Day Tripping in Cuandixia — scribbler at large

Two weekends ago I joined a tour group going to Cuandixia (tswan-dee-shya), which is a tiny village in the western outskirts of Beijing. It took us over 3 hours to drive there—reminder, the city of Beijing lays claim to more than 6,000 square miles, which is more than the state of Connecticut (info source: the Great Unfailing Wikipedia). We drove through the city and into the mountains, where the driving got intense. The road twisted up and and down super steep mountains, and our driver was no chicken—all of which put me in dangerous stomach territory. Don't worry, I kept it together by lolling against the window and staring at the sky like a professional. There were clusters of buildings alongside the road at intervals, and locals selling fruit or vegetables or nuts by the roadside. Every few miles we’d pass a shiny, semi-incongruous tourist information center.

Roadside scenery snapped from the bus while trying not to throw up.

I fell asleep as part of my effort not to get sick, and woke up when the bus made a quick stop. The parking lot we were in was surrounded by flowers (marigolds?), which made for a stellar view to wake up to. Turns out we weren't far from Cuandixia. Sickness: bested.

Ok, now some history. Cuandixia is an ancient village dating back to the Ming (1368–1644) and Qing (1644-1912) dynasties. It became a thriving village in the early 1500s thanks to its location on the main road from Beijng to Hebei province, Shanxi province, and Inner Mongolia. It’s now a popular tourist destination, famous for its well preserved homes and courtyards. Our guide told us it’s currently home to 93 residents/35 families.

Cuandixia was built up the sloping sides of the mountains that surround it. It’s laid out in two tiers, with the wealthier residents living on the second tier. The most important villager lives at the very top of the village and owns the biggest courtyard. The character “Cuan”—爨—is made up of 30 strokes(!), and has a mysterious origin and several different meanings. The two meanings I gleaned from my time there were something along the lines of “cooking fire” or “traditional oven,” and a surname.

When we were there, the narrow streets, pathways and courtyards were full of art students set up in front of easels painting the scenery. They looked to be high-school-aged, and a few of them were very interested in us, particularly in the two cute, blond-haired, blue-eyed kids who were part of our tour. Two students asked for photos with said blond kids.

The sky looked pretty threatening when we arrived, so we took a brisk walk up to the highest courtyard in the village in the hopes of beating the rain. From there we got a good look at the roofs and mountains…and the incoming storm.

View from the highest courtyard in the village.

We had a local guide speaking Chinese to our bilingual guide, who then translated everything into English. There were a few rocky translation points, and it's possible that I missed a lot of info, but the scenery was captivating enough to make up for whatever was lost in translation.

Looking down at the roofs and courtyards below the highest point in the village.

There were a lot of small details about the village that were really interesting—for instance, there is a drainage system built into the roofs, but our guide explained that water is synonymous with wealth, so residents took care to collect their own water rather than letting it drain into someone else’s property.

Corn hanging from the roof the of highest courtyard in the village.

We were introduced to the three major mountains behind the village—named, based on their shapes, the Turtle, the Bat, and (my memory is shaky on this one) the Horse. As we discovered at the Summer Palace, both turtles and bats are important animals in Chinese culture.

Best small detail of all, the courtyard at the top of the village had a built-in cat door.

After visiting the highest courtyard, we headed back down through the village—it’s small so it was a short walk—to escape the rain and to eat. We had lunch at a local spot that was essentially an outdoor kitchen with tables under a tent. I think the meal might have been catered by a family as opposed to a restaurant, but the situation was semi-unclear to me. As soon as we sat down to eat, the sky opened up with a torrential downpour that lasted about an hour and a half—huge claps of thunder and heavy, heavy rain. Fortunately, we were distracted by beautiful, simple dishes like tofu stir fry, many plates of sautéed vegetables, noodles, a tofu stew type-deal, a bread similar to cornbread, kung pao chicken (as we Americans would call it), scrambled eggs, tomatoes with sugar(!) and more.

Like most meals I’ve had here, this one was all communal platters rather than the U.S. style of one dish one person. I tried not to stress out about the fact that everyone ate like birds and two dudes in the group failed at passing plates, so two stir fried dishes just sat in front of them and didn’t get sampled by everyone. Ah, the trials of group dining. I didn’t end up taking photos because I’ve found that photos of Chinese food seem to come out looking like depressing yellow versions of the magnificent truth, and phones at the table felt a little rude at this particular event. Food photos in the future!

Little art corner along one of the village streets.

When we were finished we sat around waiting for the rain to stop and shedding a quiet tear for the fact that we were missing out on a full tour of the village. As the servers were clearing up, scraping all the leftover food off the plates, I saw one of them shrug, point at the pile of food, and say “foreigners” in Mandarin to her coworker. Then they both laughed. Sigh. Stereotype: realized.

After the rain stopped, we took a much abbreviated hike up above the village to get a look at the view, which was really really beautiful, even under clouds.

These photos really don’t do it justice, so just remember that you’re looking at a pale version of reality…and come visit to see it in person!

More photos:

At around 2:30PM we got on the bus and headed back to Beijing. Once we hit the populated part of the city, our guide and the driver had an intense, ongoing, super-fast conversation about which roads would get us home quickest. We arrived at exactly the promised time—5:30PM—and both the driver and our guide were practically glowing with the success of it all.

The best Chinese-to-English translation I saw on the trip was this helpful sign: "Cherish your life, please don't climb the wild mountains." I didn't catch a photo because we were driving, but I'll remember it always.

In parting, here are a few words to live by. :