44 Up the Mekong Valley 
trees, Pyrus, maple, alder, and many more; in strong 
contrast to the exposed hill sides above. Higher up were 
woody climbers, a beautiful clematis, the crimson-flowered 
Schizandra chinensis, Aristolochia monpinense, with flowers 
very similar to the familiar Dutchman’s Pipe (4. szpho), 
the curious Akedza, Sabca yunnanensis and other delightful 
things, with splendid trusses of white rhododendron and 
numerous orchids, including Cypripedium luteum. 
The dry hill slopes at this low altitude, however, afforded 
little of interest, the familiar yellow mullein (Verdascum), a 
handsome purple-flowered broom-rape (Ovodanche), and a 
boraginaceous flower of brilliant hue (Cyxoglossum amabzle) 
being the most noticeable. Some 1500 feet above the 
Mekong there was hidden away a splendid patch of white 
opium poppy, secure from the vulgar gaze; it covered 
75 square yards, and was now in full bloom. 
To the west the river was shut in by a double range of 
mountains, the lower, which alone was visible from below, 
rising about 3000 feet above the river and cresting the 
steep slope with high limestone towers and cliffs; and as 
far as I could see the same physical features occurred on 
the east or left bank. Between the river and the mountain 
slope extended a narrow platform along which a few huts 
were scattered from Tsu-kou to Tsu-chung. Below Tsu- 
chung rice is cultivated, this being the last village on the 
Mekong where it is known, for immediately to the north 
the climate changes abruptly. With the climate and the 
want of rice the people change also; there are no more 
Mosos or Lissus now, only Tibetans, and such Chinese 
merchants as have settled at the big trading centres. 
The platform just referred to however, which is only 
a few hundred yards wide, does not represent all the 
cultivation, for the slopes of the first hill range have to a 
large extent been cleared of their open pine woods and 
rhododendron scrub, and here are raised crops of wheat 
and barley. It is wonderful to see the Tibetans ploughing 
these hill sides with bullocks drawing the wooden plough, 
which is so light that the man picks it up at the end of 
the day’s work and walks home with it. So steep are the 
slopes that the stones come rattling down the hill side as 
each furrow is turned, and so poor the soil, choked with 
