A village inhabited by silence
They show their age. Structures are textured by scabby paint, crumbly stone and splintered boards.
Grass fleeces many ceramic-tile rooftops.
Few residents remain in these dwellings. Most who do are themselves of advanced age.
And they're delightful.
We made friends with "mad-dog granny", as we nicknamed her, soon after our arrival.
When a pair of pups started growling at our 2-year-old, the woman, who appeared to be in her 90s－h(huán)er back was bent like a cane and she had a single tooth－snarled at them, stomping her feet.
The canines skittered away.
She cackled with glee. We laughed with her.
Another elderly woman invited us to her home.
It was furnished with little more than a kang－a traditional bed heated by burning coal underneath－and two old ground stoves.
