We’re still on the plain but the season is subtly shifting. The first flush of green in some of the furrows means the shepherds must be more energetic with their flocks. Each patchwork field is still no more than 30 feet wide and up to five times as long which means that graves stuck in the middle must be plowed around assiduously. Some fields may have 3 or 4, often new. What will happen as more of the family dies?

Pretty little Pingyao

No more than 3 hours down the line from poor and not so old Datong and less than an hour from Taiyyuan to where Mayor Cheng is banished, Pingyao struts its stuff with supreme self-confidence. Famous as the best preserved ancient city in China it needs do nothing for the adulation of the crowds except simply be. And crowds there surely are. But Pingyao is replete with bonhomie and enfolds us all with well-practiced efficiency, so everyone behaves themselves and a good time is had by all, especially me.

My hotel, rather unusually named the ‘Pingyao Grand Theatre Assembly Hall’ in English and something totally different in Chinese is consequently almost impossible to find. Still, no complaints, for $35 a night its a bargain.

The open courtyard around which the rooms are set doesn’t look much like either a theater or an assembly hall.

My room. If you think it looks a bit exposed to the elements you wouldn’t be wrong.

This kind of bed is called a kang. Back in the day the platform would have been heated. Not in the 21st century unfortunately. The floor on the other hand is heated (though a long way from the bed). Those two duvets will come in very useful.

The enormous room is furnished with spectacular antiques. Comfortable chairs are not a priority however.

Despite speakng no English senior Management couldn’t be more helpful. And the inevitable millenial-on-the-desk is prone to show up at all hours for no apparent reason (but surely to practice her English). To our mutual disappointment we have yet to find a simple declarative sentence that both of our translation apps can understand simultaneously.

Only one restaurant in Pingyao has embraced the concept of providing a solo diner with the opportunity to taste a range of specialties without having to order enough food for 10. Unfortunately everyone visiting Pingyao has come with their entire extended families, so it is empty.

Pingyao specialities from top right: corned beef; cold noodles with pickles; hot noodles with beef marrow; soup with beef and noodles; surprisingly delicious sweet millet soup with raisins; salad. The beer of course is warm since drinking cold liquids is considered unhealthy.

Our millenials are beginning to accept that their business model might be before its time. On the other hand, when I come to eat here again, the sight (I am the only Westerner in town) provokes a stampede of customers. So my beer is free (but still warm sadly).

The two tactical errors I make the next day arise from foolishly listening to the voluble Spanish hematologist at the Datong hotel who has assured me there’s nothing to do in Pingyao except gawp. Since so many others are engaged in just that, I decide to cram in a morning side trip to the Qiao Family Compound where ‘Raise the Red Lantern’ was filmed. Not only do buses not go every 15 minutes as LP has promised but the once a day version before me is of Ming-era vintage and doubles as the local Fed Ex. LP also promised that though the QFC is popular there will be plenty of peaceful corners in which to soak up the atmosphere. Nonsense! the whole place is heaving with packs of cosplayers celebrating Women’s Day and there is no atmosphere since Raise the Red Lantern has long since been hoovered out.

A lame diorama purporting to illustrate how the Qiao family made their fortune transporting tea to the West. A comparable Russian version would at least have had morose papier mache figures to provide the human interest. Must try harder.

The epitome of the Qiao family experience

I know you were wondering. But what’s with the disembodied hands?

After a couple of hours I grab a taxi in desperation. It takes an hour and costs an arm and a leg (100 yuan – about $15 – I can eat for a week for that). Money well spent.

This is a new one. The taxi driver stops en route for a car wash. He knows my translation app can’t handle ‘Hey am I paying for this?’.

Tactical error the second: a walk round the city walls is surely the best way to gawp away from the crowds. But I have been delayed by my millenial (again) and so only reach the South gate just before 4pm to make my way clockwise. As hoped the walk, on what has turned into an afternoon bursting with spring, is wonderfully exhilarating. But of the 4 cardinal exit points, East is closed when I get there, meaning I have to circumnavigate the whole 8 miles against the clock, since it closes at 6.

Entrance tickets in generally are acquired online and verified with ID. Since I have neither access to the online app (which requires a Chinese phone number) nor an ID I must show my passport to get my free entrance (for the over 60s):

Ticket collector: Passport

Me: Here you are

Ticket collector collapses into hysterical laughter

Helpful person in the line who speaks English: He say you’re so old you should get double free.

Some tantalizing views of the walls and Pingyao

Up we go. I should have noticed everyone else is coming down

These are serious city walls

Not a soul in sight.

Real hutongs (eat your heart out Datong)

Back on the ground

The backstreets are only partially picture perfect

What passes for bling in Pingyao

Management sends my millenial (her name is Wen di) with a huge bottle of specially aged vinegar for me as a going away present. She makes me unpack my luggage to prove I don’t have the space to carry it.