Yesterday we took a two-hour van ride from Guilin to Longji, where a guard in the tourist office was watching Spurs-Grizzlies highlights on TV. From there, we transferred to a bus that took us up a winding mountain road overlooking the famous Dragon’s Backbone Rice Terraces.

The area is home to two ethnic groups, the Yao and Zhuang. The Zhuang are aboriginals who have lived in the region for more than 2,000 years, while the Yao are best known for their women’s colorful outfits and extremely long hair.

After leaving the bus, we started walking up a long stone walkway that leads to the top of the 3,280-foot mountain. Along the way we passed dozens of homes, restaurants, shops and hotels housed in nearly identical structures made of concrete bases, fir siding and tile roofs.

Everywhere you looked, a new building was under construction. Tourism is booming at Longji, mostly because of the picturesque rice terraces featured in every China guidebook.

Most of the terraces were built more than 500 years ago. Though they’re now celebrated for their scenic beauty, the original purpose was practical – to stabilize rice fields perched precariously on a mountainside.

The fields change colors with the seasons: They look golden in the fall, green in the summer and silver in the spring. They appear brown or white in the winter, depending on whether they’re covered with a rare snowfall. Right now, they’re mostly brown because rice is out of season, though you see can patches of green from cabbage, lettuce and bok choy crops.

The Dragon’s Backbone terraces – the name derives from the shape of the mountain – have been described with many analogies. I’ve read that they look like ribbons, chains, belts and a giant snail. Pat, being a foodie, thought they resembled a flaked pastry.

As we walked up the mountain, we passed small stands selling fruits and vegetables, dried honey, scarves, hats and embroidery. We stopped at one store and bought an impressionist watercolor of the terraces from the local artist who painted it.

We hiked to Ping’an village, a Zhuang community near the top of the mountain, and then continued to the peak, where we took photos with breathtaking views of the terraces. A Zhuang woman tried to sell us tea and, when that failed, asked us to buy a photo of Pat and me that she had taken while we stood at the summit. We declined, having just taken about a dozen pictures with our own camera.

On the way down, we met a middle-aged Yao woman who charged us 10 yuan ($1.65) to see her unwrap the bun on her head made of her own jet black hair. Yao women only cut their hair once in their lives, usually at 16-18 years old when they start searching for a husband. They save the shorn locks and weave them into their permanent hair to form elaborate headdresses. When the local lady unraveled her bun, she loosened two 4-foot sections of loose hair along with a 5-foot tail still growing from her head. After we took some photos, she rewrapped all the hair back into a neat bun.

We asked our tour guide Johnny why the hair of Yao women doesn’t turn gray as they age. He said the secret is a natural shampoo they make from rice-washing water. Call me a skeptic, but I think genes also play a big part.

On our way down the mountain, we stopped for lunch in the village. Pat ordered noodle soup with meat and vegetables, while I had rice with beef and green peppers. As we ate, a little boy ran around the restaurant, smiling and laughing as if he didn’t have a care in the world. In this setting, it’s no wonder.

When we got to the parking lot, we saw several cars decorated with pink ribbons and the ground was strewn with exploded firecrackers. Johnny explained that many couples had just gotten married because it was a lucky day on the lunar calendar.

I felt lucky, too.