The most famous rice terraces in the world are in the Northern Philippines. But I heard that the Dragon’s Back rice terraces near Longsheng were even more magnificent. They are amazing, precipitously strung up 800 metre peaks.

But why build these agro-engineering wonders in such difficult terrain?

The Han Chinese make up more than 93% of China’s population. The clever Han have displaced most of the other ethnic minorities, driving most of them into inhospitable mountains or desert. For the ethnic Yao people, who live on these peaks, it was grow rice or starve.

We stayed up high, nestled in the rice paddies in tiny Sang An village. There are 10 beautiful, traditional wooden guest houses, but we were the only 4 guests on the night we stayed on the mountain.

We lived at Wilson’s Cafe. Wilson (short English names easy for tourists to remember) is a Han Chinese who opened here a month ago to take advantage of the expected tourist boom. Because Wilson is the only person in the village who speaks English, he will now get all the western tourists. For this he is hated, having only one friend.

Wilson was a good host & will persevere. He wants to get rich, as do all the Chinese I’ve spoken with. For one thing, he is already 26 and not yet married.Women only want to marry a rich man, he told us.

Wilson is quite the entrepreneur. He learned English only by talking to tourists while working as a waiter in Yangshou. The staff is paid a pittance. There is no tipping in China. Wilson moved to the special economic zone to work (illegally?) in a big factory. But that work was too hard.

After 4 trips up to the Yao village, Wilson moved up permanently. He will quite likely be very successful. He likes living on the Dragon’s Backbone, exploring waterfalls, but it is boring for him when there are no excited, enchanted tourists to entertain.

I would love to have stayed on the rice terraces longer, perhaps walking 3 hours higher up the mountain to a more remote village, or setting-up my tent. (Wilson advised against the tent. Only 10 days earlier a very poisonous snake bit a village girl.)

I would love to have stayed for the Festival that was just starting. It was a family reunion. Each household must cook a duck and a fish. They were well into the beer by 9 AM. There were ducks everywhere!

I would love to have spent more time exploring the picturesque villages where small children carry the babies; where old men sit serene smoking long pipes; and where everyone else is busy doing leisurely rural chores.

But this is China. So I had an airline ticket that had to be purchased 3 days in advance and which could not be changed.

I flew to Chengdu, the frontier capital of Sichuan province & the last big city before the remote West and North. Most tourists like Chengdu. Somehow the smog is less offensive, the diesel exhaust less choking.

Chengdu is laid-out like Beijing with wide communist-style boulevards. I admired the big white Mao statue.

Unlike Beijing, Chengdu still has bicycle lanes so I got the chance to lose myself in the throng of bikes as I had seen so many times on TV.

This time it was me who was incompetent — at pedal navigation. I am too slow, too nervous; always over-compensating. Even old rickshaw men and little children move easily with the ebb and flow.

Chengdu is a big Chinese city but still has itinerant barbers, dentists, cobblers, cycle repair men. Unemployment is the big concern for the Chinese now. More and more will be driven to become street vendors.

The people’s park is a funny Socialist throwback. Fishing ia stocked pond is very popular. You pay for each fish caught, then take your catch home for lunch.

Last night we wandered the side streets, finally choosing a local roadside eatery at random. We were certainly the first and last western tourists this place will serve. Obviously, the Sichuan food was authentic — and toxic. I’ve never tasted that kind of poison before. (battery acid?) It was scary.

But the tourist Sichuan food is wonderful!

China is a great place for the gastronomical adventurer. And China is a great place for masochists. There is a wealth of travel horror talk. I can chip in to tell the tale of the 2 rats which kept me up, on guard, all night. (I changed rooms to another across the hall at 4:30 in the morning.)

But that’s nothing. Rue the tall German who fell into the roadside, bus stop toilet pit — neck deep. (I’ll be on that bus tomorrow.)

Getting anything done in China is difficult. Though the country is changing rapidly, there is a great leftover of deadbeats in do-nothing jobs. Heads on desks, they are useless.

Until they are swept away, in this country (as in Egypt) a tourist needs a fixer. This is a guy who speaks excellent English, who knows everything, knows everyone, who has connections, and who can deliver.

The tourist must find the best fixer and then pay his commission gladly.

In Chengdu, Sam was my fixer. Sam explained that Chinese mind their own business. They would never ask, Is it OK if I smoke?, or, Is the TV too loud?.

Chinese queue, walk and bike (and drive) to suit themselves. In a crowded country this is, perhaps, not a surprising cultural trait. It is actually good for us weird space-alien foreigners — even the Chinese children are taught to try to ignore us.

Sam arranged it so that early this morning we could see the famous, clumsy Panda bears. The Giant Panda Breeding Research Base, a rare class act in this country, just opened for tourists in 1995. We watched Longlong and Nono romp, push, and play. Log roll down the hill. Headstands and shoulder rolls. Climb up and slide down the slide. We were told the Pandas are on a comeback. No problem with illegal hunting … not since 1990 when two men found with 4 Panda skins were executed.

Sam has arranged my ticket north to Songpan, which is getting rave reviews. Guides take you on a Tibetan Pony trek through peaceful foothill valleys. Tibetan gear and tents, food, and everything else is provided. Of course an all-inclusive adventure like this is expensive. About C$9 / day plus Maotai and beer.

No e-mail up there, I hear. You can’t even cash a traveller’s cheque.

Tamdil!