Down on the plain, the city runs on trains and wheat. Freight rolls through a busy rail junction, and at dusk People's Park fills with dancers and tai chi groups. An hour north the mood flips. The red cliffs of the Taihang Mountains rise straight up, and at Guoliang a road slips through the rock in a tunnel that villagers cut with hammers.
Between them sit the Ming tomb of Prince Lujian, the springs and pavilions of Baiquan and Bigan Temple, where Lin families honor an ancestor. Summers are hot and stormy, winters cold and dry. A Local Friend knows when to reach the cliffs before the tour buses and when to stay for evening light.



