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Bridges and Drum Towers by Xiao Kang
T he wooden-panelled houses crowded in on both sides as we
made our way through the winding alleyways. They felt vaguely
reminiscent of the narrow streets of an English Tudor town. The upper levels of the buildings hung over the street, blocking out the sky and producing angular shafts of light and strange shadows. Clothes swung from the rafters and shutters creaked in the breeze.

After several turns we came out into a large, open space and were confronted by a square hall with an extraordinary multi-tiered roof, the eaves of each tier tapering up at the corners. This was the village drum tower, the epitome of Dong minority architecture and the centre for community activities such as discussing business, settling disputes, holding religious ceremonies and, of course, just hanging out. On important occasions or at times of emergency, the drum is beaten to assemble the villagers.

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The Cheng Yang Wind and Rain Bridge in Sanjiang, Guangxi.

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Dong boys at the local amusement arcade

At this particular moment, the drum tower was empty apart from a pair of pigeons fluttering beneath the roof beams. Most people in the village were celebrating the Winter Festival, feasting in their homes with friends and relatives. And this is what we would be doing soon too, but first we had wanted to explore the area.

“Voom! Bang! Whish! Crackle!” We were awoken from our appreciative appraisal of the drum tower by an eruption of strange noises emanating from a nearby building. On poking our heads round the doorway, we were surprised to find the local amusement arcade, filled with excited young boys hammering away at the controls of video games and fruit machines. Some of them were clearly well on their way to becoming true pros, and we marvelled that even in this far-flung place in Guangxi such icons of modern, urban living had made their mark on everyday village life.

Smiling, we set off back to the village where we were staying. As we trekked over the hills, the sun sank in the sky, casting long shadows across our path. We passed through numerous tea tree copses and pomelo groves before descending into the Linxi river valley. Tea and pomelos are the prime source of income in this region. The pomelo is a large, citrus fruit rather like a grapefruit except sweeter in flavour. Pomelos are a particularly popular crop because they can be stored for several months, well into the spring, before they go rotten, due to their extremely thick, yellow skins.

That night we were invited to join our Dong minority hosts in their special winter festival meal. As we approached the dinner table in the dimly lit front room, what a feast greeted our eyes! Fish head soup, turnip porridge, pickled cabbage, fried peanuts, battered pork and diced taro in soy bean sauce were all part of the fare. And my eyes almost popped out of my head when I spotted a bowl of, believe it or not, rice crispies!

Having explained to them that in England we usually have rice crispies in the morning with milk and sugar followed by toast and marmalade and a cup of tea, I asked my hosts, “So how do you eat these?”. After chuckling at this absurd, foreign custom, they demonstrated for me. Taking my bowl, they spooned in some glutinous rice, scattered some peanuts and rice crispies on top, and then poured over a steaming, green liquid from a kettle that had been sitting on the concrete floor near my feet.

“What is this?” I asked curiously, pointing at the green liquid. “Oil tea,” my hosts explained. “It’s made from stewed tea leaves, tea oil and chili peppers.” I put the bowl to my lips and sipped slowly, stopping every now and then to scoop out some of the rice and peanuts. The tea had a somewhat bitter, though not unpleasant, taste to it. As I ate, I wondered how such a concoction would go down with most of my fellow Brits instead of the usual milk and cereal. “Well,” I thought, “at least we’re all agreed on the principle of a cup of tea…”

Our brief excursion into Dong territory had proved to be quite an adventure. As we left the village early the following morning, our eyes lingered on the elegant silhouette of the Cheng Yang Wind and Rain Bridge, reflected in the waters of the Linxi River below. Built in 1916, this is the largest, best-preserved, Dong-style bridge in China. It is called a “wind-and-rain bridge” because of its covered corridor and pavilions, which protect travellers from the elements as they cross over. The Cheng Yang Bridge is over two hundred feet long, made entirely from China fir, with five pavilion-style towers, constructed without a single nail or rivet. We could understand the sentiment of the well-loved Chinese poet, Guo Moruo, who penned these words in praise of the scene:

“With affection let’s speak of Linxi Bridge,
Two hundred feet long, fifty high.
Carefree linked towers, and tiled ridge,
Rowed stone piers, lead gaze to the sky!
Bamboo and wood, stronger than iron,
From ancient tea trees, new shoots spring.
When will you come to Sanjiang e’en,
And learn to till with plowshare heaving?”