each family occupies one vertical unit in a tu lou, with the lower level serving as kitchen and the second level for crop storage. the family sleeps on the third floor. most tu lou have an open hallway on each floor, but in some of the more dilapidated buildings families use their own private staircases. laneways connect each tu lou to village shops, schools and onward to the hilly farmland where locals grow rice, eggplants and tea.
compared to more modern tourist sites in china, the earth villages remain uncluttered by tacky stalls and restaurants. at night, the whole scene is still and silent, aside from the barking of dogs and the sounds of children playing in inner courtyards.
more recently, many hakka people left the tu lou for apartment buildings and split-level bungalows in nearby towns. a few of the tu lou in hongkeng have fallen into disrepair, their wooden roofs rotting, but most remain unchanged. pigs, ducks and hens make a noisy, smelly din and after sunset every kitchen doorway is blocked with a tea setup and chairs, as families and visiting neighbours drink brown tea in small porcelain cups.
there's squalor too. the largest round buildings climb to five stories with as many as three inner rings and 70 rooms. in one three-storey building we visit 20 families, where more than 100 people crowd together with their hens and pigs. flies and a fetid smell of raw sewage fill the air.
a mere 100 metres down the road, other buildings have been cleaned up, pigsties replaced by craft shops and photo booths. families here lead a simple life, but they've done well from tourism. lin qingming and his neighbours paste photos of visiting celebrities and officials on their fridge doors. many of their sons and daughters have gone to college or emigrated.
today, the hakka spread out to all parts of the world. but they remain attached to the hakka identity, as a scan of the guestbook at lin qinming's house suggests. that bus trip through the mountains of rural fujian proves worthwhile, if only to gaze upon their legacy.