Two years ago we rented bikes from our hostel in Yangshuo and rode off to visit the small villages scattered around the mountain. In one of the villages we saw an old worn down temple entrance that beckoned us to enter. As we entered the gate we saw a sea of floating red paper, remnants from the hundreds if not thousands of firecrackers lit in the courtyard. The families both young and old burning joss sticks and praying for good fortune in the year ahead. The red carpet of debris and the air filled with the acrid scent of gunpowder has always lingered in my memories. Sadly this year we’ll miss the festivities, but wherever you may be I say: Xīnnián kuàilè (新年快乐)! Happy New Year!