Breakfast today a bit better than yesterday, but no good coffee. We try an espresso shop next door, but they are closed or out of business. Not much coffee drinking in China, and almost none in the smaller towns. We are in Kaili, a town of about 1.5 million people. We have seen only about 4 other westerners, unlike the larger cities. Although people have been coming to this area for about 30+ years, not so many come this way.
Out for the day in the van. Beautiful countryside everywhere.
First stop is the small village (about 500 people) of Landge, home to the long-skirt Miao ethnic minority. We wander through the village, up the beautifully stone-paved walkway through their wooden houses (built on a foundation of rock. these days, some are built with bricks because otherwise they have to be rebuilt about every 5 years). As we come back down, Duan is motioned over by a woman who wants us to come into her house and see how nicely it’s decorated. We walk through a passage-way, first through the kitchen then through the family area, which has an assortment of framed photos on both walls. Many of her mother-in-law, including one in which she’s receiving congratulations for carrying the Olympic torch when it passed through their village on June 13, 2008. She very proudly points to pictures and tells us of the circumstance or relatives in each one.
We then are motioned into the next room, which is filled with a traditional loom; it’s obviously not been used for a while, but no matter, the next room is filled with weavings and batik materials she is selling (some of which our guide says are actually factory made).
Back in the van and a 30 minute drive further south, and we stop to visit Datang, home to the short-skirt Miao ethnic minority (and we’re talking teenage girl short!). As we enter the village, we happen to come upon a tour group – kids from a high school in Shanghai – and there are 4 or 5 women dressed in traditional festival clothing with ornamental silver head gear on:
Very pretty. We wander up and along the pathway for this village. Like the last, it is built into a hillside, with stone walkways and artfully carved water ditches that function perfectly to drain away running and raining water (which I can see because it’s been raining for days). Duan tells us that “Datang” means great pond, and in the center of the ring of wooden houses are smaller wooden houses built on long timbers, which are sunk into a pond.
The reason for this is that if there is a fire – and the wooden houses would burn quickly in that instance – all won’t be lost. The pond underneath all the granaries is covered in beautiful bright green algae. The runoff from the sheds makes a really cool pattern in the green. I tried for an artful picture, but this is what you get:
Hard taking quality photos with the constant drizzle and mist everywhere. It’s beautiful, and I can see the mountains fade away even within the fog. However, the lens does not.
We walk out of the village and through the entrance-way:
and right into your every day kinda city store fronts. Our guide tells us that this area was built long after the village. The village has been here about 150 years, and the are settled for about 500. Interesting note: Each family gets a piece of land on the mountainside from the government to maintain. They are allowed, with the proper government certificate, to cut about 50 logs per year, and required to replant at the same time. It takes about 300 logs to build a house, so a family might save their logs for a few years in preparation to build. They can also sell their allotment if they don’t need it – how’s that for cap and trade?
We head back into town for lunch. Duan wants us to go to a restaurant, but we demur and say we want to eat at one of the little garage stalls (I don’t know what to call them – kind of like a large garage that they can pull a door down and lock up for the night, but the walls are plastered, etc. This space is rented for shops, restaurants and service businesses) that serves steamed buns and noodles. He laughs and agrees, since we’re the bosses, and select the one run by a woman and order a bowl of noodles with fried egg on top, and two buns. Def not as good as bun we had a few days ago, but the noodles (topped with egg, hot sauce, minced scallions and then broth ladled over) warm us up and set our mouths dancing!
After we are done, we head over to the bus station so yours truly can use the potty (and it is indeed a squatty potty, one of my new favorite phrases) and stop to buy some matsishuta oranges for snacks. We hit the road for about 20 minutes, and then arrive at our hiking trail. We are supposed to hike through another village, rice paddies, and over the mountain to another village where our van would be waiting for us, but there has been a landslide and the driver can’t get over to the other side. So we hike for about an hour and then turn around and head back. It is still drizzling the whole time, but we stop to take some lovely shots of rice paddies and landscapes.
The view is stupendous, but the fog renders many of mine less grand than reality. Duan tells us that he has had previous visitors remark that they now understand why so many Chinese paintings show clouds and mist – it’s because that’s the way the countryside looks most of the time!
After the hike, we have a ten-minute drive to our homestay in the Paika village. A family here has built on rooms (all wooden – electricity but no heat or insulation) for hosting visitors. We have arrived on a very auspicious occasion as his son was born just 3 days ago! We are shown to a room that is paneled and floored in pine boards, with two beds made of nothing other than wood and a futon on bottom and quilt on top, and sliding window, which is open to the cool air. We have time to just chill (which we do literally) and drink some hot tea and read/relax. I end up changing into my wool socks, hot chillies long john top, shirt sweater, zip up nylon jacket AND m patagonia hooded artificial-down jacket. Trying to keep warm as the temperature drops and rain keeps coming down. I can deal for one night, but will be happy to get back to warmer climes tomorrow. A wise suggestion from Duan means we’ll be eating hot pot for supper (boiling broth surrounded by veggies and meat, which are then dipped in to cook and rich broth consumed at the very end).
At 6 pm we head down to meet the new baby and then have our own private room for dinner. Plates of veggies, meat and a big boiling pot of broth. Fresh carrots! They were so good that only half went into the pot and saved the rest for me to munch on. LOVED loved loved the bamboo chutes (and though so obvious, marveled at the fact that these were actually baby pieces of bamboo that were split, not the white slices of non-descript stuff from a can).
We had a bit of rice wine, made by the family, and chatted about Chinese politics, their opinions of Americans and had a good time. Felt warm for the first time in hours. Finished, then back to our rooms, and then Duan knocks to say we’ve been invited to the family celebration. We go back down and into the main dining room, where about 17 family members have been eating. We sit down and the women at the other end of the table are singing in a rambling way and toasting with more rice wine.
Our guide tells us that other than men in the immediate family, these celebrations are limited to all of the women in the extended family. Everyone greets us with smiles and cups of rice wine start being pushed in our face. A woman would come up with one in each hand and put up to two people’s mouths. Fine for a couple, but they kept coming and insisting. I am overwhelmed thinking that here I am in the countryside of fucking CHINA, celebrating with people I don’t know, but I know those smiles and those dance floor moves and can share the happiness of the moment with them. Again, people really aren’t so different.
Wine keeps coming and we finally had to seal our lips….next thing I know, tables were being swept aside
and then the electronics were pumped up and it was disco time. Drinking and dancing. Dancing and drinking. More cups of rice wine. Smiles. I’m being pulled to dance with this woman and then handed off to that one. A totally soused uncle dances with me and loves to do a double spin, but is rather clumsy and it’s hard to be graceful, but I smile and do my best. Randomly someone is grabbed by all the women (about 8 – 10 ages 22 – mid-40’s. the older woman are sitting at the other end of the room) and thrown up and down in the air a few times.
Everyone laughs and then the dancing starts up again. More rice wine? Oh, no, couldn’t possibly! Bottoms up!
More dancing…slipping on the floor…this time I’m the one going up in the air – I just let go completely and enjoy.
Yikes! Here comes the drunk uncle again. All of a sudden, everyone grabs a pair of stools and starts clapping them together to the beat. A new one on me!
And next, several women pull out a few of the traditional (and locally made – see tomorrow’s post) flutes and have a go:
Lance and I decide it’s time to escape, but they’ve locked the door. We look at each other and laugh. More dancing and evading wine, then we manage to escape out another door and trot up to our room. Of course, a few minutes later, there’s quite a bit of knocking at our door, but we just stay still and quiet and eventually it goes away. The throbbing disco beat continues for about another hour (although at some point, Duan comes to the door and says he’s going to go and ask them to stop as soon as possible and I told him I wanted them to enjoy their celebration and if he does ask, don’t blame it on me!) and then all is quiet. What a night!!!