I Was An Honorary Member of the PLA!

One of the nice things about having Party Members in the friend and family circle is that you can do things that are otherwise patently illegal. In this case, a PLA commander who is a friend of the local tourism agent in Zhongdian took us out to a firing range and we shot machine guns at targets high in the Tibetan Plateau. I was not to be let out of that experience, in spite of the fact that I told them I’d never handled a gun before, and my uncle worked for the CIA. They probably know that already. There were none of those sissy one-shot-at-a-time locks on this gun, and those things are LOUD. And they throw shells everywhere.
This was a particularly bizarre experience after the morning’s activities. We went to Na Pa Hai where black-necked cranes overwinter, and there were still cranes there, despite the warm winter and early spring. Zhongdian is generally considered to be the Shangri-La of literature, and it is remarkably peaceful, pastoral and spiritual. In New Age reference, I guess it is a vortex. We also visited a Tibetan Buddhist Lamasery, and got to see the yellow-hat monks calling their charges to prayer. Yak-butter lamps were the only lighting, but the vivid colors inside the temple were well-represented in this lighting.
There is a great museum here that describes the botany, geography, and cultures of the area, complete with the expected sad dead and stuffed animals with inappropriately painted lips and eyes. The early Tibetans used human bones and skin to decorate their homes, and there is graphic detail about this. So, as the saying goes, “Thank you, Chairman Mao, for liberating Tibet.” David (who knows how Americans feel on the subject of Tibet) likes to tease me and sing the Thank You Chairman Mao song, which was crafted in Tibetan musical style and remains a popular song even now. I told him it was not my battle.
After the lake and the lamasery we had lunch with a Tibetan family, the local agent’s parents. They served yak butter tea, dumplings and various fried breads, and buckwheat flour which you use to make a paste that kind of tastes like peanut butter. Then on to the shooting range...
When we arrived in Zhongdian, we were taken to a “local flavor” restaurant where the waitress threw salt on the little fire pot that they place under the table to keep your feet warm. This was supposed to help with altitude sickness. I believe Zhongdian is over 11,000 feet. But the usual “gan bei” ritual followed, ameliorated by a group of Japanese mountain climbers who were full of themselves (well, ok, all mountain climbers are full of themselves) and ready to drink the place dry. The local agent put water in an empty bottle and used it for the many toasts that repeatedly came our way, and I was seriously worried about those guys going anywhere the next day, much less managing a mountain. Never mind, I ran into them later in a disco/karaoke bar and we danced the spirits out. (And when was the last time any of you danced to Funky Town?) It was the only way I could manage, having been abandoned by my host who went to send e-mails to the states. Imagine, though, disco dancing at 11,000 feet when you’ve spent the past two weeks in a cigarette-smoke haze (these guys are chain-smokers). It’s been an interesting trip, but I haven’t improved my Chinese all that much. David and Zhao speak Yunnanese most of the time, not that they don’t know Mandarin, but they don’t use it with any of their many friends. And Yunnanese is like Cantonese, I only “get” about 10 percent (acw 50 percent with Mandarin).
The ethnic Tibetans don’t speak Han necessarily, and for once, my guides don’t speak their language, so everyone reverts to English on the Tibet circuit, a happy change. I’m back in Kunming now, for one night, then on to Hong Kong tomorrow, and home the day after.
Zaijian

I Was A Cane Cutter on a People's Farm Crew!

Well, not really. David actually laughed at me when I asked if we were on a community farm, and told me that “everything is private now.” In any case, I was assigned a service project to clear a few rows of sugarcane (and I have the pictures to prove it!)and we later visited a processing plant to see how the Chinese make sugar (I passed on that option in Hawaii, so I can’t make a comparison). We have passed through a fascinating combination of special-interest areas, but Tengchong County is really intriguing, with hot springs, wetlands, dormant volcanoes, Anti-Japanese war memorials (and, for your information, it was the Chinese who held the land north of the Salween and defeated the Japanese, but the Flying Tigers helped. I saw a memorial to the airmen at Lijiang today), lesser pandas, tree climbing fish, double-headed snakes, Burmese jade ...it really was a great area.
Leaving Tengchong, we went to Dali and I am now in Lijiang, another backpacker town, art community and a place where you can get all manner of batiks and great artwork. We saw a Bai peoples' funeral procession, and I was told that seeing a coffin was good luck. So, lucky me! I am sooo very glad that I didn’t try to cycle in this area-no way is that going to happen! Professor Cha wasn’t kidding when he said that traffic rules in China are merely suggestions.
Unlike in the cities, Spring Festival remains a giddy time the countryside, with firecrackers going off at ALL hours. Lanterns are up everywhere in anticipation of the Lantern Festival on the 26th. Trash collection trucks here play ice cream truck music and it is the adults who come running out to greet the trucks, teahouses, noodle shops, garage-fronted stores, FRUIT!!! market days,cobblestone roads that go on forever... Last nights menu included dragonflies, raw pork and yak meat. (Now I know what to say to the
Goddess of Mercy when I visit a Buddhist temple). Entertainment was Chinese-rules pool after the dragonfly feast. And, for reference to those of you who are thinking about being Survivors, their little legs stab your tongue like needles.
Things you hear here:
“Just a few steps.” Like 300, at mile-high altitude.
“I’ll knock you up for dinner” (British influence).
“Phones that play Jingle Bells” (Davids. Unfortunately.)
“My mother forgot whether I was born on the 15 or the 25th, and all the records were destroyed in the Big Earthquake”.
Today, just outside of Lijiang, we went to Yak Meadow in the Jade Dragon Snow Mountain, which was stunning. I have pictures, but they don’t capture the sound of the ethnic Tibetan girls'singing (great lungs!) echoing across the valley. I believe the altitude there was over 11,000 feet, and I was just beginning to feel it when we broke for a reprise of roast yak and water. We saw the Greatest Camelia Tree in the World (over 500 years old and tenaciously guarded by a Tibetan lama, and people who digress the “no picking” rule have to write a letter of apology which is then posted for all to see).

The Honored Guest Routine

OK, so maybe mijiu and border crossings don’t mix, but when you have a chance to be escorted into Burma (or Myannmar) by a Communist party official, how can you possibly resist? David tells me that I thought the Provincial Governor was too uptight and tried to throw firecrackers at him, but I think it was a slight exaggeration. He was uptight, but I was fresh out of firecrackers. In any case, it is impossible to quickly sober up from a mijiu lunch (and yes, all we really do is drink here. It’s like a college road trip!) so we all shuffled along the border town muttering meaningful hmmmmms and tried to appear somewhat upright. (Mijiu means rice wine, but read that, rocket fuel).
So a nap after lunch, right? Ha! The next words I heard, right out of the shower, were “some Party members would like to have a word with you” David was shuffling uncomfortably, looking grave and saying, “I am sorry. Like drinking with my brother, I find it hard to say no to those people.” So we were driven through town, down dark alleys and BACK TOWARDS THE BORDER, and it all became clear that I was to be shot and an opium smuggling bust blamed on me. As it happened, I was to participate in another honored guest routine, with tourism officials promoting Jinglu County. And more mijiu. Ay!!! They had seized on my business card when we checked into the Jingpo festival, and the token American (the first!!) edged us all in to VIP status. I was given a brightly embroidered Jingpo shoulder bag stuffed with a ball cap, water bottle, VIP badge and event program; the boys were given white Jingpo caps. Lacking the leggings and mean-looking knives carried by any self-respecting Jingpo man, in their street clothes they looked like short order cooks. We watched a pageant-like celebration of Jingpo culture and folklore, and were lured to dance in a tight, shuffling circle. Dinner was a pleasant affair, with a handsome Burmese (Myannmar?) tourism official flirting and giving me searching, meaningful looks throughout. I still regret not pursuing that opportunity!

VIP Status in Jinglu County means that you get to spend a morning with the local Party tourism “big potatoes” seated around a conference room table while the Provincial Governor blows on an on about the state of tourism in Jinglu and in Yunnan. For three hours this guy talked: how can anyone like his own voice that much? Doesn’t a governor have better things to do? My brain went numb, which must have been obvious because the governor finally addressed me, asking where I was from, and telling me where he had traveled in the States (He has seen more of America than I have). The he went back to his verbal white paper on the state of the county. David spent the time picking at his jacket and smoking continuously, so he was amped on nicotine by the time we finally escaped the conference, his knee twitching furiously for the rest of the drive that afternoon.

I’m now in Dali, a backpacker town where weiguoren (foreigners) are plentiful, internet cafes abound, and English is spoken. Of course the exploitation of tourists is there too, how awful after Jingpo and the novelty of being the first “live” American many people had seen (had there been many dead ones?). On the other hand, now that I recognize the words “foreign demon,” it is still surprising and depressing to hear them, as I did there. So is it better to be shuttled down a tourist trap stret with people saying “Hello! Hello!” and trying to lure you to pay too much for fake handicrafts, or to stand out so much that children think you’ll curse or kill them?

I Was A Mangshi Mahjong Groupie!

From Kunming, we flew to Mangshi where another younger brother lives, and had lunch (yes, more mijiu) and then went to go play mahjong. One of the things that happens when one’s Chinese host “loosens” up from the host/guest relationship is that the traditional roles emerge, and I was sort of relegated to keeping David’s bank, peeling fruit, and other girl things while smoking and drinking (mijiu) went on for hours and hours, with PLA guys dropping in and out of the game and my Very Conservative Host raking in a haul. Last June he said that he was not good at mahjong, this time he’s a pro.
After they finally finished playing cards (the purpose of which was to sober up from lunch) David’s younger brother (no name, just younger brother) launched one of those Chinese drinking games that made them STUPID, and on the long, winding mountainous road to Tengchong, well, you can imagine...I was so glad it was David and not me who was tossing cookies!
The tropical South is amazing, exotic, with the women wearing Burmese dress, and banana, papaya, mango and coral trees in profusion. We ate baby bees, ant eggs and caterpillars for dinner. The ant eggs provoked an allergic reaction for David, just like shellfish. (This trip is rather hard on David). Mangshi has a funky feel, like Key West , the Bahamas and Jamaica, and I really thought we needed to be hearing Jimmy Buffet music as we were driving through. We crossed the Salween river, and I got the WW2 lecture from David, another WW2 fanatic, about the fierce battles that happened during what my host refers to as the Anti-Japanese War.

We visited a wetlands area in Tengchong, the Chinese execution of which is to slap on a pair of muck boots and wander through the floating marshes. Lots of glee from David and Zhao, who had never participated in this activity before, and I provided great entertainment (no mijiu this time) by falling in and struggling out...and if you can imagine a bottom-heavy foreign woman trying to get off of a big wet marshmallow, you can laugh along with the hundreds of visitors who were watching and filming. This geothermal land of hot springs and dormant volcanoes is reputed to have a tree-climbing fish, but as with so many of China’s native species, it may as well be a myth for all that anyone has seen of it in the last 60 or so years.

Spring Festival 2002

OK, so maybe alcohol and firecrackers don’t mix, but there is a certain delight in standing alongside the road in the PRC with contraband sparklers, cherry bombs, firecracker strings and other exotic, multichambered launchers, lighting them with impunity.
Ha! And any amount of Maotai is worth bringing the Very Polite Hosts down to the level of saying, “Hey! Big nose! Have another lotus root.” Of course, this started a putting-the-tiny-firecrackers-under-each-others shoes battle that frightened and delighted the children, and I became “Aunty American,” lighting firecrackers for all the little ones. They even spent their Spring Festival money to buy me my own bag of fireworks so they could watch me torment David and his brothers.
Awww.....
Next day, we went to the Stone Forest, a grouping of limestone karst outcroppings in the Sani peoples' area. The 2-hour ride into the mountains in a minibus was punctuated with music from an Eagles' CD (and you all know that it is impossible not to be overwhelmed by nostalgia when listening to the Eagles). And on the way home we had a perfectly sublime lunch of fresh veggies and fresh-smoked duck plucked right off the rack in front of the restaurant. Lunch and a carwash $12 for three.
Before departing for Mangshi, David and I went to a Buddhist temple to worship in the first day of the New Year, ... I just tried to remember my Catholic Litany, which seemed to be adequate, although the incense was a bit distracting.


Zaijian