In the heart of Henan's Taihang Mountains lies forgotten Guoliang Cun.  Not entirely forgotten, of course, in China a "forgotten" destination can officially mean fewer than ten thousand visitors per day. But far fewer than that disturb this marvelous relic of rough-hewn splendor, and the place truly was forgotten long enough that the term applies more to Guoliang Cun than to most any other Chinese habitation.

 For optimal effect, go in autumn. The village and its surrounds resemble nothing so much as a massive topographical canvas rendered by kitsch meister Thomas Kinkade, had his legions of middlebrow fans hounded him into seeking refuge in a Henan valley. In other words, it's quaint as can be.  A million hues between yellow and gold, orange and red, tan and russet play not just on the cliff walls that envelope the place, but also the walnut and persimmon trees, and all else which abides there.

Yet the key feature of Guolian Cun is its inaccessibility. It sits at a high but by no means vertiginous 1752 meters.  Some eighty families comprising 300 odd people give it life. The clue to the hidden nature of Guoliang lies in the fact that almost everyone there shares the surname Shen.

In the Yuan Dynasty, the Shen family were powerful officials in Nanjing. But by the beginning of the Ming Dynasty, the Shen's glory had run its course. Emperor Zhuyuanzhang exiled the entire clan to Qinghai, to do hard labor as punishment for some crime real or imagined, but certainly lost to the ages. Somehow, most of the family managed to escape while under guard in Shanxi.

Realizing their odds of getting away were greater in small groups, they shattered a giant brass wok, the pieces to serve as symbols of kinship should they or their progeny ever manage to reunite.  Thus did the small band and original stock of today's Guoliang Cun intentionally take the most tortuous, untraceable route they could find, stopping only when they stumbled into an all but impenetrable valley. Here they consigned themselves to a world entirely apart from the rest of China. By the 1960s, only one Shen had left, to join the army. The rest, never. The fact that less than ten percent of Guoliang has more than ten fingers throws some doubt on the claim, but a romantic story is a romantic story. And hey, the place is hard to reach, even by China countryside standards.

The surest proof of that is the way in, a marvel of manual engineering. A path carved into the side of the valley's east cliff face, a three sided tunnel that would stagger today's average construction firm, is the final stage of the bumpy mountain journey to Guoliang Cun. Actually, there was another way in before, one that scarcely justified being called a path, a goat trail of perilous drops and ninety degree ascents that guaranteed no one left Guoliang valley or went in unless under direst need. That same "path" today is a draw for a breed of deranged hikers who call a scamper up Hua Shan a "fun day's outing".

Not until 1972 did the residents of Guoliang Cun have either the desire or the money to round up a bunch of iron hammers and spikes, a few crude shovels, and get to work carving out the least forbidding cliff surrounding them. 26,000 cubic meters of stone they removed in the project, amazing considering the vertical work site, and the fact that it was hauled out by hand and bundle. Many died during construction of this 1250 meter Cliffside loggia, lending merit to its name Tian Ti, or ‘Stairway to Heaven' if you like, classic rockers.

There's some water to complement the rock, along with wood and earth aplenty but blessedly little metal. A small reservoir grandiosely dubbed Tianshi Lake is famed for the red stone at its bottom, lending the waters a mysterious hue. And Huanchuan, or "Yelling Well" was originally a dragon's whisker, if you believe the pap the village elders tell to pass the time. In more lucid moments, they'll tell you the yelling refers to pretty much the only means of long-distance communication these mountain people enjoyed until of late.