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IT may still be a long way north to Santa’s workshop, but Beiji Village in Mohe County surely deserves its reputation as China’s “Arctic Village.”
Here, the average low in the three winter months hovers around -35°C (-31°F). An annual mean temperature of -4.29 °C (24.3 °F) means the village is only just warm enough to avoid continuous permafrost.
Fortunately, we traveled to Beiji Village while the thermometer was still registering positive values. We had been eagerly looking forward to our trip for some time, and departed from Beijing with a sense of imminent adventure.
Located in northwestern Heilongjiang Province, Beiji Village is the highest geographical point in China by latitude. China’s frigid border with Russia is demarcated by what Russians call the Amur River, and what Chinese know as Heilongjiang –the Black Dragon River, from which the province receives its name.
The “Arctic Village” in Mohe was built in the 1960s. Today the village covers an area of 16 square kilometers. There are 243 permanent households with a combined population of 1,000 people.
We took a flight from Beijing to Mohe. Mohe’s Gulian Airport was opened in 2008. We left the capital at 10:45 in the morning and landed at 3:30 in the afternoon after a brief stopover in Harbin, capital of Heilongjiang Province. It was a relatively long journey for a domestic flight, and I don’t even want to think about how long it would have taken by bus or train – the only options available before the airport opened.
I felt quite sick as we drove from the airport into the “Arctic Village.” Perhaps it was the sudden drop in temperature. It was a shame while I hunched over a sick bag, my travel companions were glued to the windows, mesmerized by the blue sky, fluffy white clouds and crisp greenery of the forest.
Before dinnertime, we arrived at the rural inn we had booked from Beijing. “Riverside Family,” as the inn was called, was picturesquely situated by the riverbank. I highly recommend it.
After a short rest to allow me to recover, we couldn’t wait to head out and explore the northernmost village in China. It’s not big, and a tour took no time at all.
Beiji seemed to be built up on wide stretches of lush green pasture. Its architecture reminded one of the log cabin villages of many a fairy tale. The walls of the buildings are built from pine logs, which are then coated in mud. This style of construction is pervasive in the timber-rich border regions of China and Russia. Every household we saw had a yard in which to grow vegetables and sunflowers. The low wooden fences separating households seemed purely decorative; neighbors chat to each other through them, and front gates are always open for visitors. It was a breath of fresh air – literally – after Beijing.
The “Arctic Village” really gave us an idyllic picture of country life. Locals told us that if someone happens to lose something, nobody will pick it up, and the item will lie waiting until its owner finds it.
As dinnertime approached, smoke billowed up from kitchen chimneys, adding a final, rustic touch to the fairy-tale scene.
A sign that read “Arctic Square” alerted us to the fact that we had reached the center of the village. We spotted there a stone tablet, which read “The Arctic of the Divine Land.” I suppose it’s not technically accurate – the artic circle is another 1,500 kilometers to the North – but nonetheless we felt we had achieved something by getting there. The“Arctic” appellation is certainly the town’s big tourism draw card; shops, the post office and inns all claim to be “northernmost” in China.
We headed down to the Heilongjiang River. Russia is literally on the other side. During our stay, I would wander along the river whenever I got the chance. It is beautiful, deep and tranquil, and reflected the clouds, sky and sunshine in technicolor detail. It’s icy cold even in the months when it’s not frozen over – a quick splash of water to the face, and I felt refreshed.
Tibet, I’d thought previously, is the place in China “closest to heaven,” as we say. Tibet may be higher in altitude, but the “Arctic Village” is higher in latitude. Could this be China’s most tranquil spot outside the monasteries on the “Roof of the World?”
After our first-day wandering, we were hungry and headed back to the Riverside Family inn for dinner. The inn’s caretaker was waiting for us. His family name was Yu, and his ancestral home was in Shandong Province. Yu had been helpful in booking the accommodation at what was a particularly busy time. He picked us up from the airport, and we drank and ate together. As the evenings wore on, we would head out to gaze at the night sky and count the stars. We shared stories and chatted about life under candlelight, since power cuts were frequent in the evening.
I didn’t want to leave. But I had to, and after returning to Beijing, I felt much more at ease, if a little dejected. The verdant fields and the lazy Heilongjiang River stayed with me in my memory, and soothed me on my return to the choking gridlock of Beijing’s streets.
A Park at the End of China
The northernmost point in China is a 10-minute car ride from the village. I expected barrenness, but was pleasantly surprised to find a lovely little park. There is a wooden plank road around it, which takes about an hour to circle round to where we started. The aroma of grass and the forest was strong, and the blue sky was somehow even more brilliant than in the village. We were on the boundary of Russian Siberia, but found nothing as harsh as that place name suggests. Winter, I’d imagine, is a different story.
A massive rock is carved with the proclamation the “Northernmost Point of China.” Three tall sculptures stand nearby, in the center of which is a pyramid marking the location: 53°29’29.58 N and 122°20’43.48 E. On the marble-paved ground are figures marking the distance to China’s big cities. A log signpost features distances to big cities around the world. Seeing “Sydney” there reminded me of the long flight I once took to Australia.
In one grassy field, totems stand tall among the wild flowers. Some have been carved with smiling faces; others were made to resemble monsters and demons. For an instant I couldn’t remember where I was – was it in Stanley Park in Vancouver, or in a Maori village in New Zealand? Totems were common to many ancient cultures around the world. The Tungusic people who formerly inhabited this part of Manchuria produced particularly striking works of totem art. Mohe County was actually named after one of these Tungusic peoples. Admiring the totems, I could almost hear the ancient inhabitants of the land calling out to me.
Walking on, I was disheartened to see that a number of trees had been chopped down. Approaching the stumps, I realized I was too quick to judge – they were an exhibition showing the variety of local species. The annual rings were clearly defined, and I learned that the oldest tree had 240 rings. Surviving 240 winters in this place made one think of the fragility and brevity of human existence. Nature travel, at least, affords us the opportunity to contemplate our insignificance in the face of nature’s awesome grandeur.
In the park I met four retired army officers who had driven there in an old Volkswagen Santana from Beijing. They were busy taking photos, and we chatted for a while, sharing travel stories. As I walked away, I couldn’t help turning back and shouting, “You know, making a road trip like this means that you’re still young!” In many ways, life is one long road trip, full of unexpected pit stops, fleeting highs, companionship, breakdowns and beauty. We keep moving on, but hope is always before us.
Polar Days
Coming to Arctic Village during the Summer Solstice allows one to experience the “polar day” –almost.
The sky isn’t light for 24 hours a day around the Solstice, but nights are only about one to two hours in duration. A related phenomenon is the aurora borealis, though its occurrence is extremely rare. Some local elders say they have seen it only once or twice in their whole life. Most young residents haven’t seen it. I didn’t have my hopes up of catching a glimpse during my stay, and alas, I wasn’t lucky.
I woke up on my final morning at 2:30 am in time for daybreak. The roosters were crowing. I felt a bit sorry for them; how did they adapt to such wildly fluctuating sunshine hours? The night before we had waited till almost midnight for a chance to photograph the moon. Thick clouds routed our plan, however.
But now, in the very early morning, the moon was shining bright. The village was asleep, and the gentle lapping of the river was about the only sound we could make out. The only light, for presumably hundreds of miles around, was the effervescent glow of the earth’s natural satellite. It was the perfect setting for some great photography.
After “shooting the moon” – pardon the pun –we started our “polar day.” We walked toward the river as the early morning sun awakened in the east. The sunlight was dimmed, however, by a thin veil of fog that hung low over the land.
At half past three, the sun finally made its appearance over the mountains on the horizon. Fishermen already crowded the riverbank. Passenger ferries, berthed along a jetty, were waiting for the day’s first passengers. The ferries’ silhouettes grew stronger with the rising sun.
In this northernmost Chinese village, at such an early hour, I watched the slow slide of the night into day. At one moment the sun and the moon shone in the same sky, competing for prominence. I knew who would lose, but the moment was no less breathtaking.
For me personally, taking time out to leave the city behind and revel in nature’s beauty is incredibly important. In nature we can pause, relax and reflect. The daily worries of city life always seem trivial in retrospect. And in my opinion, nowhere is the opportunity for reflection in stunning natural surrounds better than in China’s “Artic Village.”
Here, the average low in the three winter months hovers around -35°C (-31°F). An annual mean temperature of -4.29 °C (24.3 °F) means the village is only just warm enough to avoid continuous permafrost.
Fortunately, we traveled to Beiji Village while the thermometer was still registering positive values. We had been eagerly looking forward to our trip for some time, and departed from Beijing with a sense of imminent adventure.
Located in northwestern Heilongjiang Province, Beiji Village is the highest geographical point in China by latitude. China’s frigid border with Russia is demarcated by what Russians call the Amur River, and what Chinese know as Heilongjiang –the Black Dragon River, from which the province receives its name.
The “Arctic Village” in Mohe was built in the 1960s. Today the village covers an area of 16 square kilometers. There are 243 permanent households with a combined population of 1,000 people.
We took a flight from Beijing to Mohe. Mohe’s Gulian Airport was opened in 2008. We left the capital at 10:45 in the morning and landed at 3:30 in the afternoon after a brief stopover in Harbin, capital of Heilongjiang Province. It was a relatively long journey for a domestic flight, and I don’t even want to think about how long it would have taken by bus or train – the only options available before the airport opened.
I felt quite sick as we drove from the airport into the “Arctic Village.” Perhaps it was the sudden drop in temperature. It was a shame while I hunched over a sick bag, my travel companions were glued to the windows, mesmerized by the blue sky, fluffy white clouds and crisp greenery of the forest.
Before dinnertime, we arrived at the rural inn we had booked from Beijing. “Riverside Family,” as the inn was called, was picturesquely situated by the riverbank. I highly recommend it.
After a short rest to allow me to recover, we couldn’t wait to head out and explore the northernmost village in China. It’s not big, and a tour took no time at all.
Beiji seemed to be built up on wide stretches of lush green pasture. Its architecture reminded one of the log cabin villages of many a fairy tale. The walls of the buildings are built from pine logs, which are then coated in mud. This style of construction is pervasive in the timber-rich border regions of China and Russia. Every household we saw had a yard in which to grow vegetables and sunflowers. The low wooden fences separating households seemed purely decorative; neighbors chat to each other through them, and front gates are always open for visitors. It was a breath of fresh air – literally – after Beijing.
The “Arctic Village” really gave us an idyllic picture of country life. Locals told us that if someone happens to lose something, nobody will pick it up, and the item will lie waiting until its owner finds it.
As dinnertime approached, smoke billowed up from kitchen chimneys, adding a final, rustic touch to the fairy-tale scene.
A sign that read “Arctic Square” alerted us to the fact that we had reached the center of the village. We spotted there a stone tablet, which read “The Arctic of the Divine Land.” I suppose it’s not technically accurate – the artic circle is another 1,500 kilometers to the North – but nonetheless we felt we had achieved something by getting there. The“Arctic” appellation is certainly the town’s big tourism draw card; shops, the post office and inns all claim to be “northernmost” in China.
We headed down to the Heilongjiang River. Russia is literally on the other side. During our stay, I would wander along the river whenever I got the chance. It is beautiful, deep and tranquil, and reflected the clouds, sky and sunshine in technicolor detail. It’s icy cold even in the months when it’s not frozen over – a quick splash of water to the face, and I felt refreshed.
Tibet, I’d thought previously, is the place in China “closest to heaven,” as we say. Tibet may be higher in altitude, but the “Arctic Village” is higher in latitude. Could this be China’s most tranquil spot outside the monasteries on the “Roof of the World?”
After our first-day wandering, we were hungry and headed back to the Riverside Family inn for dinner. The inn’s caretaker was waiting for us. His family name was Yu, and his ancestral home was in Shandong Province. Yu had been helpful in booking the accommodation at what was a particularly busy time. He picked us up from the airport, and we drank and ate together. As the evenings wore on, we would head out to gaze at the night sky and count the stars. We shared stories and chatted about life under candlelight, since power cuts were frequent in the evening.
I didn’t want to leave. But I had to, and after returning to Beijing, I felt much more at ease, if a little dejected. The verdant fields and the lazy Heilongjiang River stayed with me in my memory, and soothed me on my return to the choking gridlock of Beijing’s streets.
A Park at the End of China
The northernmost point in China is a 10-minute car ride from the village. I expected barrenness, but was pleasantly surprised to find a lovely little park. There is a wooden plank road around it, which takes about an hour to circle round to where we started. The aroma of grass and the forest was strong, and the blue sky was somehow even more brilliant than in the village. We were on the boundary of Russian Siberia, but found nothing as harsh as that place name suggests. Winter, I’d imagine, is a different story.
A massive rock is carved with the proclamation the “Northernmost Point of China.” Three tall sculptures stand nearby, in the center of which is a pyramid marking the location: 53°29’29.58 N and 122°20’43.48 E. On the marble-paved ground are figures marking the distance to China’s big cities. A log signpost features distances to big cities around the world. Seeing “Sydney” there reminded me of the long flight I once took to Australia.
In one grassy field, totems stand tall among the wild flowers. Some have been carved with smiling faces; others were made to resemble monsters and demons. For an instant I couldn’t remember where I was – was it in Stanley Park in Vancouver, or in a Maori village in New Zealand? Totems were common to many ancient cultures around the world. The Tungusic people who formerly inhabited this part of Manchuria produced particularly striking works of totem art. Mohe County was actually named after one of these Tungusic peoples. Admiring the totems, I could almost hear the ancient inhabitants of the land calling out to me.
Walking on, I was disheartened to see that a number of trees had been chopped down. Approaching the stumps, I realized I was too quick to judge – they were an exhibition showing the variety of local species. The annual rings were clearly defined, and I learned that the oldest tree had 240 rings. Surviving 240 winters in this place made one think of the fragility and brevity of human existence. Nature travel, at least, affords us the opportunity to contemplate our insignificance in the face of nature’s awesome grandeur.
In the park I met four retired army officers who had driven there in an old Volkswagen Santana from Beijing. They were busy taking photos, and we chatted for a while, sharing travel stories. As I walked away, I couldn’t help turning back and shouting, “You know, making a road trip like this means that you’re still young!” In many ways, life is one long road trip, full of unexpected pit stops, fleeting highs, companionship, breakdowns and beauty. We keep moving on, but hope is always before us.
Polar Days
Coming to Arctic Village during the Summer Solstice allows one to experience the “polar day” –almost.
The sky isn’t light for 24 hours a day around the Solstice, but nights are only about one to two hours in duration. A related phenomenon is the aurora borealis, though its occurrence is extremely rare. Some local elders say they have seen it only once or twice in their whole life. Most young residents haven’t seen it. I didn’t have my hopes up of catching a glimpse during my stay, and alas, I wasn’t lucky.
I woke up on my final morning at 2:30 am in time for daybreak. The roosters were crowing. I felt a bit sorry for them; how did they adapt to such wildly fluctuating sunshine hours? The night before we had waited till almost midnight for a chance to photograph the moon. Thick clouds routed our plan, however.
But now, in the very early morning, the moon was shining bright. The village was asleep, and the gentle lapping of the river was about the only sound we could make out. The only light, for presumably hundreds of miles around, was the effervescent glow of the earth’s natural satellite. It was the perfect setting for some great photography.
After “shooting the moon” – pardon the pun –we started our “polar day.” We walked toward the river as the early morning sun awakened in the east. The sunlight was dimmed, however, by a thin veil of fog that hung low over the land.
At half past three, the sun finally made its appearance over the mountains on the horizon. Fishermen already crowded the riverbank. Passenger ferries, berthed along a jetty, were waiting for the day’s first passengers. The ferries’ silhouettes grew stronger with the rising sun.
In this northernmost Chinese village, at such an early hour, I watched the slow slide of the night into day. At one moment the sun and the moon shone in the same sky, competing for prominence. I knew who would lose, but the moment was no less breathtaking.
For me personally, taking time out to leave the city behind and revel in nature’s beauty is incredibly important. In nature we can pause, relax and reflect. The daily worries of city life always seem trivial in retrospect. And in my opinion, nowhere is the opportunity for reflection in stunning natural surrounds better than in China’s “Artic Village.”