Spent the day traveling with an ageing hippie couple from San Francisco. They’re a sight by themselves; 70 and 71 years old, long grey hair and long grey beard for the chap and they like to do the same things as all the young backpackers, such as staying in a cheap hostels and eating wherever it’s convenient.
We rented a taxi today and went up into the northern hills about 40 km outside of Pingyao. The area is dry and dusty with few trees or tall buildings. Everything is low to the ground. The road eventually narrows into a small track barely wide enough for the car, as it winds its way along the side of the hills. Deep and sudden gorges permeate the land. Everything is a dull tan and dry as a bone. No green shoots poke up from the ground. The hills rise in steps from the terracing. The land looks as if it has been inhabited for thousands of years. Every foot shows evidence of man’s habitation.
In the distance walls and then houses emerge out of the ground. The same tawny tan colour. They’re oddly shaped. As we get closer it’s possible to see how the land and houses are one. Holes are drilled into the side of the hills leading to caves. Sometimes mud brick continues above forming a second storey. Many of the caves are abandoned. Debris lines the floor and the mud straw plaster is peeling from the walls. A few are still inhabited. Amongst a cluster of houses 10 or so elderly Chinese squat, staring at us the strange visitors. Their deeply browned faces hold many lines. Not one is under fifty. This is what passes for village in these parts. All the young have left for the cities. Only the old and disabled live in these cave houses anymore.
Our driver takes us into one ladies house. In it are two rooms. One for storage with all her root vegetables and the other for living. An old coal fired iron stove dominates the middle, heating a fire underneath the raised bed. The only modern contraptions are a TV and humidifier. There’s no running water, gas or sewage. Tools are basic and everything is done by hand. The old lady says she’s in her 80’s and now lives alone. See can’t see well and say’s see needs glasses.
We walk to the next nearby village. Up a hill, the feet of hundreds of sheep have turned the dusty sides into sand. We enter a courtyard that’s seen better days. The driver calls out but nobody responds. He opens one of the cave doors and I follow closely behind. All I see first is an old mottled foot; they lead to an ancient Chinese man resting on his bed. He doesn’t notice us and appears dead. The driver is backing out quickly and pushes me back out of the cave. There are two other doors but we don’t try them. We quickly head back to the car as the driver tells us this village is not one for exploring. It’s the last refuge for the sick and dying. Too frail to move to the city to seek help and no young people around to care for them, they just wait for their final breath.
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