禾木老村山庄
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Driving toward the deepest reaches of the skyline, the road stretched beneath my wheels like a stubborn scar. When a boundless green wave suddenly came into view, I knew—I had arrived at the grassland.
A Prelude to the White Birch
The towering birch forest, the grassland's guardians, stands at the edge of the wilderness. Its trunks are silvery white like quenched moonlight, its branches interwoven into a dome, filtering specks of light like fragmented gold. As the wind blows through, the forest whispers, as if ancient shamans were chanting the poetry of nature. I press my palm against the wrinkles of the bark, feeling the vitality surging through its veins—they have stood here for centuries, witnessing horses' hooves crushing beacon smoke and carrying hawks' wings as they pierced the sky.
Yurts and Pastoral Songs
Beyond the hills, the grassland opens up. Pearl-like flocks of sheep and herds of brown cattle float across the green carpet. They lower their heads to graze on grass roots, their tails swaying leisurely, like notes dancing on the strings of the earth. In the distance, white yurts dot the landscape, their domes like frozen clouds descending into the mortal realm. As we approached, smoke curled upwards, tinged with the aroma of milk. An old herder, his bronze face etched with wrinkles, emerged from the curtains. He offered a bowl of warm milk tea, "Dear guest from afar, the grass and water of the grassland will remember your footsteps." His smile held a kindness richer than butter.
The Gift of Yunxiao Peak
Trekking to the end of the grassland, Yunxiao Peak suddenly loomed. This massive peak, capped with snow, stands like a boundary marker, shouldering the territories of four countries: China, Mongolia, Russia, and Kazakhstan. As we climbed, stubborn wildflowers emerged from the cracks in the rock, their purple petals and yellow stamens radiating against the chill of the glacier. Reaching the summit, the world suddenly opened up: a sea of clouds billowed beneath us, and the mountains and rivers of the four regions unfolded like a patchwork map. The wind whipped the prayer flags into a rustling rustle, and the densely woven scriptures on the colorful fabrics became a tangible prayer: may the mountain spirits remain immortal, may the human world be boundless.
A Sudden Enlightenment in the Dusk
On my way home, I encountered a horse herd. The herders galloped, their robes stained a crimson gold by the setting sun, their neighs shattering the twilight. I suddenly understood that the grandeur of the grassland lies not in the "picturesque" scenery but in the "riverlike" flow of life: the white birch trees root themselves in silence through the years, the herders write of freedom through their migrations, and the solitary Yunxiao Peak heals the earth's rifts. The saying "a worthwhile journey" is that nature teaches us to let go of our ambition to measure the world and instead, with humility, become a comma in the poem of creation.
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Driving toward the deepest reaches of the skyline, the road stretched beneath my wheels like a stubborn scar. When a boundless green wave suddenly came into view, I knew—I had arrived at the grassland. A Prelude to the White Birch The towering birch forest, the grassland's guardians, stands at the edge of the wilderness. Its trunks are silvery white like quenched moonlight, its branches interwoven into a dome, filtering specks of light like fragmented gold. As the wind blows through, the forest whispers, as if ancient shamans were chanting the poetry of nature. I press my palm against the wrinkles of the bark, feeling the vitality surging through its veins—they have stood here for centuries, witnessing horses' hooves crushing beacon smoke and carrying hawks' wings as they pierced the sky. Yurts and Pastoral Songs Beyond the hills, the grassland opens up. Pearl-like flocks of sheep and herds of brown cattle float across the green carpet. They lower their heads to graze on grass roots, their tails swaying leisurely, like notes dancing on the strings of the earth. In the distance, white yurts dot the landscape, their domes like frozen clouds descending into the mortal realm. As we approached, smoke curled upwards, tinged with the aroma of milk. An old herder, his bronze face etched with wrinkles, emerged from the curtains. He offered a bowl of warm milk tea, "Dear guest from afar, the grass and water of the grassland will remember your footsteps." His smile held a kindness richer than butter. The Gift of Yunxiao Peak Trekking to the end of the grassland, Yunxiao Peak suddenly loomed. This massive peak, capped with snow, stands like a boundary marker, shouldering the territories of four countries: China, Mongolia, Russia, and Kazakhstan. As we climbed, stubborn wildflowers emerged from the cracks in the rock, their purple petals and yellow stamens radiating against the chill of the glacier. Reaching the summit, the world suddenly opened up: a sea of clouds billowed beneath us, and the mountains and rivers of the four regions unfolded like a patchwork map. The wind whipped the prayer flags into a rustling rustle, and the densely woven scriptures on the colorful fabrics became a tangible prayer: may the mountain spirits remain immortal, may the human world be boundless. A Sudden Enlightenment in the Dusk On my way home, I encountered a horse herd. The herders galloped, their robes stained a crimson gold by the setting sun, their neighs shattering the twilight. I suddenly understood that the grandeur of the grassland lies not in the "picturesque" scenery but in the "riverlike" flow of life: the white birch trees root themselves in silence through the years, the herders write of freedom through their migrations, and the solitary Yunxiao Peak heals the earth's rifts. The saying "a worthwhile journey" is that nature teaches us to let go of our ambition to measure the world and instead, with humility, become a comma in the poem of creation.
On a sunny day, every corner of the Burqin Hemu Scenic Area offers stunning photo opportunities. From the tourist center, take the shuttle bus to Hemu Old Village and enter the village. You'll be greeted by distinctive, ethnic-style, pitched-roof wooden houses, fences, and blooming flowers on the lawns. Shops and restaurants of varying styles flank the area, their courtyards blaring rhythmic Xinjiang music and dancing waiters. The aroma of grilled naan and kebabs fills the air. Not far from the Hemu Bridge, there's Tea Ballet Yogurt Fruit Tea, offering delicious ripe sweet apricot and probiotic yogurt. [ThumbsUp] The most lively scene is when a young man in the village feeds eagles with raw meat. The meat attracts a large number of eagles in mid-air, creating a unique spectacle. The wooden Hemu Bridge, which spans the Hemu River, is flanked by wooden archways on either side. The characters "Hemu" are sculpted from white birch wood. The scenery on both sides of the bridge is breathtaking. After crossing Hemu Bridge, you will see a birch forest and a wooden plank road leading to the Harden Viewing Platform...
The wooden plank roads of the Hemu Old Village Scenic Area are scattered throughout the area, whether inside or outside the village, on hiking trails, or on viewing platforms. They provide convenient access and scenic views for visitors, adding a touch of color to the scenic area. #SonglikeJourney #WondersofNature #NicheDiscovery #RomanticDomesticTravelDestinations #TravelPhotographyWithoutShowingYourFace
After passing through Hemu Old Village and walking up the plank path to the Harden Observation Platform, the view is suddenly expansive for photography. From the Harden Observation Platform, you can overlook Hemu Old Village and the Hemu River. From the platform, you'll see the lush greenery of the mountains, wildflowers on the meadows, leisurely horseback riders on the hillsides, and people swinging on the swings... #SonglikeJourney #AncientTownsAndVillagesWorthVisiting #PhotographyGuide #NicheDiscovery #WhereToGoThisWeekend
PART3 My Altay DAY7 7.26 Hemu Village - Lan'ou Shangpin Hotel (Karamay Urho Branch) (about 387 kilometers) We got up at 5:40 this morning and set out to see the sunrise and morning fog. I rented an electric car next to where I stayed last night for 15 yuan an hour When I opened the door, the whole village was floating in the milky white mist, like a jar of honey left at the bottom of a pottery jar forgotten by the world It was very cold in the morning, and the wind was biting. Hemu Village is now constantly commercializing and has become a popular check-in place, but my ideal Hemu Village is a place for the soul to live, which can heal the sadness and busyness in the city. We can breathe fresh air and feel the vitality of life. There is light in the darkness. The village is quiet in the morning, as if it has returned to the nomadic period of the Tuva people. Maybe this is the time that really belongs to me. The morning light is with rough edges. It swims through the gaps in the birch forest and weaves a light golden spider web on the moss marks of the wooden house. Frost flower practiced handstand on the grass tip. A brown horse stood on the riverbank, its mane covered with diamond-like dewdrops, and its shadow reached the other side before its body. Somewhere there was a crisp sound of firewood breaking, and before the sound hit the mountain wall, most of it was eaten by moss. We walked up along the wooden path, followed the gurgling spring, and climbed to the observation deck. The smoke woke up suddenly. First, a wisp, hesitantly twisted its waist, and then the chimneys of the whole village began to spit out indigo curves. These soft marks rose to the hazelnut ridge and were kneaded into transparent fluff by the wind. The shadow of the wooden fence crawled slowly on the grass. A spotted cow walked across the single-plank bridge, and the river under the bridge was translating last night's starry sky into the silver-shining Kazakh language. Unfortunately, there was no morning mist today, so what? There are regrets everywhere in life, no perfect moments, but we will always find different beauty. In Hemu Village, there is a girl who came here alone for vacation. She walked out of the busy city life. She liked a sentence in Hesse's "Spirit and Eros": "I must leave, must travel, my heart must go to freedom." The sunlight shines through her hair, making her clothes even whiter, just like her soul. She holds a camera and simply records, because she never believes in photography and images. She doesn't like to use technology to perceive the world. She likes to touch nature with her senses, hands and heart. She always carries a drawing board to perceive and compose a utopia of the soul. She loves Hemu, the smoke from the cooking in the morning, the friendly Tuva people, the vast grassland, the gurgling springs, and the morning light shining in the birch forest... She loves traveling alone, using the bigger world to dilute the pain. The network of relationships in the city makes people dizzy. The meaning of traveling alone is far more than just checking in or taking photos. It is to fully observe and feel the world. When we are far away from the familiar daily life, we begin to learn to walk slowly, enjoy the scenery along the way, and have deeper thoughts about the usual difficulties. We walk through mountains and waters, and use them to walk through my life. As written in "Crossing the Waves": "The journey is not to exhaust the world, but to exhaust oneself. Traveling is to walk out of the cave of the self, to break through and explore the boundaries of life experience, because of the departure, to get a brand new return." In Hemu, she found the destination of her soul. She said: I wish I fall into the wild like a cloud, and say goodbye to the old forever. This girl lives in Hemu, lives in the grassland, lives in dreams... She can be you, me, and everyone in the future. May we all find our spiritual home in the Hemu Village in our hearts. Because it was too cold on the mountain, we went up at 6:20. The forecast said that the sun would rise at 6:36, but the sun was blocked by the mountain and the drone could not take pictures, so we waited until 7:20 to see the rising sun. Therefore, the viewing platform on the mountain after passing the Hemu Bridge can see the whole picture of Hemu Village, but you can't see the sunrise. If you are lucky, you can see the morning fog. If you want to see the sunrise, you can't go to this Harden viewing platform! !!After going down the mountain, we walked along the stream. The smoke from the cooking fires cultivated people's hearts. After returning to the cabin, we lay on the bed and took a comfortable nap. It is really comfortable to sleep here. We slept until more than 12 o'clock. After leaving the village, we went to Karamay and planned to see the International Devil City. After that, we walked the mountain road of yesterday again. The grassland was like a green carpet, with changing layers. As the clouds moved, the light and shadow were constantly changing. I don’t know why I love the grassland so much when I usually hate green. After thinking about it, I found that the color on the grassland is the color of life. Because of the vitality, this color is given vitality. After arriving in Burqin, we went to a halal restaurant highly praised by the locals, called Kalwan Tea Restaurant. It has an exotic style and is delicious. We arrived at the Devil City at nearly ten o'clock in the evening and took some photos outside. In fact, there was nothing special. We went in from the exit and took a look. They were all formed of stones of different sizes. There was nothing special. (The drone can take a full view outside) At night, we stayed at Lan Ou Shangpin Hotel. It felt okay, but the laundry room still charged and there was no queue!