Guizhou

Guizhou, abbreviated as Qian or Gui, lies in the hinterland of southwest China, a land favored by mountains, waters and folkways. It has no flat easy roads, and for that very reason it keeps its most untouched, hidden-realm character: the karst landscape has carved the earth into strange peaks and deep valleys, waterfalls and underground rivers surge among the mountains, and on this land of more than 176,000 square kilometers, the Miao, Bouyei, Dong and many other ethnic groups have lived for generations, hiding songs and silver jewelry in every village. Travel in Guizhou is not about refined gardens; it is about the grandeur of nature and the vividness of everyday life.

Guizhou's travel map roughly follows three threads. The first is waterfalls and landscapes: the Huangguoshu waterfall group in Anshun thunders in the high-water season, with rainbows often arching through the spray; Wolong Pond at Libo's Xiaoqikong is like a blue-green gem, and in the Water Forest you wade along stone steps with the coolness rising from your feet into your heart; the Red Cloud Golden Peak of Mount Fanjing appears and disappears in the sea of clouds, and Mushroom Rock still stands after eons of weathering. The second is ethnic groups and villages: the stilted houses of Xijiang Qianhu Miao Village stack from the foot of the hill to its waist, and after dark the countless lights pour down like a galaxy; the five Drum Towers of Zhaoxing Dong Village are laid out by the five Dong family branches, and at dusk Dong grand song rises by the wind-and-rain bridge, its multi-part unaccompanied harmony piercing the twilight; Basha Miao Village in Congjiang still keeps the ancient custom of shaving the head with a sickle. The third is ancient towns and leisure: the Wuyang River at Zhenyuan Ancient Town bends into a grand S-shape, Qinglong Cave clings to the cliff, and at night you sit by the river eating grilled fish and watching the lights reflected in the water, and time slows down.

Transport is now very convenient. Guiyang is a high-speed rail hub, with bullet trains to Huangguoshu, Libo, Kaili, Tongren and other places; from there, tourist buses or chartered cars link the scenic areas. But the essence of Guizhou often lies between county and township roads. If you have plenty of time, renting a car and driving yourself lets you meet scenery that no map marks — such as the Bouyei ethnic group villages deep in Wanfenglin of Xingyi, or the villages that suddenly appear along the roads near Rongjiang and Congjiang.

Your first impression of Guizhou usually begins in Guiyang. This city, known as the "Capital of Summer Resorts", escapes the stuffy heat typical of southern provincial capitals in summer, and at night you may even need a thin blanket. Jiaxiu Pavilion stands on Aoji Rock in the Nanming River; more than four hundred years of wind and rain have softened its red lacquer. When the lights come on at night and the reflection sways gently in the water, it is the most classic cityscape of Guiyang. In the nearby Cuiwei Garden hides a small academy, with few visitors, a good place to sit down for a cup of tea. Qiling Mountain Park is a different story: early in the morning it is already crowded with locals doing morning exercise. Incense smoke from Hongfu Temple drifts among the trees, and the macaques on the mountain are the real masters here — if you carry a plastic bag, be careful, because they will suddenly dart out and snatch your food. If time allows, Qingyan Ancient Town deserves half a day. The walls of this Ming-dynasty town are built of local Qingyan stone, and the town preserves the unusual sight of stone archways standing alongside a church. Braised pig's trotters and rose candy are its signature foods, and in the street-side shops you can eat freshly pounded ciba rolled in soybean flour while it is still warm, which melts away the fatigue of climbing.

The charm of Guiyang goes beyond the sights themselves. In the morning, queue at the time-honored noodle shops on Jiefang Road. A bowl of changwang noodles arrives: the buckwheat noodles are springy, the pig intestine is cleaned well, the blood curd is tender, and the chili-oil broth is rich but not harsh. Add a portion of cuishao — crispy fried pork cracklings — and its toasty aroma lifts the whole bowl to another level. In the afternoon, wander the old lanes near the Qingyun Road night market. Grilled tofu cubes from the street stalls are a must-order: the cubes puff up on the wire grill with their skins turning slightly golden, then you poke them open with chopsticks and dip them in the special chili dipping sauce. Careful, they burn your mouth, but you will not be able to stop. People in Guiyang take eating more seriously than anything else, and the whole city smells of everyday life. Walk into any restaurant and you will not be let down by sour fish soup, siwawa or beef rice noodles. Huaxi beef rice noodles wins with its clear broth: the rice noodles are silky, the beef slices are paper-thin, and the soup is made from beef bones simmered overnight, topped with pickled vegetables and chili — the first choice for breakfast among locals. This city suits you for getting used to the pace of Guizhou: stay one night downtown first, then head for the big mountains and rivers around.

From Guiyang, head southwest for a little over an hour by car and you reach Huangguoshu in Anshun. This waterfall group is actually the collective name of three scenic areas. Huangguoshu Grand Waterfall is the star: at high water it is 101 meters wide, and the Water Curtain Cave runs right behind the falling water, so the world outside turns hazy when you look at it through the curtain. Tianxingqiao has a completely different character. A winding trail hides among the stone-spear karst peaks, and the Shusheng stones are carved with all 365 days of the year — visitors always look for the stone of their own birthday to take a photo. Doupotang Waterfall is the filming location where the four pilgrims of Journey to the West walked in the closing scene: its crest is broad, and the water spreads evenly across the travertine shoal like a bolt of white silk. Seeing all three areas takes a whole day. Sightseeing buses shuttle between them in loops, but you will still walk a fair distance, so a pair of non-slip shoes matters more than anything. From June to August, at high water, the falls are at their grandest; the spray can drift several hundred meters to the viewing platforms, so remember to protect your camera and phone with a waterproof pouch. Right after opening in the early morning, visitors are fewest, and if you are lucky you may see a double rainbow as the sunlight slants onto the water curtain.

The grandeur of Huangguoshu stuns you at first sight, but do not overlook the details behind the falls. Walk along the trail toward the Water Curtain Cave: the closer you get, the louder the roar, the air fills with fine droplets, and your clothes are soon soaked. Inside the cave, looking out from behind the waterfall, the water hangs like a flowing curtain before your eyes; when sunlight passes through the mist you can see fine shards of rainbow — a strange, wonderful feeling of being wrapped in water. If time allows, stay a night in Huangguoshu Town. After the visitors disperse in the evening, the Baishui River outside the scenic area grows quiet, and on the shoals you can see local children catching fish and shrimp. Go to Tianxingqiao early the next morning and walk slowly while the crowds are thin: the morning mist among the karst stones has not yet lifted, and the sound of water mixes with birdsong, far more tranquil than the midday crush. If you love photography, save the evening for Doupotang Waterfall. The setting sun dyes the travertine shoal at the crest warm gold, the water reflects the sky, and the whole world softens.

Xiaoqikong lies deep in the mountains of Qiannan Prefecture. It is named after a seven-arch ancient stone bridge covered in green vines, under which the lake water is an almost unreal blue. The color of this water is the most moving part of Libo. The surface of Wolong Pond is like a giant cat's-eye stone, so calm it hardly seems real, yet once it spills over the dam it drops into a waterfall — the switch between stillness and motion catches you off guard. The Water Forest is another wonder: tree roots grip the travertine shoal, water rushes past your feet, and the scenic area has laid stone blocks and stepping rocks so that you can wade through, splashing. In summer, go barefoot and the coolness shoots from your soles straight to the top of your head. Cuigu Waterfall tumbles down from the woods halfway up the mountain; unlike the overwhelming power of Huangguoshu, it carries a delicate grace. If your legs are willing, enter from the east gate and exit from the west, walking against the flow of the water, so that the whole way is gentle slope and you can have the quiet morning of the seven-arch ancient stone bridge to yourself before the main crowd arrives. The Daqikong scenic area near Xiaoqikong is often skipped in a hurry, but its natural bridge is truly spectacular: a huge karst arch spans the river, more than 70 meters high, and when you boat beneath it, you feel as small as an ant. The Maolan Karst Forest lies deeper still. True explorers hike there — caves, funnel-shaped forests, underground rivers, no man-made trails — and you must hire a local guide. That is the other face of Guizhou: wild and cut off from the world.

Libo deserves an extra day. The beauty of Xiaoqikong depends on the light: at dawn the water is calmest and the reflections clearest, while under direct afternoon sun the color turns pale and loses that jade-like transparency. So it is worth staying in the small town near the scenic area, catching the first sightseeing bus the next morning and going straight to the seven-arch ancient stone bridge. At that hour the crowds have not yet surged in, the bridge is not jammed with people taking photos, and the vines and stone arch lie quietly in the water, with occasional morning mist drifting over the surface like an ink painting. From Xiaoqikong, go on to Wolong Pond; the slanting morning light makes the water sparkle, and that blue-green will make you wonder whether you have stepped into a fairy tale. If you are not in a rush, have a farmhouse meal in the Bouyei ethnic group village at the entrance of the scenic area — freshly picked wild vegetables stir-fried with eggs, sour fish soup with white rice — simple but deeply satisfying.

Mount Fanjing is another mountain that deserves its own pilgrimage. It stands alone deep in the Wuling Mountains; seen from the Jiangkou side, the massif looks like a giant stone seal pressed upside down against the sky. A cable car takes you up to Pudu Square halfway up the mountain, and from there the road depends on your own two legs. Red Cloud Golden Peak is the soul of Mount Fanjing. On a rock tower with a vertical rise of nearly 100 meters, a narrow path spirals up against the cliff; at the steepest point the steps are almost vertical, and you must haul yourself up by iron chains. Two small halls stand at the top, one for Shakyamuni and one for Maitreya, linked by a stone bridge. With luck, you reach the top just as a sea of clouds churns below, and the whole mountain vanishes except for the peak, like an immortal isle beyond the sea. Mushroom Rock is the other signature of Mount Fanjing: a huge boulder balancing a wider stone on top, like a mushroom, like a piece of modern sculpture. Geologists call it the work of weathering; visitors simply marvel at the imagination of nature. The weather on the mountain changes fast — clear skies below, drizzle at the top — so a raincoat and a light down jacket are essential, and even in summer you need to keep warm. If you come for sunrise and cloud sea, best stay in a Dong village or guesthouse at the foot of the mountain, set out at 4 a.m. the next day and catch the first cable car, so that you can see the purest morning light from the summit.

The beauty of Mount Fanjing is not at its foot but in the climb. From Pudu Square upward, stone steps appear and disappear in the clouds; the azalea groves on both sides are in full bloom in May and June, pink-white flowers weighing down the branches, extra vivid after the rain. The higher you go, the thinner the vegetation, the more exposed rock, and the stronger the wind. When Red Cloud Golden Peak finally appears before you, its vertical presence makes you catch your breath. Climbing it takes hands and feet: you grip the chains tightly, place your feet on narrow steps, with a sheer cliff on one side and mist on the other. Many people want to turn back halfway, only to find the path blocked by those behind, and have no choice but to push on. Yet the moment you truly stand on the summit, the stone bridge between the two small halls spans the abyss, the cloud sea churns beneath your feet, and all fear and fatigue are blown away by the wind. Descend and walk to Mushroom Rock. The stone really is oddly lovable — long and wide on top, narrow and slim at the bottom, as if someone had placed a boulder up there, or as if a mushroom had grown out of the earth. Standing beneath it and looking up, you can feel the length and quietness of time.

Switching from natural scenery to ethnic culture, Xijiang Qianhu Miao Village is a place you cannot bypass. The Baishui River splits the village in two, and over a thousand stilted houses climb the slopes in tiers on both banks. After dark, the lanterns under the eaves light up one by one; from the viewing platform on the hilltop, the whole mountain looks sprinkled with gold dust, while the terraced fields in the distance sink into the night, leaving only a river of lights. In the daytime, watch the song-and-dance performance of the Miao ethnic group: girls in full dress wear heavy silver crowns that jingle as they walk — that sound is the wealth a Miao woman accumulates over a lifetime. In the village you can try the batik and embroidery workshops yourself: paint a square of cloth or embroider a flower, and time slows down here. Xijiang's night view is stunning, but its commercialization is also a fact: almost every shop on the main street sells the same silver jewelry and ginger candy. For a more authentic experience, visit Kongbai Village not far from Xijiang, where the silversmiths still hammer silver by hand, the clinking continuing from morning till dusk — a warmth no machine can replicate.

Staying overnight in Xijiang is worth far more than a rushed visit. At dusk, smoke rises from the stilted houses and tangles with the thin mountain mist; restaurants on the main street grow lively, and the sour-spicy scent of sour fish soup drifts everywhere. After dinner, walk up the stone steps, and the higher you go, the fewer the people. Halfway up the hill you see the lights come on in sequence — first a few houses, then a whole slope, until the entire mountain is wrapped in warm points of light. Early morning Xijiang is another world: before the visitors enter, the wind-and-rain bridge over the Baishui River is empty, a few elderly Miao people sit on the bridge pier chatting, and under the eaves hangs yesterday's freshly dyed batik, blue with white patterns swaying gently in the morning breeze. Walk a loop along the river at this hour, and you will see chickens and ducks kept beneath the stilted houses and hear the sound of rice being pounded inside the wooden buildings. Those real details of daily life stay with you longer than any panorama from the viewing platform.

Zhaoxing Dong Village may move you even more than Xijiang. It hides in a valley of Qiandongnan, ringed by mountains on all sides, with a stream running through the village. Five Drum Towers stand according to the five family branches of Ren, Yi, Li, Zhi and Xin — the five Confucian virtues of benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom and faithfulness. They range from a dozen or so to over twenty meters in height, narrowing as they rise, their gourd-shaped finials gleaming in the sun. At dusk, old people often gather around the fire pit beneath the Drum Towers, and the multi-part harmonies of Dong grand song (a tradition of unaccompanied, multi-voice choral singing of the Dong ethnic group) often rise without warning: no conductor, no instruments, yet the voices sound as if they had grown out of the earth itself. Batik cloth hangs on the drying poles, blue with white flowers swaying in the wind, a quiet beauty of everyday life. From Zhaoxing you can hike to Tang'an Dong Village, a trail of about two hours through rice paddies and terraced fields, passing several tiny Dong hamlets. Tang'an hides halfway up the mountain, its Drum Tower and opera stage better preserved than Zhaoxing's; stand at the village entrance and the whole valley basin lies at your feet. Basha Miao Village upstream of Zhaoxing is the other extreme: the men there still keep the Ming-dynasty hairstyle — a topknot on the crown with the rest of the head shaved clean — and carry a chopping knife at the waist. Known as "the last tribe of gunmen", they greet visitors with a volley of flintlock guns that echoes in the valley for a long time. The Zengchong Drum Tower in Congjiang is a living fossil among Drum Towers: first built during the Kangxi reign of the Qing dynasty, this wooden tower uses not a single nail or rivet, its tiers of dougong holding up the roof, still firm after centuries of wind and rain.

The evening is the most enchanting hour in Zhaoxing. The setting sun slants through the gap in the valley, stretching the shadows of the Drum Towers long, and the stream is gilded with gold. A few Dong children chase each other by the water, their splashes glittering in the light. Around the fire pit beneath the Drum Towers the seats gradually fill: the old men smoke local pipes while the young people sing Dong grand song, the singing starting from a low throat hum and stacking up layer upon layer, like mountain mist rising slowly. No instruments accompany them, yet the voice parts fit together seamlessly, and you cannot help holding your breath. The hiking trail from Zhaoxing to Tang'an crosses a stretch of rice paddies. In autumn, when the rice ripens, golden terraced fields spread from the foot of the mountain to its waist, scarecrows sway on the field ridges, a few dog barks sound in the distance, and you meet almost no other travelers along the way — only the whisper of the rice plants. Tang'an is smaller and quieter than Zhaoxing. Nobody collects a fee in the Drum Tower; when an old man sees your curiosity, he brings out a yellowed photo album and tells you what the village looked like in the old days. That kind of simple trust and sharing is something no commercial performance can buy.

Zhenyuan Ancient Town is like a quiet old man. The Wuyang River draws an elegant S-shape through the town, dividing it into the prefecture town and the garrison town; on both banks, Anhui-style horse-head walls coexist with stilted houses in a strange harmony. The Qinglong Cave complex clings to the cliff of Zhonghe Mountain — Buddhist temples, Taoist abbeys and Confucian academies each occupying a stretch of rock face. Looking up from below, you see the buildings stacked layer upon layer in mid-air, like a relief carved onto the mountain. Take a boat on the Wuyang River and the banks are a classic karst gorge; as the boat passes Zhusheng Bridge, the stone arch at its center frames the green mountains beyond like a natural picture frame. After landing, dive into the depths of the alleys: Zhenyuan's lanes are narrow and steep, the flagstones polished shiny by the years, the doors of the old houses half closed, and now and then you see an old woman mending clothes at the doorway. After nightfall, the riverside restaurants and bars light warm yellow lamps. Order the local specialty daocai braised pork belly with a bowl of sour soup rice noodles, sit by the river and watch the lights on the far bank sway in the water — a lively scene that is not noisy, one that sets your heart at ease. From Zhenyuan there is a direct tourist bus to Mount Fanjing, or you can change to the high-speed train at Yuping Station, so linking the two places is easy.

The slowness of Zhenyuan is something you understand only by staying. In the early morning, walk along the Wuyang River while the mist has not yet lifted from the water: Qinglong Cave on the far bank looks immortal in the thin haze, few people cross Zhusheng Bridge, and only a handful of early anglers set up their rods by the river. In the daytime you can rent a small boat and drift on the water; the houses on both banks stack up from the waterline to the hillside, grey brick, dark tile and wooden stilted houses interleaving without a single jarring note. In the afternoon, burrow into the old lanes below Shiping Mountain — hardly one of them runs straight; deep in their twists and turns hide all kinds of old houses, some turned into teahouses, some still homes, the carvings on the lintels blurred by the years yet still showing their former finesse. In the evening, return to the riverside and find a restaurant with a view of the lights on the opposite bank. The daocai braised pork belly is rich but not greasy, the sour soup rice noodles sour, spicy and appetizing; eat while watching the sky darken and the river fade from bright to dim, until it becomes a flowing ribbon studded with points of light. Zhenyuan is not as bustling as Xijiang, nor as wholly rustic as Zhaoxing; it sits between the two, with a composure polished by time.