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?
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?
posted by EastWindGoddess | 11:15 AM
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