, and just being present in an area I could never have even imagined before that day was such a privilege.
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