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Published: April 29th 2010
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Day 21 - 26 April
Unknown to our little Kiwi crew, (and I am guessing all of you) there exists a Southern “Great Wall of China“. Dwarfed in comparison to the Great Wall up North, it is never the less, another massive piece of Chinese historical infrastructure. Seemingly abandoned in the local countryside, we stop there, en-route to a local traditional Miao Village. A lone guard, left behind by the Ming Builders, bars our access when we clamber to the top of this stone structure. Something about “National Monument being protected” our guide tells us. I muse over the protection afforded Fenghuang old town from the modern Mongol hoards from the North that invade every day, and decide the argument is not worth having as the others have all followed “the flag“. This outstanding monument is of little interest to the 19 Chinese who make up our day trip group. They seem much more at home, as they traipse uphill, through a “traditional” village, and poke their heads inside to check out the squalid living conditions. Despite the ubiquitous blaring TV, the old ladies and the fact that this is “home“ to some, it’s clearly appropriate for the modern Chinese
to pose for a photo, as they perch inside the doorways. I watch and wait, and am not disappointed, when a couple of fellow passengers invite themselves into a hovel, snap a few pics, and feel not the least bit ashamed. As we progress further up hill, the village becomes more abandoned. Obviously the novelty of being invaded each day by bus loads of camera toting tourists, has worn off and, after generations of tilling this land, the locals have moved on. I get depressed. Despite my strong promotion of group coach travel back in NZ, I see how thoroughly awful it can be. The bus is squalid. Like every bus we have been in, it appears to have been built grubbily and every action taken since, ensures it stays this way. It has never been cleaned, inside or out. The tour guide screeches incessantly for the 90 minutes we travel to the wall, then beyond to another traditional village. An English teacher on board offers to interpret for us, but the boredom of being told that the Miao people don’t like hats on, in the unlikely event we enter their homes, makes me switch off. The objective of the
Our formal welcome
Traditional Miao dress commentary soon becomes obvious, the group must learn 4 songs to sing before we arrive for a traditional welcome. All 4 are shrilly screeched at us through her hand held megaphone. Despite there only being 18 seats ( but 23 passengers) a megaphone is clearly de rigeur for tour leaders here, and if you have one, you flaunt it.
We arrive at our destination, a type of Whakarewarewa Village, but I am unsure if it is in the process of natural decay, or reconstruction. Building material and rubbish abound, physical effort does not. We wander around, and Lauren’s day is made as we glide down a little river in a beautiful gorge on her much anticipated boat trip and back this up with a walk on a swing bridge (the latter causing Bernard to give birth to several litters of kittens! Ed). We walk up through some strikingly unusual buildings, perched on the side of a hill, and sit, in the drizzle and cold, in an open sided pavilion waiting for lunch and a cultural show.
Poor Molly, two days of the streets and the exposure to raw food commerce that is the Chinese way, has been too
Miao Houses
All abandoned, open to the weather, and we were not sure what they were for. But impressive nevertheless. much. The dried pigs’ heads, skinned cats, snake, toads, marmot (?) caged poultry, smoked pork pieces and all manner of carnivorous delicacies have decreed her a vegetarian. For a 12 year old, with a limited willingness to try new foods, this will prove interesting! However, lunch is a delight on this day. Spectacular bamboo shoot and tofu dishes, complement a range of other foods that has Frances, Lauren and I left at the table, devouring all we can, as the other Chinese tourists dismiss the food as “too plain” and wander off towards the bus! Molly too enjoys this meal and we leave the traditional village well fed, if not particularly better informed.
Knowing that there is a delight at every turn in China, the trip home does not fail to entertain. We come around a bend, on a narrow rural road, and discover a truck blocking the path. Almost all and sundry seem content to spend 45 minutes waiting, while the driver struggles to fire up the engine and, when he does, he moves about 30 metres before stopping again in the middle of the road. Other than the omnipresent horn blowing from further back, no-one seems remotely interested in the idea that he could reverse back 15 metres, (downhill) to the side of the road, and let all traffic through. Oh no, that would be far too simple; instead we just wait. The patience and acceptance of inefficiency is so deeply ingrained that I wonder what would happen if a big nose got out and started to shout instructions and clear the traffic? I chicken out in the end, and settle for quiet contemplative observation. Surely, the right approach for a visitor in this deeply complex country.?
It seems incongruous that such feats as the Great Walls, the culinary delights, the art and culture, the trading that the Chinese developed, the dominance of Chinese commerce in the world today, can sit alongside a complete inability to use Western style logic and common sense today. But I have to be mindful that what I consider to be logic does not necessarily mean other cultures agree. However this is a deep and complex issue and surely I should only consider after more of China unfolds.
We arrive back at Fenghuang, after a day trip from which we had little expectation. We ended up with an insightful traipse into the countryside with some great views, some great food and a helpful insight into domestic tourism.
We find a table in a simple restaurant in the evening, overlooking the river. The girls squabble about who goes up the stairs first, who sits where, who gets to sit next to Dad, who was first doing what; they compete for their parents’ attention, they argue about who owns the crayons, about who has which pair of chopsticks, and generally behave like a couple of normal kids, well outside their comfort zone, all before we have sat down. I head to the food display for respite, and point and gesticulate. On this occasion the order taker is responsive and receptive - he likes the fun of me just pointing at a live fish, some eggplant, some tofu and a large green leafy thing. I have no idea what dinner will taste like, but with the smiles and hilarity I feel sure we won’t be disappointed. I drag a couple of local beers upstairs and FJ and I enjoy the space. The kids continue to argue and bicker. We ignore them as much as we can. In Hunan province the food is hot and spicy, filled with chillies and ginger. Frances and I love it, the girls can’t cope with too much. Molly fills up on the obligatory “mifan” that is on the table. Lauren manages, in between spitting out the odd chilli. We laugh, talk about the day, enjoy the view and create mayhem with our debris. We part with about $22 content that we have had another great meal and walk back to the hotel. We leave tomorrow. Fenghuang, it’s been nice to meet you….
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