Yunnan, China -

hen night fell, I found the tattered blanket and bamboo floor more comfortable than expected. Sleep came quickly, and sunrise came just a fraction later. Early morning in that particular mountain village was quiet and calm. A gentle breeze carried cool mountain air through the modest house. The smell of burning coal began to fill the air as families in the surrounding houses awoke.

Six children were huddled together on the floor in the corner opposite me. The parents of the children were in the other corner next to the stove. I was the first to wake. Lying on the bamboo flooring, near the entrance to the house, I saw the mist beginning to burn off as the sun began its daily rise over the Biluo Snow Mountains to the east. The sky was clear. "I will push hard to ensure I arrive at the next village early enough to find accommodation," I thought to myself.

Outside animals stirred as children and parents alike made their way to the pit toilet shared by several families in the surrounding houses. I was offered a small piece of bread and some tea for breakfast; I gracefully accepted and say goodbye to my hosts before beginning another day of walking.

If you spend enough time wandering around in China's backcountry, it won't take long before you find a place so remote and special that the people, the culture and the landscape will stay close to your heart long after you leave. One of a series of mountain ranges known as 'The Hump' to World War II bomber pilots, the Nujiang Valley served as an important visual marker for British and American pilots as they flew from India to bomb Japanese positions in China. This part of the 'Hump' is actually the Nu River wedged deep between the Gaoligong, and Biluo Snow Mountain ranges, forming part of the border between Myanmar and China. The Valley itself is geographically remote and culturally isolated from the rest of the country. Having only opened up to foreign travellers a few years ago, the valley offers a truly unique experience to all those who visit.

My walk from the Nu River up into the agricultural mountain villages was remarkable. Following the small stone steps up the mountainside I passed scores of locals making their way down to the river to sell their fruits and vegetables along the main road.

In the first village I reached it didn't take long before a group of men welcomed me. Breaking from their rural chores, they initially took me to be one of the village elders. At least seventy years old, I discovered him working the land with his family, and he in turn invited me into his home. Sitting out on the front porch of a modest one-room home my host handed me a hot cup of tea. His smile was warm and his gestures were those of a sincere man.

He was in remarkable physical shape, the kind of fitness only achievable through a lifetime of manual labour. His eyes were large and wise, and his face was wrinkled and suffering the effects of decades of mountain sunlight on unprotected skin. He was clearly well respected in his village, and perhaps beyond, and it was an honour to accept his invitation. I was grateful for his hospitality, and he was clearly entertained by my company.

Sitting there on this man's porch I noticed a group of youngsters inspecting me from a distance. As I sat in front of this comfortably small wooden house it didn't take long before their numbers grew. Minutes later there were at least twenty young children standing ten metres away from me; appearing afraid to come any closer. They stared at me fixedly, a clear sign that this remote village has seen very few outsiders.

Suddenly, the children – who had not yet attempted to speak with me – pushed a small boy forward out of the pack against his will. He was to be the guinea pig.

This boy – who appeared to be about six years old – accepted his fate graciously, looking me straight in the eyes. He flashed me a smile as he took his first few steps towards me. I felt a firm handshake was the most appropriate way to introduce myself to this young cultural ambassador so, as he approached, I tried to ease his nerves extending my hand to receive his.

His steps were slow and calculated and eventually he came close enough to greet me formerly. He was now visibly nervous. He gently shook my hand and looked around to make sure the handshake had been witnessed by not only the elder, but also his peers still ten metres behind him. After a shake of about five seconds, the boy broke eye contact, released my hand and bolted; running back past the group, down the dirt path and around the bend, out of eyesight.

It was one of the oddest things I have witnessed in all my travels. Clearly this young ambassador didn't like being put on the spot. I had no idea how to react until my elder friend burst out laughing. As he did so he rested his hand on my shoulder as if to say it was not my fault. I laughed as well and the atmosphere loosened up considerably, the rest of the children all lining up to shake my hand before beginning to explore my jacket, boots, pack, and camera equipment.

The remainder of the day was full of smiles, laughs and handshakes. My friend, the elder, had taken me to visit the rest of the families in the village. It was exactly what I was looking for; direct and personal access into the lives of the local Lisu people.

Never in the past had any previous trip generated such anticipation (before), excitement (during), and sheer joy (upon completion). China's minority peoples have a long history of being very hospitable to visitors, and this held true for the local people who call the Nujiang Valley their home.

Those keen to visit the Nujiang Valley are in for a treat but it is important to bear in mind it has no experience with tourism. "We only get about two foreigners a month coming through the Valley, and I don't think this will change," says Fan, an English-language student who has returned to the valley to run a hotel with his parents. The Nujiang Valley has been off the tourist trail for a long time, and with no airport in the area things aren't likely to change anytime soon.