Last weekend I went on a journey to Dehang, a small village in south west Hunan. After pounding the pavement in big city China for two months, it was a welcome change of pace. I avoided the village center, which is packed with the cheesy stuff that excites the hordes of Chinese tourists, and explored the never-ending paths and trails that wound themselves around the karst peaks.
Every morning men would herd water buffalo through the village streets and into the hills to graze. I noticed old women chopping down bamboo on mountainsides, completely amazed at how they got there. The sites were otherworldly. I didn’t get one picture that began to illustrate the beauty of the mountains. As the sun set, people began heading home from the village center. I watched them take little paths that seemed to lead no where, but apparently they lead home. In Dehang, you rise and set with the sun. Was I really in China?
Now back in freezing Changsha, I’m going to hibernate in my heated dorm room until spring….
