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April 30th
For Frances and I, Asia is an area not well explored. We have sampled aspects in previous trips, but for both of us, the chance to spend 4 months in Asia, was partly to ensure we developed a greater appreciation of what “Asians” were, and what made up the cultural and political background of what must be more than 1/2 of the world’s population. While we will only scratch the surface in our travels, particularly in China, I hope we will enlighten ourselves, and our kids. I feel this is really important for us in NZ, as our own society is undergoing a massive change, and over the rest of our lives, the proclamation of Jim Bolger, that we are in fact part of Asia, will surely be confirmed?
We chose Southern China, for a whole lot of reasons, not least because of the variety we will see. Here, in southernmost Yunnan province, China presents faces, food and geography somewhat different from what we have seen further north, and what we generally associate with “China”.
A couple of thousand years of history is simply summed up in understanding that Yunnan province is made up of a
large number of groups who are ethnically not Han Chinese. We are talking a couple of hundred tribes, but with the main Bai and Dai groups dominating. The various insurgents, Vietnamese, Khmer, Mongols and Han rulers, have all struggled over the years to subdue this area, and a strong local rule has often prevailed. However, since the growling tanks of the Peoples Liberation Red Army crawled into even the most remote regions of the newly united land in the 1950s it’s Beijing that has ruled. I am interested in how satisfactory this rule really is; we are a long way from Beijing, the culture is vastly different, and the shadow of Tibet hangs over the province.
Beijing’s tanks have long since been exported to Laos, Myanmar, North Korea and any other Red associate or simply rusted away through lack of use or this century’s indifference. The modern tanks, are earthmovers, diggers, cranes, Dong Feng dump trucks, concrete and Yuan. Infrastructure spending is the way that Beijing now exerts its authority and influence down here. The rate of change is enormous. Steven, a lone Brit we have shared some time with, recalls his visit to Yangshou back in 1996. He
has just left again, in March 2010, a mere 14 years later, and estimates the town has grown 30 fold. I question his recollections, they seem robust and unaddled by a life on the road making and selling jewellery. Even if it’s an exaggeration, the number is extraordinary. The Chinese government seems to have a particular penchant to promote tourism, and the facilities, spending and infrastructure are astounding. Here in Lijiang, much of the city was levelled in 1994, with an earthquake of over 7 on the Richter scale. I look forlornly at the mud brick construction of our hotel in a new light. Apparently, it’s the mud brick style that survived a 7 shake. The MCA Hotel Lijiang, might be mud brick, but Father Time will soon get the better of it, even if an earthquake does not..
Lijiang again confuses me. Is it really an “old town”, or is it new? There can be no doubt, that like much of Europe, (but for vastly differing motives) the town is mainly new. Indeed finding the “Old Town” proves difficult once again. Now corralled and held firmly in check by the rampant unbanisation of the last 5 decades, indescribably
bland concrete tenements and pulsing arterials make us wonder what we will find on our arrival. But like other cities before, once we enter the tourism zone, the world changes. While it is a delight to stroll, eat and relax, it’s real claim is a showpiece to what can be achieved by a government in pursuit of mass tourism. Soon after arrival, I leave the others at the hotel and duck out on a quick reconnoitre. The winding streets turn instantly to lanes. Lost within minutes, I recall the guide book getting it right this time. Everywhere I look, there are streams and channels flowing with water. After an hour, I turn and follow the water upstream. Making this decision at every turn, leads me back to the top of the town. An hour and a half later, the others can be assured that their tour guide knows where to go. Old habits die hard!
Like Fenghuang, it’s packed to the gunnels and spilling over with fashionable and stylish Chinese nationals in their Dolce and Habanna, Abidas, Calvin Kleen, Deisel and every other imaginable re-engineered western fashion label. We look just grand in our Kathmandu and jandals! Molly, however,
I tried for ages to get noticed
Despite the attempts, these signs are now redundant in the new Chinaassures me that while I might get arrested by the Fashion Police, she is okay with her VSL (think YSL) handbag and recently acquired Abercrombie & Finch tee shirt! The shopping intrigues me. There are only about ten variations of shop, and every one is repeated boundless times in each street, in each lane, and even in the quietest dead end. The Naxi dried Yak Meat shops tried to pull us in. Soon we can feel the grease on the inside of the nasal passage from 20 metres. Spirulina outlets, dried mushroom and medicinal specialists, Pashmina outlets, get mundane after a short period. I study the Yak specialists. Surely the demand cannot meet the supply? I can only assume that the City fathers control the retail outlets. The stores are all the same, the product identical, the competition presumably non-existent. Restaurants and Karaoke on the other hand, thrive in a competitive and entrepreneurial way. The endless procession of the Pavlovich meal times quickly rolls around. It’s beer and dinner time already. We plunge into the throng, swiping off Molly’s delirious calls for pizza or any Western Food, please, please, please…….. Dad. We cross a canal, and are ambushed by three
aggressive and worked up matre d’s. One looks and shoves like a Wahine from Whakatane. Her suggestion of a smattering of English wins us over, and the stroller is whisked away, and a just finishing group of locals are pushed from their table. In an instant, a layer of plastic film is removed, and our table is ready. Faces turn, and Lauren is quickly fending off triffid like arms and cameras fit for a war correspondent appearing in her face. Molly scowls, as the attention goes to her younger sister, Frances fusses as she rearranges the seating to avoid physical contact, I worry about how “binder” the beer is. Bliss.
The local people are Naxi, and its on the menu in spades. I take the plunge as always, and point to some greens on another table. The waitress and I both have a single index finger pointing at each other. It’s agreed, one of those please. Her fancy English phrases were just a ploy to get us seated, we’re on our own now! We manage some agreement that we have ordered “Wild Sea Flowers Soup” sans the soup. Other dishes are ordered, and the “Wild Flower Snow and Moon”
beer is uncapped in front of us. Its about 3.3% strength. I look around, its around 7.00 pm, clearly the locals don’t drink the same Snow and Moon beer as me. There is some raucous behaviour, and our evening looks promising as a Naxi busker arrives with a portable sound system. He strikes up a tune, but fails to deliver, so off key and flat is he. Failing to understand the joke, we cringe at his singing. But soon, the real strategy unfolds. The microphone is whipped away by a victim of the Extra Strength Snow and Moon and the competition begins. The table all take turns to outperform each other, under no circumstance is the mike handed back to the busker, his job is complete, he has kicked off the karaoke in no uncertain terms.
The Wild Sea Flowers are a winner with the adults. The Yak arrives. It bears an uncanny resemblance to my fathers BBQ bacon, left outside overnight to die on the grill. It’s dried, burnt, massively overspiced with cardamom and almost unpalatable. Even worse, I paid $10 for it. Our hearts sink as the Chinese vegetables arrive. Drowned and flaccid in a pool of
shrimp sauce, the vitamins have long since fled. Hopes are pinned on the fried rice. Drama erupts as Lauren, way past her dinner time, recoils time and again with a mouthful of ginger. Thwarted by even fried rice, we find an ice cream for the girls on the way home. It might not be Danish or Fonterra, but it’s a godsend for us. We traipse home to our Fawlty Towers and squeeze four of us into two double beds.
Fonterra and Denmark both lose at breakfast, The score moves to Yak butter 1, Fonterra 3, Denmark 4.
Like much of China, we are a long way from Beijing, ethnically, economically and culturally. But if Beijing has a plan to retain a nation, among so many divergent provinces, it’s clear that tourism is a part of that plan. Here in Dali and Lijiang, the economy appears to be bubbling along, with tourism spend very high. We talk to our host at MCA and a few other lady guests. Yes China is unusual in its one party rule they pledge. Nothing else would work for a country of 1.3 billion. (P.S. say aloud and slowly, one thousand, three hundred MILLION)
Hard day of sightseeing
The stroller has been a god-send, even if a bore to carry at times But democracy thrives as everyone gets a vote they assure me. They describe the political system as a very simple pyramid. Democracy from the village up they espouse. “Everybody over 18 gets to vote” they claim. I ask the host if he votes. “No”, he tells me, he is “special”. Can special mean he is not a member of “the Party?” No, he is special because he no longer lives in his home village and was a monk for 20 years.
We talk on into the night, but the spectre of the political system weights heavily on us. It’s obvious the country has decoupled its economy from its political leanings. I read some more, and understand, that indeed this parting goes back to 1978. But what I can’t get my head around, is that this process is now creating a wide gap between the urban “rich” and rural “poor”. While China has a rich history in elitism and commerce, it’s a long time in the past. The Yuan might build new motorways and build new tourist destinations, but will it build loyalty to Beijing?
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