Hey yall,
We got out of Kevin's Jeep in a little village called Luoji, a hot, two-dirt road town inhabited mostly by Yi people. From Luoji, we made our way up through a valley into an area that was mostly inhabited by Naxi people.
I've heard a lot of crap about how great Tibet is. I heard so much that I avoided Tibetan areas for a while, so as not to be that typical tourist searching for his own Shangri-la. But I have to say, there was something especially spiritual about the Tibetans. As we were hiking, we made our way out of Luoji, up into areas inhabited by the Naxi people. Some of the Naxi were nice enough. When we stopped to ask directions, a few of them gave us water and some bad-tasting apples. But later, as we were approaching the divide between the Naxi and Tibetan world, a drunk Naxi man approached me and told me that he would give us a ride to the village that we were trying to get to. For an absurd price, of course. We rebuffed his offer and he stumbled back to his friends, yelling.
But then we crossed an invisible line into the Tibetan world and the atmosphere seemed to change. We came upon a pile of stones with prayer flags tied to the top, shivering in the wind. The first house we passed shouted, welcoming us, drunk probably, but a friendly drunkenness.
That night, we eventually found someone who was willing to host us, a middle-aged lady taking care of her 88 year old grandfather (her husband off working in the mines). We threw our stuff in the room that looked like it might be a small hostel, and went to sit in her living room/kitchen area as she prepared us food. She scurried from the fire to the little plastic bags filled with dry meat and then back, preparing food for us, but her grandfather did nothing but sit next to us, cross his legs, spin a little handheld Tibetan prayer wheel while chanting Tibetan Buddhist scriptures (something like this http://www.singingbowlshop.com/prayer-wheel-12.html).
The chanting was a little haunting and humbling at the same time, reminding me of my own mortality and my lack of piety. Fortunately, he regularly punctuated his holiness with outburst of yelling at his granddaughter, lending an air of mortality to someone who seemed to already have one foot in the door of Heaven.
The family we lodged with the next night was just as friendly, and the setting of the guesthouse was something close to stunningly beautiful. We stayed in a place that was located at the top of a village called Niru, where houses clung to the hillsides above terraced potato and barley fields. The village was fairly large, a collection of about three hundred houses in this valley where two or three rivers came together.
In the terraced fields beneath us, there were three guys kicking an ox, trying to get him to plow a field. Pigs randomly appeared on trails, scurrying away to somewhere with an air of what appeared like urgency. Every ten minutes or so, the barking of dogs off somewhere unseen seemed to punctuate the bucolic calm. All was in the shadow of monuments wrapped in prayer flags and a mountain creatively named, "The Holy Mountain."
That evening we were invited to eat with the family, sharing a traditional meal of bread and slabs of pork fat (yummy). The grandfather of this household was not quite as old and not nearly as holy as last night's. He talked with us that night over the dinner, discussing life here in Tibet. After a few minutes, I asked the old man why he carried a silver dagger around his belt.
"Oh this, we used to have a problem with demons a hundred years ago, so we would use these silver daggers to kill them. Now, we keep them around just in case." He grinned in a way that didn't allow me to pin down how serious he was.
Towards the end of the night, I went outside to take a Sprite-induced bathroom break. As I stood on the porch in front of our room, I looked down on the village and the terraced fields. The rural scene was now blanketed in the silvery glow of starlight and the random twinkle of stove fires. A few pigs still seemed to wander busily from here to there as purposefully as they had earlier that day. Cows mooed and dogs barked, but all with less urgency than during the daytime.
At the village entrance, a sign had listed how far it was from there to Kunming, Tokyo, New York and so on. It seemed aptly placed since the bustle and hassle that is China seemed like it was a million miles away. The challenges that we had faced getting here seemed like they were already ancient history, completely beaten.
But the calmness of the scene brought a false sense of comfort and ease, one that did not prepare us for the battles that we would fight the next day.
Until then,
Lee
Then she picked up that silver dagger
And she stove it through her lily white breast
Sayin' goodbye mama, goodbye papa
I'll die for the one that I love best
"The Silver Dagger" by Old Crow Medicine Show
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Just Beat It - Tibet in Yunnan
I know yall probably heard about the earthquake that occurred in an Tibetan area near Tibet Province. In fact, yall actually probably heard about it well before I did, since I was lost in a blizzard on another part of the Tibet's Everest foothills, fighting off hypothermia at the time the earthquake occurred. But I'll get that in a later email.
For the last week, I was in the very western part of the province of Yunnan with a friend from UGA, Shannon, and her friend Katherine. Historically and culturally, the place is actually the very Eastern part of Tibet. Tibet is not only the name of a province within China, but it also signifies the greater Tibetan region. Tibetans live not only in Tibet, but also throughout much of Qinghai (the province where the earthquake occurred), Western Sichuan and Western Yunnan (where I was).
The area that I went to used to be called Zhongdian, but, a few years ago, the Chinese government changed the name of the Tibetan area of Yunnan to "Shangri-la," claiming that they had discovered incontrovertible evidence that the area was the setting for James Hilton's entirely fictional Tibetan story, "Lost Horizons." Cynics suggested that renaming the county "Shangri-la" was actually just a cheesy attempt to boost tourist revenues. Either way.
As I was trying to think of where to start with this story of our journey in Shangri-la, I kept coming back to the night before we left for our four day hike through a remote part of "Shangri-la." We were eating in a kind-of touristy, Tibetan restaurant, chomping down on momo's, a traditional kind of Tibetan dumpling. We were talking about our upcoming journey, a hike through a series fairly unspoiled Tibetan mountain villages, and through the back door into a national park.
Then, all the sudden, Michel Jackson's "Beat It" started reverberating throughout the restaurant and the Tibetan restaurant owners jumped up from their seats and started dancing to it. "Beat it...beat it, no I won't be defeated! Show them how chunky and strong is your fight..." Though his lyrics were off, I was and always am struck by the globalization just suddenly pops its head up, even on the "Roof of the World."
But, as I thought more about it, the song was strangely appropriate for the Tibetan people, and the journey we would set off on. The song is a story about betting against the odds and coming out on top. On our trip, we had to face off against the Chinese government and the sometimes against the even more brutal forces of Nature. After both fights, we came out, worn but wiser.
We had wanted to go from Shangri-la to a small town on the edge of Tibet proper, Deqin, but we had found out that there was
construction on the road. Due to construction, the road was only open to traffic once every four days. @#$^ China!
We arrived at the Shangri-la bus station early one morning to buy tickets for the next day, the one day that the road was open. But at the ticket office, the lady rudely informed me that foreigners were not currently allowed on the bus. @%#@#@ China!
I should probably explain some background info. Foreigners are not allowed to enter Tibet without getting special permits, paying a fair amount of money and joining a tour group. However that does not normally prevent foreigners from going into Tibetan parts of other provinces like Yunnan or Sichuan. Well, they were not allowing foreigners onto the buses because the bus, due to construction, had to pass into parts of Tibet to get to Deqin. We could have taken a minivan, but that was crazy expensive. @#$&@ China!
Thinking up a way to beat the Chinese government, we meet up with an American named Kevin working in the area who happened to be going to another part of the county, where there was some good hiking. The plan was that he would drop us off at a small town, Luoji. From there, we would hike for two days, to a Tibetan village called Niru, and then hike into the backdoor of a national park (avoiding the US$30 entrance fee, again beating China). From there, we could get a bus back to Shangri-la and civilization.
So, despite all the road blocks China threw in our face, we still 'beat it.'
The next morning, we meet Kevin near the entrance to the touristy old town of Shangri-la and took off for Luoji in his Jeep. Blocked by construction at one point (they are doing construction throughout the county), he slipped it into four wheel drive instead of waiting for five minutes for them to let us pass. As the car leapt back onto the pavement, the gearbox made a strange crank and we noticed the smell of gasoline fumes filling the Jeep. "Yea," Kevin informed us, "its a great jeep, but a couple of weeks ago, a drunk Tibetan was driving it, and he drove it a hundred feet off a cliff and flipped it into a river. We pulled it out and got it repaired, but the gears are still a little funny and there's a bit of a gas leak. But hey, she's still beatin' it!"
As I said, this will be a story of fighting against China and nature, and, in the end, beating them both, if getting bruised along the way.
Beating it,
Lee
You're playin' with your life, this ain't no truth or dare
They'll kick you, then they beat you,
Then they'll tell you it's fair
So beat it, but you wanna be bad
- Micheal Jackson's 'Beat It'
Notice.
Persons attempting to find a political motive in the meaning of these lyrics will be prosecuted by the Chinese Government.
For the last week, I was in the very western part of the province of Yunnan with a friend from UGA, Shannon, and her friend Katherine. Historically and culturally, the place is actually the very Eastern part of Tibet. Tibet is not only the name of a province within China, but it also signifies the greater Tibetan region. Tibetans live not only in Tibet, but also throughout much of Qinghai (the province where the earthquake occurred), Western Sichuan and Western Yunnan (where I was).
The area that I went to used to be called Zhongdian, but, a few years ago, the Chinese government changed the name of the Tibetan area of Yunnan to "Shangri-la," claiming that they had discovered incontrovertible evidence that the area was the setting for James Hilton's entirely fictional Tibetan story, "Lost Horizons." Cynics suggested that renaming the county "Shangri-la" was actually just a cheesy attempt to boost tourist revenues. Either way.
As I was trying to think of where to start with this story of our journey in Shangri-la, I kept coming back to the night before we left for our four day hike through a remote part of "Shangri-la." We were eating in a kind-of touristy, Tibetan restaurant, chomping down on momo's, a traditional kind of Tibetan dumpling. We were talking about our upcoming journey, a hike through a series fairly unspoiled Tibetan mountain villages, and through the back door into a national park.
Then, all the sudden, Michel Jackson's "Beat It" started reverberating throughout the restaurant and the Tibetan restaurant owners jumped up from their seats and started dancing to it. "Beat it...beat it, no I won't be defeated! Show them how chunky and strong is your fight..." Though his lyrics were off, I was and always am struck by the globalization just suddenly pops its head up, even on the "Roof of the World."
But, as I thought more about it, the song was strangely appropriate for the Tibetan people, and the journey we would set off on. The song is a story about betting against the odds and coming out on top. On our trip, we had to face off against the Chinese government and the sometimes against the even more brutal forces of Nature. After both fights, we came out, worn but wiser.
We had wanted to go from Shangri-la to a small town on the edge of Tibet proper, Deqin, but we had found out that there was
construction on the road. Due to construction, the road was only open to traffic once every four days. @#$^ China!
We arrived at the Shangri-la bus station early one morning to buy tickets for the next day, the one day that the road was open. But at the ticket office, the lady rudely informed me that foreigners were not currently allowed on the bus. @%#@#@ China!
I should probably explain some background info. Foreigners are not allowed to enter Tibet without getting special permits, paying a fair amount of money and joining a tour group. However that does not normally prevent foreigners from going into Tibetan parts of other provinces like Yunnan or Sichuan. Well, they were not allowing foreigners onto the buses because the bus, due to construction, had to pass into parts of Tibet to get to Deqin. We could have taken a minivan, but that was crazy expensive. @#$&@ China!
Thinking up a way to beat the Chinese government, we meet up with an American named Kevin working in the area who happened to be going to another part of the county, where there was some good hiking. The plan was that he would drop us off at a small town, Luoji. From there, we would hike for two days, to a Tibetan village called Niru, and then hike into the backdoor of a national park (avoiding the US$30 entrance fee, again beating China). From there, we could get a bus back to Shangri-la and civilization.
So, despite all the road blocks China threw in our face, we still 'beat it.'
The next morning, we meet Kevin near the entrance to the touristy old town of Shangri-la and took off for Luoji in his Jeep. Blocked by construction at one point (they are doing construction throughout the county), he slipped it into four wheel drive instead of waiting for five minutes for them to let us pass. As the car leapt back onto the pavement, the gearbox made a strange crank and we noticed the smell of gasoline fumes filling the Jeep. "Yea," Kevin informed us, "its a great jeep, but a couple of weeks ago, a drunk Tibetan was driving it, and he drove it a hundred feet off a cliff and flipped it into a river. We pulled it out and got it repaired, but the gears are still a little funny and there's a bit of a gas leak. But hey, she's still beatin' it!"
As I said, this will be a story of fighting against China and nature, and, in the end, beating them both, if getting bruised along the way.
Beating it,
Lee
You're playin' with your life, this ain't no truth or dare
They'll kick you, then they beat you,
Then they'll tell you it's fair
So beat it, but you wanna be bad
- Micheal Jackson's 'Beat It'
Notice.
Persons attempting to find a political motive in the meaning of these lyrics will be prosecuted by the Chinese Government.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Burma Road
This is my last of three posts about my trip to Xishuangbanna. I'll have others on other things I'm doing here in Kunming and elsewhere, as I continue this blog, if anyone is reading.
During the wedding, my friend and I took off back to his place. I took a nap, tired from all the festivities, and, when I woke up there was an old man in the house who I hadn't seen before. The family had laid some food out on the floor, and the old man was looking at my friend's hand.
Later, my friend told me that he was having his fortune told, and I think he said the ceremony was kind of a blessing. The next day, he would be leaving the Yako village to go down into the valley to work a van driver. I'm not sure of this, but these groups tend to have a fear of the valleys and the oppressive states in valleys. I kind of think that they called in this 'wizard' to bless him as he left his mountain village to go down into the valley.
Later that night, I went back to the wedding. I won't retell the wedding events here, but, when I was leaving the wedding at sometime between ten pm and three am (time is of little consequence in a place without clocks), I looked across the star-lit valley to the otherside and noticed a section of field on fire, burning in patches. These groups practice slash-and-burn (swidden) agriculture, but this is slowly coming to an end.These were some of the last fields that were going to be burned before the Hani people switched entirely over to farming Puer Tea for rich Chinese people in the North, quiting their old ways. For a few minutes, I stood, watching the fire burn it all down.
The next morning, my friend left before I could say goodbye, and I didn't wait too long after him, heading the other direction, up the mountain.
The only way from the Yako's valley to the next valley over was to hike to a road that straddled a ridgeline that divided China from Burma. I was half worried and half enticed by the prospect of visiting this remote border.
The border really only existed on paper. The folks of Yako cross the border like its not even there. "We tend to go over into Burma, not every day, maybe not even every week, but it wouldn't be unusual for someone to go into Burma at least once a week." It was only a few miles away from their village, and it really doesn't divide the people, socially at least. A lot of the guys I was hanging out with at the wedding had come over from Burma that day, relatives or friends of the newly-wed couple. The wife of my friend's brother was from Burma. One of the little kids staying in my friends house was also from Burma. The wife came to get married, but the boy had left his family to go to school here in China. The border didn't divide their families or their societies, but there was a clear divide of the quality of education.
While I walked along the border, a man and his wife passed me by on a motorcycle. I waved them down on the little dirt pathway and asked, "Hey, is this the road to Bulangshan."
"Yep. Just that way." He pointed.
"And is this road the border?"
"Yep."
"And this is Burma." I pointed to the left of the path.
"Yep."
"And this is China." I pointed to the right of the path.
"Yep."
He drove off, smiling. I was stoked. I hopped a few feet into what may have been Burma, and snapped a picture of me in a new country, with Burma in the background. For a few minutes, I stood and looked across the Burma's Shan state's rolling hills.
This is the area that used to be called the Golden Triangle, famous for opium smuggling. It's easy to see why it was used for drug smuggling. The only government presence or evidence of a border was a guard tower I passed on one of the hills on my way into the other valley. Motorcycles passed through two or three an hour with no one there to care. It would have been easy enough to smuggle opium here.
As I passed by that guard tower, the dirt road started to slowly descend down into the next valley. I could see villages scattered throughout the green forests and the brown fields.
At one point on a lonely stretch of the dry, red dirtroad, I stopped to do my personal part to 'relieve the drought,' as the kids say. But the lonely road turned out to be not so lonely. I heard the sound of a motorcycle fast approaching and tried to zip up and arrange myself to look like I hadn't been doing any thing at all. Before I was able to look natural, I heard the motorcycle behind me slowing down and then stopping. I turned around. It was another dude on another motorcycle, like the five or so that had passed me throughout my hike, but this guy was grinning broadly.
He leaned towards me and asked, "Do you remember me?"
I thought for a second. I had to have met him at the wedding. I had met a herd of people in those dark houses, so I just assumed he was one of them. "Yea, the wedding, right? What are you doing now?"
"After the wedding, I wanted to pick up some stuff up at the market. Now I'm heading back home, back to Burma."
He kicked his Honda into gear and sped off, yelling one last thing: "Bai, Bai."
As I walked off, a thought crossed my mind: I've been here, along the edge of Burma and China, for a handful of days, and I'm already running into old friends. I guess I must be doing something right.
Lee
PS - I've put the pictures up for this on mapvivo. If yall want to see pigs deflated of blood, old men checking swine hearts for a baby count, and me 40 inches deep into Burma, check it out at:
http://mapvivo.com/journey/11190
During the wedding, my friend and I took off back to his place. I took a nap, tired from all the festivities, and, when I woke up there was an old man in the house who I hadn't seen before. The family had laid some food out on the floor, and the old man was looking at my friend's hand.
Later, my friend told me that he was having his fortune told, and I think he said the ceremony was kind of a blessing. The next day, he would be leaving the Yako village to go down into the valley to work a van driver. I'm not sure of this, but these groups tend to have a fear of the valleys and the oppressive states in valleys. I kind of think that they called in this 'wizard' to bless him as he left his mountain village to go down into the valley.
Later that night, I went back to the wedding. I won't retell the wedding events here, but, when I was leaving the wedding at sometime between ten pm and three am (time is of little consequence in a place without clocks), I looked across the star-lit valley to the otherside and noticed a section of field on fire, burning in patches. These groups practice slash-and-burn (swidden) agriculture, but this is slowly coming to an end.These were some of the last fields that were going to be burned before the Hani people switched entirely over to farming Puer Tea for rich Chinese people in the North, quiting their old ways. For a few minutes, I stood, watching the fire burn it all down.
The next morning, my friend left before I could say goodbye, and I didn't wait too long after him, heading the other direction, up the mountain.
The only way from the Yako's valley to the next valley over was to hike to a road that straddled a ridgeline that divided China from Burma. I was half worried and half enticed by the prospect of visiting this remote border.
The border really only existed on paper. The folks of Yako cross the border like its not even there. "We tend to go over into Burma, not every day, maybe not even every week, but it wouldn't be unusual for someone to go into Burma at least once a week." It was only a few miles away from their village, and it really doesn't divide the people, socially at least. A lot of the guys I was hanging out with at the wedding had come over from Burma that day, relatives or friends of the newly-wed couple. The wife of my friend's brother was from Burma. One of the little kids staying in my friends house was also from Burma. The wife came to get married, but the boy had left his family to go to school here in China. The border didn't divide their families or their societies, but there was a clear divide of the quality of education.
While I walked along the border, a man and his wife passed me by on a motorcycle. I waved them down on the little dirt pathway and asked, "Hey, is this the road to Bulangshan."
"Yep. Just that way." He pointed.
"And is this road the border?"
"Yep."
"And this is Burma." I pointed to the left of the path.
"Yep."
"And this is China." I pointed to the right of the path.
"Yep."
He drove off, smiling. I was stoked. I hopped a few feet into what may have been Burma, and snapped a picture of me in a new country, with Burma in the background. For a few minutes, I stood and looked across the Burma's Shan state's rolling hills.
This is the area that used to be called the Golden Triangle, famous for opium smuggling. It's easy to see why it was used for drug smuggling. The only government presence or evidence of a border was a guard tower I passed on one of the hills on my way into the other valley. Motorcycles passed through two or three an hour with no one there to care. It would have been easy enough to smuggle opium here.
As I passed by that guard tower, the dirt road started to slowly descend down into the next valley. I could see villages scattered throughout the green forests and the brown fields.
At one point on a lonely stretch of the dry, red dirtroad, I stopped to do my personal part to 'relieve the drought,' as the kids say. But the lonely road turned out to be not so lonely. I heard the sound of a motorcycle fast approaching and tried to zip up and arrange myself to look like I hadn't been doing any thing at all. Before I was able to look natural, I heard the motorcycle behind me slowing down and then stopping. I turned around. It was another dude on another motorcycle, like the five or so that had passed me throughout my hike, but this guy was grinning broadly.
He leaned towards me and asked, "Do you remember me?"
I thought for a second. I had to have met him at the wedding. I had met a herd of people in those dark houses, so I just assumed he was one of them. "Yea, the wedding, right? What are you doing now?"
"After the wedding, I wanted to pick up some stuff up at the market. Now I'm heading back home, back to Burma."
He kicked his Honda into gear and sped off, yelling one last thing: "Bai, Bai."
As I walked off, a thought crossed my mind: I've been here, along the edge of Burma and China, for a handful of days, and I'm already running into old friends. I guess I must be doing something right.
Lee
PS - I've put the pictures up for this on mapvivo. If yall want to see pigs deflated of blood, old men checking swine hearts for a baby count, and me 40 inches deep into Burma, check it out at:
http://mapvivo.com/journey/11190
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