(That's beijing)
Updated: 2007-05-28 10:48

Following the Yulong River, a tributary of the Li River, it is possible to see the unusual limestone pinnacles that pepper the alluvial plain. The valley is a patchwork of paddy fields and plots of carefully tended cabbages, yellow rape flowers, and groves of fruit trees. Crouched low upon the earth are small hamlets, mud and brick farmsteads with a small wilderness of flowers, spring vegetables, orange trees, and herbs giving privacy to the residents.

Winding and rutted dirt tracks lead down to the riverside where stretches of tall bamboo line the river, the lazy current taking tourists downstream on bamboo rafts. Water buffalo graze idly in the fields, closely watched by a young boy or an elderly man, the occasional flick of a stick or a well-aimed stone keeping the animals away from the neighboring pastures of lush grass.

Just outside Yima, a small town close to the Yulong River, Yi Fan works on a fish farm. He rents rods to visitors who want to spend a few hours sitting by one of the pools staring at the reflections of Five Finger Hill and the gently bobbing red float, in the hope of landing a fresh meal. Once hooked and netted, Yi Fan’s friend, Cheng Mei, prepares the catch on an open stove and it is served with vegetables from the plot across the road.

Down by the river, Deng Li and Zhang Feng are lowering bamboo rafts into the water from the back of a sputtering open-engine pick-up. A group of Chinese tourists clamor on the sandy banks, the children squirting each other with water pistols, and jumping around excitedly in anticipation of the boat ride. As they set off, the chug-chug sound of the truck's engine fades as it heads back downstream to collect more rafts, and bring them to this makeshift wharf.

Five kilometers away, the town of Baisha is undergoing a boom of sorts, with its newly paved road and modern tarmac bridge providing greater accessibility. However, the old stone bridge around which the town grew up is proving to be a great tourist draw. The 59-meter-long Dragon Bridge, built in 1412, spans the Yulong River and still sees a steady stream of pedestrian traffic of sorts; from water buffalo to young men frantically trying to get their motorbikes up the stone steps and over the hump. The sound of fire crackers echoes beneath, startling an old woman who breaks into a toothy grin as a group of small boys run up the street. The wide bend in the river at this point provides a natural berthing spot for boats, and boatmen sit on the banks, chatting and waiting for the next tour group to arrive.

Heading back along the main highway at dusk, there is the heady scent of rape flowers in the air and the thick, pungent odor of earth being worked over. The high pinnacles are once again becoming shadows; permanent shapes in the darkness that now seem reassuring rather than alien. Entering the outskirts of town, the signs of a society on the move slowly reappear - half-built homes, piles of masonry, the steady drone of activity - and although the fairy-light illuminations of the town center are a shock to the senses, they too prove to be somewhat reassuring. Life along the valley floor and in this rapidly growing town co-exist harmoniously- for the moment.

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