I wake up in the morning to the sound of hard rain hitting the tile roof. I roll off the bed and crack the window (and my head, thank you low ceiling). As the window squeaks open, in rush a swarm of mosquitoes and the sticky humidity that’s characterized our stay in Guizhou so far… but the view is amazing. In stark contrast to the bustling streets of Kaili (where some of us became the guest attractions at a Miao dance for the Dragonboat Festival), the view at Wuhao is tranquil and, well, worth the trek. You can describe the mist rolling across the mountains (at times it feels like we’re in the clouds) or the terraced rice  fields surrounding the village’s ramshackle post and beam buildings, or even the old men and women who serenely carry astonishingly heavy baskets of potatoes / baicai / chickens along treacherous paths… but words don’t do the place much justice. Pictures don’t even capture it. You just have to be there.

Fortunately, I’ve got company.