Three kilometres from Tienhsiang, steps lead down to the Taisha river. As I descended the vegetation grew lusher, as if walking into a jungle. A suspension bridge led to a path where hot springs gurgle from the rocks. I stopped by a cabin to put on my bikini before rounding the last bend. There by the bank was a group of Buddhist nuns.

Their bodies were covered in layers of clothing, they even had cloth wrapped around their feet. Two of them were immersed in the river, garments and all. Another sat in quiet meditation on a rock. The fourth was preparing tea over a small fire.

I withdrew and put my clothes back on.

When I returned the one who’d made tea waved me over. She pointed down the valley: the river with its marble boulders, the cliffs and the jungle. A good place to meditate. Her colleague pointed at the river and her dripping wet clothes. I shook my head. She laughed and beckoned me on. I slipped into the water, clothes and all.

It was like lying in a bathtub at the bottom of a Chinese painting.