Savoring Yangshuo, a jewel under threat

On a Beijing morning at 5:35, cracks of light begin to break through the hazy skies. Two hours later, the plane lands in the southern city of Guilin, the Guangxi Zhuang autonomous region, a place that lies in southern China, bordering Vietnam. Through the window I can make out the vague outline of the karst countryside in the morning haze. Its gray complexion is almost see-through, like a pencil sketch that someone had tried to erase, leaving the smudges of graphite on the paper.

Earlier that afternoon, I caught a bus heading farther south, past villages and through the countryside. On the road to Yangdi, a village that embraces the Lijiang River, the lanes were swept with dust. We drove past makeshift stalls spilling over with watermelons on both sides of the road. It was 38 C and the people on the pavement carried umbrellas, wore raincoats and ducked for cover. Bikes and buses, cars and trucks, all woven impulsively along the long road paved with potholes, a tarmacked slalom heading south to the village. All the while the karst limestone mountains, cloaked in green, dotted the countryside.

Later in the day, I loosen a rope, disconnecting an anchor, and the raft I've jumped on starts to rock gaily on the Lijiang River before the motor kicks in and begins to push downstream.