Daily Lives Of My Countryside Guide -

Before the tourists arrive, the maintenance begins. Mr. Chen sharpens his machete (essential for overgrown bamboo paths), oils the zipper on his worn North Face jacket, and feeds his three fighting roosters. Yes, fighting roosters. In his world, a guide is also a farmer, a veterinarian, and a storyteller. By 5:15 AM, he is walking the first 200 meters of the trail, sweeping away giant African land snails that have slimed across the stone steps overnight. “Tourists slip,” he grunts. “Bad review. Bad luck.” Part II: The Morning Harvest (6:00 AM – 8:00 AM) The daily lives of my countryside guide do not separate "work" from "life." When the mist lifts over the rice paddies, Mr. Chen transforms into a naturalist.

During this lull, he prepares for the evening. He checks his "magic box"—a plastic container filled with leeches. "For the rice paddies," he says. "Tourists are scared of leeches. But without leeches, the frogs die. Without frogs, the snakes leave. Without snakes, the rats eat the rice. No rice, no village." He puts a leech on his arm to show me it doesn't hurt. It is a bizarre, intimate trust exercise. The afternoon trek is the "money walk." This is where the daily lives of my countryside guide become a performance of myth. daily lives of my countryside guide

Back at the farmhouse, Auntie Wei has made a hot pot. Mr. Chen invites me to stay. We eat pickled bamboo shoots and drink rice wine from a porcelain jug. This is when he transforms again. He pulls out a tablet (donated by a previous tourist from Singapore). Before the tourists arrive, the maintenance begins

At 8:00 PM, most guides are done. Not Mr. Chen. He puts on a red headlamp. We walk to the rice paddies. “The frogs are singing their love songs,” he whispers. We stand in the dark for twenty minutes. He points out a bamboo pit viper coiled on a branch. He points out a constellation ("That is not the Big Dipper. That is our plow."). Yes, fighting roosters

The phrase “daily lives of my countryside guide” might sound like a niche documentary title, but in reality, it is a portal into a vanishing world. It is the difference between seeing a landscape and feeling it. To understand the daily rhythm of a local guide in a rural setting is to understand the soil, the seasons, and the soul of a place. This is the story of those days, from 4:00 AM frosts to midnight firefly walks. In the city, silence is rare. In the countryside, silence is a living thing. My guide, Mr. Chen, lives in a restored Ming dynasty farmhouse in the terraced hills of Longji, Guangxi. The daily lives of my countryside guide begin while the stars are still sharp in the sky.

At 10:30 PM, he washes his feet in a basin of hot ginger water. He stares at the fire. I ask him: “What is the secret to being a good countryside guide?”

By 7:00 AM, we reach the first viewpoint. A tour bus of thirty people arrives, armed with selfie sticks. Mr. Chen steers me away from the crowd. We descend into a water buffalo wallow. Here, he strips off his sandals and steps into the muck.