The first of the Snow Peak Mountains
I cannot remember the last time I was as physically exausted as today. I am writing in my room in Xiaoshajiang Village. There is no hot water because the pipes froze, and no heating of course. There is a makeshift karaoke bar next door, filling the neighbourhood with off key pop songs. Nonetheless, I think I am going to sleep well.
Half an hour out of Xinhua this morning, I heard it for the first time: a sound utterly unfamiliar in China. It was silence. There were no honks, no beeps, no rumbles, no people talking. Just the soft whisper of the wind in the bamboo and cyprus. It has not always been quiet today, but that silence has been there in the background somewhere.
A few hours into the day these mountains appeared on the horizon. Mountains here are not like the ones I am used to in Canada. Chinese mountains have a rippling, serpentine shape, as if they bubbled out of a primordial icing pipe.
Half an hour out of Xinhua this morning, I heard it for the first time: a sound utterly unfamiliar in China. It was silence. There were no honks, no beeps, no rumbles, no people talking. Just the soft whisper of the wind in the bamboo and cyprus. It has not always been quiet today, but that silence has been there in the background somewhere.
A few hours into the day these mountains appeared on the horizon. Mountains here are not like the ones I am used to in Canada. Chinese mountains have a rippling, serpentine shape, as if they bubbled out of a primordial icing pipe.
Delicious
I crossed a few pulse raising but manageable mountains, and ate lunch in Duckfield Village, which did indeed have many ducks. Something seems to be going on today. I have seen an abnormal number of firecrackers, weddings, and ceremonies of various kinds.
After lunch, I started up into a valley that never ended. Up the road would go into one fold in the mountains, and just as it looked like it was nearing an end, it would curve around a hill and head up again in another direction. This was, I would realize later, what I had seen on my map: the Snow Peak Mountains.
Every day on this trip, I have felt like the countryside is as rough and remote as it will get, but every day I have been surprised. The China that I saw up this valley was altogether surreal. The farmhouses are wooden, with some glass windows but not a hint of metal sheeting, plastic or paint. Aside from a motorcycle or three-wheel buggy here and there, there was hardly anything to suggest that the last two hundred years had passed. Through the wide, wood panelled doorways are ancestor shrines with incense and candles.
Above the immaculately terraced rice paddies, the mountains are wrapped in dense bamboo forest. I have seen bamboo before, but nothing like this. It feels like travelling through a giant bed of moss.
There is nothing I can say to describe four and half hours of bicycling up a mountain. There are certainly some bike enthusiasts or hikers who understand. Honestly, though, I am not even sure if my memory can do it justice. I may attempt such a thing again, but perhaps only if the mercy of forgetfulness wipes from my mind what it was really like.
After lunch, I started up into a valley that never ended. Up the road would go into one fold in the mountains, and just as it looked like it was nearing an end, it would curve around a hill and head up again in another direction. This was, I would realize later, what I had seen on my map: the Snow Peak Mountains.
Every day on this trip, I have felt like the countryside is as rough and remote as it will get, but every day I have been surprised. The China that I saw up this valley was altogether surreal. The farmhouses are wooden, with some glass windows but not a hint of metal sheeting, plastic or paint. Aside from a motorcycle or three-wheel buggy here and there, there was hardly anything to suggest that the last two hundred years had passed. Through the wide, wood panelled doorways are ancestor shrines with incense and candles.
Above the immaculately terraced rice paddies, the mountains are wrapped in dense bamboo forest. I have seen bamboo before, but nothing like this. It feels like travelling through a giant bed of moss.
There is nothing I can say to describe four and half hours of bicycling up a mountain. There are certainly some bike enthusiasts or hikers who understand. Honestly, though, I am not even sure if my memory can do it justice. I may attempt such a thing again, but perhaps only if the mercy of forgetfulness wipes from my mind what it was really like.
Frozen rice paddies near Xiaoshajiang
Nevertheless, I emerged into the snowy, frozen highcountry as evening was coming on. I stopped in the Miao minority village of Xiaoshajiang. It is icy cold here. By evening, nearly everyone is off the streets and huddling in blankets or around blanketed heating tables.
This place seems more than just a few hundred kilometres away from the rest of the world. There is some talk of a new railway through the mountains from Changsha to Huaihua. Maybe some day many more people will see places like Xiaoshajiang.
Selfish as it is, I'm glad I was here first.
Regards,
Niko
This place seems more than just a few hundred kilometres away from the rest of the world. There is some talk of a new railway through the mountains from Changsha to Huaihua. Maybe some day many more people will see places like Xiaoshajiang.
Selfish as it is, I'm glad I was here first.
Regards,
Niko
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