Hiking the Dragon’s Backbone in Longsheng

Hiking the Dragon’s Backbone in Longsheng

with 14 Comments


It’ll be raining again today, what a shame! It never rains in Longsheng around this time of year, says Ling. We rarely trust the weather forecast. But if a local guide says it’s going to rain, it will be raining. Always!


Luckily, as we approach Longsheng, the rainfall turns into a drizzle. Curves after curves after curves, our driver suddenly makes a full stop. A tree ripped off from its roots is lying in front of us. It doesn’t completely block our road, but the driver leaves the car to inspect the damage as if he had caused it and needed to repair the wreckage.


The engine is still running. Black smoke keeps puffing out of the tailpipe. Then two scooters halt next to us. The men talk, gesticulate, and after a couple of minutes our driver eventually returns to his seat. I’m not a fervent member of Greenpeace, but I’m relieved that he’s finally going to stop idling the car’s engine. However, instead of shutting it off, he takes the wheel. We maneuver around the fallen tree, crushed branches and bushes, and continue our way up to the Longji rice terraces.


A couple of kilometers further, we stop at a large ticket office. Are we heading into a tourist trap? Seeing the expression on our face, Ling quickly explains that this is just an entrance to the Lonji terrace area. We’ll be hiking through the “Dragon’s Backbone Mountain” for 5 hours from here, and stop in several small villages.


Before setting off, Ling takes a sip of her Buddha tea that she carries around every day. “Normally, you can see the green terraces from this spot. But not today…” The three of us face the abyss, peering into the void: fog so thick you could cut it with a knife. But then, like a miracle, small patches of green appear. For exactly two minutes, the sky clears up, and unveils a spectacular vista of what we are hoping to see throughout the whole trip.


Longji Rice Terraces in Longsheng, Guanxi, China © Travelwithmk.com


The foggy clouds (or cloudy fogs?) come back as quickly as they have disappeared. We set out on the trail. The first part of the hike is on a paved and well-maintained path. I find it almost boring. But then the trail becomes steep and narrow, and the rocks we step on become increasingly slippery. The sun is nowhere to be seen, the temperature is not high, but the air moist. I feel sweaty under my light jacket, but know that I’ll be cold if I take it off. Occasionally we pause for a minute, mostly when a path is either flooded or just ends in the rice fields, and Ling needs to improvise another route.


Whenever we cross an unstable bridge made of logs, I walk fast. Very fast. And do not dare to look down nor up. But these are not the scariest moments for me. My heart pounds out of my chest whenever I get to see the depth of the steep terraces we are trekking through. I imagine falling off the trail and rolling down from terrace to terrace. Of course, that is a stupid thought. The rice terraces are soaked and muddy. I wouldn’t fall quite far down. But still, I’m almost glad that the surrounding view is covered with a fog bank during most of the time. Who knows, perhaps one day I will stop being afraid of heights…


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On our way, we come across several ethnic minorities. We barely hear them from afar, and suddenly they walk past you, carrying fruits or vegetables in a woven basket on their back. The Yao women are recognizable by their very long hair that they never cut, whereas the Zhuang ladies usually wear embroidered towels as headwear.


Our guide, Ling, is also from one of the local ethnic minorities. She doesn’t wear any distinctive garment or item, but whenever she talks about her “people”, she uses the term “nationality”.


In Europe, people tend to call all Asiatic people “ Asians”, or sometimes even “Chinese people” without making any distinction whatsoever. Since I was born and raised in Europe, I’m used to this. Of course, I don’t appreciate being labeled, especially since I often forget that I’m “Asian” or “Asiatic” in my everyday life, until someone reminds me of it (oh yes, I forgot that I’m “different”! Wait, because I’m gay or because I’m not white…?!) And of course, I do – at least – distinguish the various Asian people from the different countries. However, even I must admit that I frequently used the term “Chinese people” to refer to all those Asian people living in China, or speaking a Chinese dialect.


Before meeting Ling, I never questioned the amount of dissimilarities that still exist among the “global Chinese nationality” after the Cultural Revolution. Hearing Ling explain the cultural differences between the various regional ethnic groups (or nationalities), I suddenly realize that what most people call “China” has never been a unity. And I also figure why the elder generations of my family so insistently claim to be “Teochew people” and not just “Chinese people”, even though they never lived in that region of China (nor in other parts of China for that matter). Thanks to Ling I finally acknowledge the importance of embracing a regional “nationality” inside of China. It’s not just a difference of dialects, but also of food, lifestyles, apparel, knowledge, beliefs, rituals, arts and manners.


We come across the first “difference” between the various Chinese cultures, as we lunch in the Ancient Zhuang village. We order sticky rice, stuffed in a bamboo stick and cooked over fire. If my mother were here, she would say: that’s what people “from the mountains” eat… I guess, she wouldn’t be completely wrong, since in Guilin – about 100km away – we ate noodles, the city’s local food. Really, who says that all Chinese people eat rice?



The items and settings displayed at the tiny museum in the village reflect even more differences between the diverse local minorities and what people commonly call “Chinese culture”. In the houses of the Zhuang ethnic groups, there’s usually a central hearth, which is actually a metal tripod, and around which all the family members gather for everyday meals. They sit on low wooden stools, on which I couldn’t stay put for more than half an hour. Above the hearth, meat is often suspended on a woven large basket, which will be dried and smoked over weeks and months.


As we enter Ping’An village, a couple of Guangxi horses, loaded with goods, pass by. They trot tiringly through narrow rocky paths, among high wooden and bamboo houses. A dog appears behind an unfinished house made of concrete. He barks uneasy at us intruders. Long bamboo sticks rest here and there on the façades. At their foot lie plastic cups and rusted metal poles. A few steps away, someone is working metal. The sawing sounds are punctuated by a rooster’s crows and a Chinese mountain song blaring out of a radio.



The fog gets thicker, and Ling stops in her tracks. Wait, where is the Liqing Hotel again? We have chosen one she’s not quite familiar with. We mount a couple of paved stairs, duck into a cramped lane, cross several wooden planks, and finally arrive at the inn. The reception hall is dark. Ling exchanges a few words with the innkeeper who welcomes us in Chinese. I try to apprehend without success.


The hotel seems deserted, although Ping’An is known to be more touristy than other small villages in Longsheng. Young backpackers in their 20s prefer hostels, whereas travelers over 40s stay in 5 star retreats. Apparently, couples in their 30s like us are supposed to have kids and spend their vacations in all-inclusive resorts somewhere in the Canary Islands…


Before flying to Guilin, I imagined us sitting on the balcony of our hotel room in a tranquil tiny village, marveling at natural sceneries over sun-kissed rice terraces. As soon as we settle in our perfect room, we hear a group of Chinese tourists talking loudly in Mandarin downstairs. Not so deserted after all. They climb the creaking wooden stairway, burp and slam doors. We get out on the balcony, wrapped in a wooden blanket, and gaze at the fog bank. A thick wall of nothingness. The following morning, we finally get to treasure a glimpse of the Longji rice terraces. Right before it starts raining again…


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Hiking the Dragon's Backbone in Longsheng, Longji Rice Terraces, Guanxi, China. By Travelwithmk.com

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Mei is an Archaeologist, born and raised in Luxembourg City. She's not only a travel enthusiast, but also a passionate travel writer and blogger. When roaming the world, she loves roadtripping through mountains and deserts, visiting archaeological sites and museums, as well as exploring small towns.

14 Responses

  1. Sandy N Vyjay
    | Reply

    Loved reading this post. First of all the rice terraces are fascinating. I also was very interested to note that there is more to the chinese people and culture than usuually highlighted. The spread and depth of the Chinese people and culture is really fascinating to read about. It is so easy for people to fit countries and races into straitjackets and label them, without bothering to understand the subtle differences.

  2. Ryazan
    | Reply

    This area looks stunning! I love your adventure. 🙂 This experience is definitely immerse you to the culture of the locals. Stunning photos as well! xx

  3. Elisa Subirats
    | Reply

    I was in the area a couple of years ago but I did not visit Longsheng because it was not the good season In which month did you go? I found very interesting the “cultural part” of your post, what a pity I could not feel these cultural differences when I was in China . .

    • Mei and Kerstin
      | Reply

      I’m sorry you didn’t get to feel the cultural differences in China, Elisa! But we were very lucky to have Ling as a guide. She’s such an honest person and really got us immersed into the local culture and customs. We actually went there at the right season (November), but somehow it still rained a lot.

  4. Reshma
    | Reply

    This post reminded me of the ones that I had visited in the Philippines, and some of which I have visited in my country India. Such a scenic place amidst nature. I would love to visit these terraces in China some day!

  5. loisaltermark
    | Reply

    That landscape is amazing. The fogginess definitely adds drama to the story – although I’m sure those bridges were dramatic enough for you! I wouldn’t have wanted to look down either!

  6. Claudia
    | Reply

    the first sentence made me laugh because its the same way in my home town, Bolivia! Always trust the locals. What an amazing hike and hope you get better weather

    • Mei and Kerstin
      | Reply

      Haha! Yes, now we always trust the locals when it comes to weather forecast! 🙂

  7. Kim-Ling
    | Reply

    I’m glad you got some clear moments to get those beautiful photos (even if they were brief)! The sticky rice in the bamboo stick looks interesting, I’ve had plenty of sticky rice, but never served like that! I would love to visit China and learn more about the different areas, dialects and people. Hopefully I’ll get better weather!

    • Mei and Kerstin
      | Reply

      We were also very surprised about the way they served the sticky rice in bamboo sticks. It tasted completely different from the sticky rice we used to know before. Don’t worry about the weather. It changes quite fast in the mountains, so I’m sure you’ll get a clear sky at one time or another. 🙂

  8. Fiona Maclean
    | Reply

    What a fascinating hike! I’d be like you and not looking on the bridges. It’s a shame about the weather in some ways, but in other ways it just makes what you saw more magical

    • Mei and Kerstin
      | Reply

      Yes, you’re right! Whenever the sky cleared up for a few seconds, we stood there totally amazed by the fanstastic landscapes!

  9. Danik
    | Reply

    As a hiker I wouldn’t mind giving this a go. The scenery looks amazing but I think if its humid and muggy in the air, this could be a challenge.

    • Mei and Kerstin
      | Reply

      That’s true. It was a challenge to hike in such a weather condition! We hope that next time the air will be drier.

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