In our final days in Xishuangbanna, we chose to bypass the neon-lit, photo-op-heavy commercial night markets in Jinghong. Instead, we headed east, following our instincts straight into Manlongle Village in Mengla County.

We had heard rumors of an open-air market here—locally known as a “Ganbai” (Fair)—that is said to be the only one left in China existing entirely within a tropical rainforest. It happened to be a Saturday, and a light rain had fallen that morning. As we walked through the ancient village woods, stepping on damp leaves and rich, loamy soil, the heavy, humid heat of the rainforest and the fresh, grassy scent of damp earth instantly enveloped us.

This was no planned tourist attraction. There were no uniform stalls or harsh plastic signage—only ancient trees towering overhead. The sunlight was filtered through the sprawling leaves of palms and banyans, dappling the ground in fragments of bright gold.

Local Dai women sat casually on wooden stools in the shade. The stalls were filled with their own harvests—freshly cut jackfruit releasing a crisp, sweet fragrance, wild bananas still dewy from the morning, and sticky rice parcels wrapped in banana leaves, alongside fragrant lemongrass-grilled chicken.

We found a spot in the shade of a large tree and squatted down, mimicking the locals, chatting aimlessly with a Dai gentleman running a stall. There were no blaring loudspeakers; the air was filled with the soft, melodic tones of the Dai language, sounding like a gentle lullaby. We spent just a few yuan on a parcel of banana sticky rice, eating it right there with our hands. It was sweet, sticky, and carried the smoky aroma of wood-fired cooking—likely the most grounded and soul-satisfying meal of our entire journey.

What we found most delightful was the way business was conducted here. There was no haggling, no urgency; it felt more like a grand neighborhood gathering. Someone traded a mango picked from their own tree for a freshly grilled fish from a neighboring stall, and in the joy of the moment, they handed us a few wild fruits we couldn’t even name. Life here seemed entirely unhurried by the concept of “efficiency.”

Commercialized carnivals are all the same, but the quiet relaxation of Manlongle is inimitable. As evening approached, the mountain breeze drifted in, as soft as the hem of a Dai woman’s skirt.

In this rainforest fair, where phone signals faded in and out, watching the sunlight dim between the leaves and listening to the distant birdsong, we realized something: those internal tensions we obsessively discuss in the city had long been washed clean by the wild, primal gentleness of this forest, nurtured by the spirit of all living things.