Pingnan Covered Bridges - Searching for Covered Bridges in the Mountains of Pingnan

Pingnan County is almost entirely mountainous, with huge elevation differences between valleys. Most villages are built beside streams at the bottom of valleys, and the beautiful covered bridges are found in these villages.

First, I went to Xili Village. On the winding mountain road, I climbed up and down abruptly. The morning mountain road was thick with fog, so I drove very carefully. Finally, I sped down a series of sharp switchbacks and arrived at the village.

I got out of the car and walked along the stream toward the densest part of the village houses, but I saw no trace of a covered bridge. Just then I spotted two young boys, so I asked them where the covered bridge was.

The two boys eagerly answered me: "It's back the way you parked."

"No, not back, it's down!"

"I'll take you there."

The boys' enthusiasm made me a bit embarrassed; I didn't feel right asking them to guide me, and I had no candy in my pocket. Besides, was it appropriate for them to accept candy from a stranger?

I told them it was fine, I could find it.

With that, I turned back, and the two boys followed me, giggling. When I got back to the parking area, I still couldn't find the path and stood there clueless.

The boys shouted, "Go this way!" and walked ahead, becoming my guides. It turned out the parking area was on a high spot, and you had to take an inconspicuous path heading downstream along the stream. The terrain here was three-dimensional; my thinking wasn't broad enough yet!

After a short walk, I saw the covered bridge. The bridge shared the village's name: Xili Bridge. Xili Bridge stood at the village's edge, at the end of the flat land. Beyond it, downstream, were two steep cliffs and dense jungle.

The boys and I looked around inside the covered bridge. They attended a boarding primary school in Pingnan County town, where their parents also worked. They only returned to their hometown during holidays.

I asked them, "Do you like the county town or here?"

"Of course here! There's so much more to do!" The children answered with pure, cheerful smiles. There must be like-minded friends here, secret bases unknown to adults, and maybe even games that city kids have never heard of.

"You're right! It's so beautiful here, with mountains and water, much more fun than the county town." I smiled, thinking I had read their minds completely.

I said goodbye to the enthusiastic boys and headed to the next spot, Pandi Village. Again I drove through countless winding mountain roads shrouded in clouds and fog. As I neared Pandi Village, the road became extremely narrow and treacherous—just one lane wide, with a ditch on one side and a sheer, unrailed cliff on the other.

Pandi Village was at the end of the road. It was also a three-dimensional village, with paths barely wider than field ridges. Only the area near the village committee office was spacious enough to park. When I got out, I was confused. Pandi Village was a mountain-top settlement—where would there be a stream and a covered bridge? I looked around first, figuring I'd need to ask for directions again.

Near the edge of the village, two elderly people were talking outside their house. I asked them how to get to Pandi Bridge.

"Pandi Bridge! You have to go down the mountain path ahead. It's a bit of a walk." One of the elderly, who spoke with a slur, answered.

"You'd better not go. You'll take the wrong path and get lost for sure." The older one poured cold water on my plan.

"Come, come, come! I'll take you!" The slurring old man said he could guide me. Once again today, I met warm-hearted, simple Fujian mountain folk, and I was deeply grateful. This wasn't a tourist area, so I couldn't be brash and say, "Could you be my guide? I'll pay you," or anything that might impose or offend.

The older man looked at the overcast sky—it seemed about to rain—and asked if I needed to borrow his umbrella. I thought the round trip wouldn't take too long, so I politely declined.

We started down a mountain road that could accommodate motorcycles, but at an inconspicuous spot, the slurring old man led me onto an earthen path wide enough for only one person. He told me that if I continued along the motorcycle road, I would never reach Pandi Bridge.

Along the way, we chatted sporadically. The old man's Mandarin was okay, but his slur made it hard to understand. I only gathered that he had worked in a coal mine when he was young and had now returned to his hometown to retire.

We went down the earthen path until we reached a slightly wider, flat dirt road going in the opposite direction, then turned onto another narrow dirt path going down. After about 15 minutes, we could see the direction of the stream, but still not the bridge's location.

The path was complicated and unexpected—this must be what the old man meant when he said an outsider couldn't find Pandi Bridge alone.

Finally I saw the covered bridge. On the last dirt slope, I slipped and fell, covering my clothes and pants with mud. The mountain trail was too slippery after the rain, but the slurring old man, wearing a pair of leather shoes, walked steadily ahead of me like a mountain.

The one-way trip took about 20 minutes, and we arrived at Pandi Bridge. The bridge was perched between rocks on two mountains, quite thrilling. The path on the opposite bank was even rougher and narrower than the one we came from. Below the bridge, the stream was strewn with jagged rocks; the water rushed violently, crashing against the rocks with a tremendous roar.

The bridge's structure looked similar to Xili Bridge. In fact, the wooden covered bridges in Pingnan, and even across Fujian and Zhejiang, generally look alike. As a layman, I couldn't tell the subtle architectural differences. But the varied settings of these covered bridges—that's the charm I seek.

Just as we neared the village, it started to rain. I said goodbye to the slurring old man and thanked him repeatedly. Then I left this precipitous and hidden mountain village.

(Recorded on April 29, 2022)