We loved Zhoaxing!!!

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Zhaoxing, in Guixhou, was a fascinating place which we absolutely loved. Another Dong village - in fact the largest of the Dong villages - it was however a little frustrating to actually get there. We left pretty Chengyang by local bus thankfully giving ourselves plenty of time to make the 11.30am direct bus to Zhoaxing from Sanjiang. However, as all travellers have experienced, plans are made to be thwarted and upon arriving at the bus station we were told firmly 'no bus' - whether that actually meant no bus was leaving that day or just that it had already sold out we were unable to find out. As there was only one scheduled bus to Zhoaxing each day we were wandering what to do next when a kindly security guard came to our rescue. He quickly bundled us on board a bus just leaving the terminal and we were on our way. We knew it wasn't going to Zhoaxing and experience told us we would need to catch another bus at some stage and guessed we would be given no warning before being told to get off the bus. An hour later at a busy crossroads we were once again quickly ushered off the bus, directed to another which left before we had time to take a breath. This bus drove us for another half an hour before it arrived at a toll gate and the entrance of an enormous freeway which we could see stretching across the horizon. Again we were ushered off with pointing gestures towards a rough dirt road which led off in another direction from the toll gate.

From guide book information we figured that we had another 15 or so kilometres to go to reach Zhoaxing so Jerry began negotiating with a group of really arrogant young taxi drivers who were quite openly being rude about us in Mandarin. We may not have been unable to understand the spoken language but the body language was a give away. However they appeared to be our only option in the short term of actually getting to Zhoaxing so after bargaining the price down from 200 yuan to 60 yuan we set off. The road wasn't brilliant - mainly because of road works. The road joining the freeway was in the process of being constructed. In fact the trip was so unattractive we were starting to regret actually having left Chengyang.

The taxi driver dropped us at the end of a long and very muddy dirt street running between a row of wooden houses and pointed up the street. He obviously had no intention of driving us further up the street so lugging our bags we set off to look for a hotel. Thankfully the guide book had mentioned one right next door to the drum tower on the main (virtually only) street so we quickly booked a room there. Despite the filth outside the hotel (zhoaxing Fandian) the room was very clean and the owner actually spoke a little English. We paid 120 yuan for wifi, hot water and ensuite.

We set off to explore and fell immediately for the town - it had a real 'wild west' feel! Absolutely filthy, though the muddy streets didn't help, and no footpaths to speak of - just piles of rubble to navigate. There were a lot of elderly people in the village - all the old men were wearing navy Mao suits and caps and the women, young and old, were dressed in very dark trousers and tunic jackets. Their every day clothes appeared to be made from men's suiting fabrics. They wore their hair coiled (and skewered into place) on the tops of their heads. Many of the old people had baby carriers on their backs with heavily wrapped babies in them somewhere!

Next to our hotel was a shabby drum tower, multi eaved and decorated with wooden dragons, which held a roaring fire around which a group of men were chatting. Across from the tower was a theatre, though it appeared to be currently used for storage. The stage area overlooked the road and tower. There were chickens pecking on scraps in the street and pigs snuffling in the dirt. We were soon to discover why the pigs were in the streets - they were waiting to be slaughtered. The entire time we spent there we heard the squealing of pigs being killed on the footpaths. There was constant activity on the streets as people prepared food on the footpath and cooked it in large pots over fires on the edge of the road. It is a Dong tradition for entire families to contribute to and enjoy feasts. Whilst we were there we saw numerous wedding, funerals, birth of baby and first birthday celebrations being held.

The preparation was fascinating - low tables would be set up, small plastic or wooden stools set around them, food that had been cooking in enormous pots on the footpath nearby placed in bowls on the tables, chopsticks left beside plates, piles of soft drink and beer left beside the tables - and then all left until suddenly groups of people would suddenly converge on them from somewhere. They would quickly eat and drink, men at separate tables from the women before they would all just as quickly get up and leave. Presumably to another feast - they must all have been related to each other and there seemed to be feasts happening all the time whilst we were there. After the guests had eaten and left the elderly ladies wiped all the leftovers onto the ground, stacked the stools and tables and they too left. Roaming dogs then picked through the scraps on the ground. And licked up all the blood left from the pig slaughters. All happened on the footpath just outside our hotel...

All the frenetic activity happening on the streets had a constant thumping sound as a background noise and it didn't take us long to discover what was causing it. Everywhere we could see long strips of indigo dyed fabric hanging from drying frames - after this fabric is dyed in big vats of indigo it is rinsed in the stream that ran between all the houses before being draped over drying frames to air. We also saw women stretching the wet fabric along the stone paths to dry. This is only the beginning of the process which is used to make the fabrics used in their traditional clothes. After repeated dyeing and washing until the depth of colour is achieved to fabric is folded then coated with egg white. For the next fortnight every inch of the fabric is repeatedly hammered with a very heavy wooden mallet until the cloth glows with a luminous sheen. The more sheen a cloth has, the more valuable it is. The final process involves painting it with a glue made from cattle skin which sets the dye and adds a protective layer. The fabric is first hand woven from cotton though we saw no sign of any weaving taking place whilst we were there. I used one of the wooden mallets - those women have arm muscles - they were very heavy and how they can use them constantly for hours at a time... Even Jerry was amazed at their weight. The fabric ends up a sheeny (silvery in the sun) in a deep black blue colour - though we did see a bride in town dressed in the same fabric but a pink coppery colour. I read that the women add persimmon peels and chestnut shells to the dye to give it the pink hue. Fascinating.

I bought a couple of small pieces hand embroidered with cream patterns that are featured on their festival clothes. Whilst eating in a tiny cafe one night a little old lady kept thrusting bits of embroidery between my mouth and my plate so I bought a piece from her. After that she wouldn't leave us alone. Her quoted prices were way over the top and I'm not the best at bargaining (I always feel a bit embarrassed doing it) so eventually she left us alone. Half an hour later I found a little bag of the embroideries she had been showing me on the road - she must have dropped it - so I looked for her and returned it. From then on the pieces were offered, with a cheeky grin from her, at the correct price.

Early in the morning I spied a shy young bride seating with her tray of lollies, cigarettes and sunflower seeds. She was dressed in full traditional tunic - hers had the pink persimmon hue - with her heavy silver spiral shaped piece of jewellery hanging down her back and chandelier earrings, with flowers in her hair. Her equally young groom was looking embarrassed and awkward in a western style suit a couple of sizes too big. Nearby there was a constant stream of people bringing wedding presents. One large basket of rice, one smaller pottery container of rice. The larger one was tipped into a large plastic bucket from which scoops of rice were being packaged up in plastic bags. As each person handed over their rice they were given one of the plastic bags, plus a handful of sticky rice in return. The smaller pottery jar of rice was tipped into a sack, presumably as a present to the newly weds. It is tradition here that what you give as a gift must be reciprocated with an equal offering.

We enjoyed just wandering the streets of the town, crossing the five wind and rain bridges to visit each of the five drum towers - a lot for such a little town. Each drum tower was full of old men sitting around a central fire pit - some of the fires were dangerously high! One afternoon on our wanders we saw heaps of women washing their long hair in the stream which flowed between the houses - they spent ages combing it out before coiling it on top of their heads. The town was surrounded by pretty terraces - many empty and waiting for rice planting to begin, just as many were aglow with golden rape flowers - there seemed to be more rape flowers out then we had seen in Chengyang. I chanced across two gorgeous little girls both intent on hammering a patch of weeds with their hunk of tree branch. Practicing for their future roles in life. They were really cute... We walked carefully along the top of rice paddies along the valley at sunset, passing many local people coming back into the village after a days work, with shoulder poles and baskets balanced across their shoulders.

We had decided to walk through the valley and up the hills surrounding to visit Tang An, seven kilometres away. The first part was steep and we actually felt hot for the first time in weeks. We were rewarded withpretty views over the valley and the terraces in rows of yellow and green. Every so often we passed over small streams and at each of them we saw that offerings had been made - they formed white paper cut into patterns and threaded on fine bamboo which was placed into the ground beside the water. One site even had fresh blood all around it.as we walked i happened to look down and saw a lady setting up her offering beside the stream below us. As the area was really scenic we decided to spread some more of David's ashes - he would have loved the valley and thoroughly enjoyed the 'wild west' vibe of Zhoaxing town.

We passed through one small village before reaching the cement road just below Tang from where we had a fabulous view of the roof tops of Zhoaxing in the distance. We could also see the tall looming pillars of the massive new freeway which ran across the horizon behind the town. The little village we had passed through was called Xiage - it had a tiny temple (more a shrine) with a forrest of tribute poles planted beside it. the ploes are planted as a thank you symbol to a local diety after he grants them something they have prayed for. We had been told that we should be able to catch some transport back down to Zhoaxing once we arrived in Tang An but nothing appeared so decided that we should start walking down on the road. Seven kilometres and countless 'maybe this will be the last bend' bends we arrived footsore and weary at the very muddy road which led under the gate into the town. First stop was a restaurant for a very welcome seat and a beer. It had been a great day!

I decided to get a haircut that evening and found a tiny hairdressers full of trendy young men with teased hair lounging on the chairs, teenage girl chatting online, grandma watching a soap opera on the TV in the corner and a couple of small kids playing amidst the black hair which carpeted the floor. I mainly wanted a hair wash and head massage - I have fond memories of the ones we used to have regularly in Guangshui - but actually ended up with a not too bad hair trim. When you get your hair washed in these small salons they use squirts of water and shampoo on dry hair, froth it all up as you seat in front of the mirror and they just keep adding more squirts, and removing handfuls of suds. All the time massaging - it goes on for ages and is so relaxing. All only cost 40 yuan. It was party central on the streets again - this time there was a large party to celebrate the one month old birthday of a child outside our hotel. As we sat on the bench outside after dinner we enjoyed watching a group of stayers from the party getting increasingly drunk in front of us. Rice wine and beer... I left to wander the town one more time - we were leaving next morning - and returned to find that Jerry had been invited to join them. I left him to it...

We absolutely loved Zhoaxing -it was such a traditional place with welcoming people who were more than happy to share their daily lives with visitors. They must get regular visitors as there were a few souvenir shops ( mainly selling silver jewellery and traditional handicraft embroideries) all in a row - at the very end of the village. I know though once that extra 20 kilometres of bitumen is added to attach the freeway exit with the village tourism will boom and I 'm sure the whole nature of the town will change. We have never seen so much food prepared in such bulk amounts in such short times and so frequently as we did in Zhoaxing. The craft of fabric making - the dyeing, beating of fabrics the hand pleating of the skirts, their detailed embroidery skills were all fascinating to witness. We could have done without the mud - it was like glue - and am thankful that at least the new road may bring them better roads if nothing else. And I think we are still deafened by the fireworks. They were continuos as no celebration is a true occasion without them.... Cars were being held up constantly as strings of them were laid across the only road in the town. Highly recommend a visit to this pretty area and fascinating village sooner rather than later.

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