Traveling alone in Guangxi province, I had booked an airplane ticket expecting anything, well, I was mentally prepared for anything. The itinerary was pretty open, it included a hike through the Dragon's Backbone Rice Terraces, followed by a quick tour of the sights of Guilin and a chunk of time in Yangshuo. Then, of course, the best rock climbing of China beckoned.
The other teachers were jealous of my time off, with good reason. They had sophomores to entertain, while I was spending my days sleeping in, sending emails, working out and planning my travels to southern China.
The freshmen I was teaching were still in military training and if the rumors were true that the incoming students only had an English vocabulary that extended to "What's your name?" I needed this holiday--I justified.
So after a dorm night stay in Guilin with five boys that snored in a off-beat rythum most of the sweaty night, I left Guilin in a rush and headed to the famed Dragon's Backbone.
Ping' an, arguably the most beautiful village in the area, as well as the one closest to a road (and buses), was a tourist clusterfuck. With my full pack loaded on my back, I hiked the steep steps away from the crowds, restraunts touting "Local and Western food" combos and the few tourists being carried (literally) on beds up the high stone steps. Farther up the hill, in the shade, I found a Yao woman selling postcards and minority flair. Target--I was about to be accosted for yuan--I knew the routine all too well.
"Sleeping? Sleeping?" she asked instead.
I had read in my Lonely Planet guidebook that homestays were possible in some of the remote villages, but instead I just walked away. I had finally found the path for the hike that linked the villages of the Dragon's Backbone that LP had also recommended.
But the woman dressed in a traditional black skirt with black hair that reached equally long, persisted.
"No, come stay with me. Sleeping, yes! You can meet my beibei." She motioned the pillow with her head resting on her hands, dare she risk that I didn't understand.
I weighed the idea, 20 yuan (~$3 U.S.D.), an experience. I had no friends in Guangxi province, but for tonight I'd have an adopted Yao Chinese family, complete with a baby who happened to have a shaved head with a hair tuft fluff on his crown and a curiosity in me that never dissipated.
I agreed, after much silence, carpe diem and all that. She followed me closely, satisfied with her day's earnings as she corralled me, the foreigner, her night's guarantee bonus. As we walked, she pointed out the crops we passed, potatoes, chilies, rice, shouting out both their English and Chinese aliases. She pointed, "Maize, you know?" I laughed, oh yes, I knew that one well. We continued in this way, chatting sporadically, as a rural minority woman, she knew a good smattering of English, I not so secretly hoped my students would compare.
Three hours later, my calves burned from climbing the steep steps, and my clothes hung damp from the mix of sweat and rain, but we had arrived to her house--a wooden structure supported small wooden slits, little toothpicks I wouldn't have trusted for my own house. A hand full of gaping holes in the floor hinted to the great distance that separated the wooden board floor to the dirt/trash ground below.
Yet with so little, the Yao family shared the spirit of unending hospitality.
Upon arrival, the woman pushed me into the outside room that functioned equally as a laundry room, bathroom and shower. The cold water felt refreshing and when I exited, food lit up the table. Rice, vegetables and no meat, the distinguisher of money and class in China. If you can afford it, you eat meat, even if it may be dog.
I ate to my satisfaction. I knew the truth that what I didn't finish would be the family's dinner. Besides, the night before in Guilin produced enough attention to hint to me that my body didn't fit in China and didn't need that extra rice. "If you like, we can find your size, much bigger."
I soon left the home and hiked the two hours back to road traffic, I had other things on my mind. I was heading to Yangshuo, where I read that foreigners were as abundant as the towering karst mountains.
More to come...
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