#authentic

The fishing village wakes before dawn, and I wake with it. No alarm clock needed—the fishermen's voices carry through the salt-thick air, calling to each other as they prepare their nets. I slip out of the small guesthouse and follow the sound down to the harbor, where wooden boats painted in fading blues and greens bob gently against the dock.

An old man notices me watching and waves me over. His hands are weathered, mapped with lines like the coastline itself. Without speaking much of each other's language, he gestures for me to help untangle a fishing net. We work in comfortable silence, the rhythm of our movements falling into sync with the lapping waves.

When the boats finally push off, I stay on the shore, watching them disappear into the mist. The village behind me begins to stir—women arranging vegetables at makeshift stands, children running barefoot between houses, a cat stretching lazily in a doorway. This is the golden hour before tourists arrive, when places reveal their true selves.

The morning fog clung to the stone steps like spider silk as I descended into the heart of Guilin's old fishing village. My guide—a woman in her seventies with hands weathered by decades of river work—gestured for me to follow her to the water's edge. She didn't speak English. I didn't speak Mandarin. But when she handed me a cormorant to hold, its sleek black feathers trembling against my forearm, we understood each other perfectly.

The Li River stretched before us like molten jade, limestone karsts rising from its surface in impossible formations. This wasn't the tourist Guilin of postcard panoramas and selfie crowds. This was the fishermen's river, where tradition still moved with the current, where birds and humans worked in ancient partnership.

My guide tied a delicate knot around the cormorant's throat—tight enough to prevent swallowing large fish, loose enough to breathe. The bird dove from the bamboo raft with the grace of an Olympic swimmer, disappearing into the murky water. Seconds later, it surfaced with a thrashing carp in its beak, returned to the raft, and deposited its catch at her feet. She rewarded it with a smaller fish, which slid easily past the knot.