The China Journal - Day 26

We are in Xijiang, a village inhabited by the Miao minority group. It's rarely a good sign when there's a billboard outside the village's entrance proclaiming it to be an official 'tourist' village. Nor is it a good sign when the number of multi-passenger electric carts packed with throngs of Chinese tourists outnumber the villagers themselves. With the exception of the few elderly working the rice fields, the villagers seem to do very little but sit in front of the entrances to the multitude of souvenir shops selling the same knick-knacks that are ubiquitous throughout China, or dress up in traditional costumes and perform for each busload of tourists that seem to arrive by the hour.

By dusk, however, we get the feeling that we are the only intruders in this commercial, yet quaint village. The smell of wood and smoke, accompanied by a light drizzle and ever-present dampness, reminds me of days of camping past. As night approaches, there's little to do but play a game of cards as darkness descends and the yellow glow of a hundred lamps play surrogate to the stars concealed by the thick layer of smog in the sky above.