More than a few of my students at Tsinghua University were perplexed by my decision to spend this Labor Day holiday (May 1) vacationing in Shanxi Province. At the heart of China’s coal belt, the province is an essential component in the larger Chinese economic miracle.
　　The approach to Lijiashan is not an easy one. From the preserved ancient city of Pingyao, a major provincial tourist draw, my friend Michael and I took a rickety bus to the outpost of Lishi. From there, we joined some other travelers and split a cab the rest of the way. Deft driving is a must as the roads beyond Lishi are pockmarked by massive sinkholes, a byproduct of insatiable coal mining.
　　After more than five hours, we arrived at the village of Qikou, off the Yellow River. Picturesque with only a few thousand people, Qikou residents spoke of their town with a certain wistful pride. Plaques and commemorations are ubiquitous along the cobblestoned warrens reminding all who visit of a more illustrious past when its location on the Yellow River made it a major shipping hub. Like a decaying Italian city of the Mezzogiorno, Qikou residents showed a fondness for alfresco dining and distaste for the hustle and bustle of urban living.
　　Looming above the village are the imposing mountains. Nestled in the hills along the Loess Plateau, most are composed of little more than mud, sand, and dust. Terraces for cultivation run up and down the sloping peaks, carved by the faceless toil of China’s indomitable peasantry.
　　Hundreds of traditional yaodong, or cave homes, pepper the mountain, most of which lie abandoned. Ramshackle items littered the floors of some, ripped posters hung crooked on the wall, and in one, a Teddy bear head stared back at us. From a community that may have once numbered in the thousands, only a handful remain. Aside from the recent introduction of electricity, their lives as subsistence farmers remain relatively unchanged from their ancestors.
　　As one of the few to own a cell phone, Ma Ronghua is probably Lijiashan’s most entrepreneurial resident. As the owner and operator of Ancient Folk Houses on Lijiashan, she offers a truly authentic Shanxi experience. For 50 yuan ($7.93) a person, you get a cave for a night with breakfast and lunch included. The caves are spacious and provide protection from both summer heat and winter chill. Each are equipped with two traditional stone beds, or kang beds. Set into the cave itself, Ma estimated hers to be at least 500 years old. Ancient, it seemed—until she mentioned that people have been living on Lijiashan for 1,500 years.
　　After getting settled, there is not much in the way of activity on Lijiashan. In days partitioned rigidly by meal times, taking in the arid scenery is the best (and only) way to fill in long blocks of time. Spelunking around from cave to cave on well-worn peasant paths, Lijiashan is above all a place for introspection. The mountain stillness is punctuated only by rustling wind and the occasional local who wanders past.
　　The remaining residents of Lijiashan are nothing if not enigmatic. The village is certainly no place for even the most carefully studied Mandarin as almost everyone(with the exception of Ma) speaks only the native dialect. Near one cave we met an old woman whose prize possession was a handsome rooster. She spoke to us warmly but unintelligibly and left my friend and me debating whether she wanted us to feed her rooster or whether she wanted us to eat him. From another, we bought some nuts. I handed her a crisp 10-yuan ($1.58) note which she studied like some rare alien object. Ten yuan would likely go a long way in the mountains (if there was anything to buy).
　　A number of graves with well-tended stones dot the landscape not far off from the town center. They cannot help but remind visitors that Lijiashan is not a young community. Most of the inhabitants are past 60. The only primary school closed several years ago, and at one point we passed the remains of a small grocery store. The future of Lijiashan is a sensitive subject that evoked a glimmer of sadness from Ma.
　　“There are no children here today,” she sighed.
　　Indeed, it is overwhelmingly likely that when Lijiashan’s current residents pass from the scene, they will not be replaced. The mountain will be a ghost town, and life on the cusp of ruins will be extinguished.