Chengyang - Minority Villages, Rice Harvest, and Dutch Tourists

For almost two blissful days, I have enjoyed the peace and relative tranquility of the villages around Chengyang. With a winding, gurgling river, gorgeous green hills, and colorful fields of rice and corn in the valley, this is a wonderful setting. The sun came out again and I enjoyed the remoteness of where I am. As I wandered from village to village, over covered rain-bridges and through muddy rice paddies, I marvelled at how few tourists actually come up here. It probably has something to do with the gruelling 8 hour trip on 3 different buses.

I watched the villagers harvest the rice. I had always wondered how they would do it. It was a team operation. One girl took off her boots and waded knee-deep into the muck. Another girl followed dutifully behind her. The first girl then cut off a fistful of rice stalks with a scythe and passed it to the second girl who threw it on the side of the road to dry. Then, a tiny little girl no older than 5 grabbed as much as she could and worked a beating machine that separated the grains from the stalk. Interesting.

I had heard that as you get further north in China, the people become less friendly. This is certainly true is this area, as fewer people returned my smiles and waves as I tramped curiously through their villages. I guess I look as out of place as a Chinese tourist in West Philadelphia.

In the afternoon, my illusion of being alone came crashing down, as I stumbled upon the "Chengyang Cultural Show." There, at least 20 other tourists watched the locals put on a music and dance show. But, it still beat the throngs of CPTs in Yangshuo.

I really enjoyed having the guesthouse to myself. That pleasure came to an end at 4:30am last night when a group of older Dutch tourists arrived. They were quite loud, storming around, yelling in their guttural language, making enough noise to wake up the village. I put up with it for around ten minutes and then opened my door.

"Excuse me," I said nicely, "it's almost 5am. Can you please keep it down? You're not the only ones here."

The group rewarded me with the same look a dog owner would give you if you asked him to scoop his dog's poop off your lawn.

But, alas, the din did not diminish.

I waited another 10 minutes, hoping they would retire to their rooms. Instead, they started some sort of song and there was some clapping. I was fuming.

I slammed open my door and stormed out. Raising my voice, I said "Look. I'm trying to sleep and you're all being extremely rude. IF you do not quiet down immediately, I will personally make sure you are all woken up at 7am and I will make your stay here a living hell. Do you or do you not want to enjoy your time here?"

I was fully prepared to set my alarm for 7am and sing "Old Macdonald has a farm" at the top of my lungs.

The group leader, a bulky, sour-faced woman who had probably yet to enjoy an admiring look from a man, gave me a dirty look. But, she said something to the group, and everyone dispersed.

Suffice to say, I was not a popular guy this morning.