Meng Yani and a Hani girl in the village of Baka
2/18/12
I was once walking on campus with a colleague when another professor came walking towards us. The two of them made a quick exchange:
“Chi le ma?”
“Chi le.”
The question can be translated literally as: “Have you eaten?” But it really means “Hello!” It’s a nice question to ask because it shows that you care about the person, and is like saying, “I hope life is good for you and that you’ve got enough food to eat.” These days, most people in China can reply, “Chi le,” – “I’ve eaten,” – an answer that implies “Myself and my family are well, with enough food to eat.” This exchange originates from the days when it was a genuine question, when not everyone did have enough. Food and family are important everywhere in the world, but they seem to be especially cherished and enjoyed in China.
In contrast, there’s me. While traveling I tend to eat on the run. A quick breakfast in my hotel room: a yogurt, a piece of bread with peanut butter, a half a banana, a cup of tea. For lunch I usually eat at one of the ubiquitous small shops: a bowl of beef noodles in the north, mixian – rice noodles – in southern China. When I’m not traveling I eat breakfast and dinner in my apartment – both simple meals – and lunch at the school cafeteria. I feel ambivalent about eating at restaurants in China because of all the smokers. In other words, I don’t pay too much attention to food. I eat for energy to keep going, and to keep my stomach from making noise.
Last month I spent two weeks in Yunnan Province in southern China. Most people there speak Mandarin Chinese, but many of the ethnic minority people speak only their ethnic group language. “Men na bai di nai ya?” is how to say, “Chi le ma?” in Daileyu, (Xishuangbanna Dai language.) In Haniyu, the language spoken by the Hani ethnic group, it’s “No ho za ma?” In the mountain village of Baka, in southern Xishuangbanna, I was welcomed by a Hani family. I stayed with them for a couple of days, ate often and ate delicious food, and was asked to stay longer than my planned departure day. Only a few days earlier I’d been a total stranger.
I was once walking on campus with a colleague when another professor came walking towards us. The two of them made a quick exchange:
“Chi le ma?”
“Chi le.”
The question can be translated literally as: “Have you eaten?” But it really means “Hello!” It’s a nice question to ask because it shows that you care about the person, and is like saying, “I hope life is good for you and that you’ve got enough food to eat.” These days, most people in China can reply, “Chi le,” – “I’ve eaten,” – an answer that implies “Myself and my family are well, with enough food to eat.” This exchange originates from the days when it was a genuine question, when not everyone did have enough. Food and family are important everywhere in the world, but they seem to be especially cherished and enjoyed in China.
In contrast, there’s me. While traveling I tend to eat on the run. A quick breakfast in my hotel room: a yogurt, a piece of bread with peanut butter, a half a banana, a cup of tea. For lunch I usually eat at one of the ubiquitous small shops: a bowl of beef noodles in the north, mixian – rice noodles – in southern China. When I’m not traveling I eat breakfast and dinner in my apartment – both simple meals – and lunch at the school cafeteria. I feel ambivalent about eating at restaurants in China because of all the smokers. In other words, I don’t pay too much attention to food. I eat for energy to keep going, and to keep my stomach from making noise.
Last month I spent two weeks in Yunnan Province in southern China. Most people there speak Mandarin Chinese, but many of the ethnic minority people speak only their ethnic group language. “Men na bai di nai ya?” is how to say, “Chi le ma?” in Daileyu, (Xishuangbanna Dai language.) In Haniyu, the language spoken by the Hani ethnic group, it’s “No ho za ma?” In the mountain village of Baka, in southern Xishuangbanna, I was welcomed by a Hani family. I stayed with them for a couple of days, ate often and ate delicious food, and was asked to stay longer than my planned departure day. Only a few days earlier I’d been a total stranger.
~~~
Map of Yunnan Province
Friday 1/6
I arrived in Kunming, the capital city of Yunnan, in the early afternoon. I was met at the airport by Meng Yani, a student studying to be a journalist at a university in Kunming, a friend of mine, and a Hani girl – a member of the Hani ethnic group. Specifically, she and her family belong to the Aini subgroup of the Hani minority group. There are 26 ethnic minorities in Yunnan, (56 in China); most of the Hani people live in Xishuangbanna.
On the day I arrived in Kunming Yani and I walked to Cuihui Lake Park and strolled for awhile. The place was hen renao – lively – with people strolling, singing, playing erhus and flutes, dancing, taking pictures, sitting and chatting, and laughing.
For the next few days I was on my own because Yani was busy finishing her Latin Dance course. I spent the 7th at the Yunnan Minzu Village at Haigeng Park. Yunnan’s 26 ethnic minorities – their houses, costumes, and customs – are all represented there. I had dinner that evening with Yani. Our meal included a delicious dish called huluofan – a pineapple with the top cut off, stuffed with colorful rice mixed with chunks of pineapple.
The next day I took a cab to Xishan – West Mountain – on Dianchi (Dian Lake), in Kunming. I did a lot of hiking there and saw some interesting temples perched on the mountain side, including one called Dragon’s Gate.
Monday 1/9
I walked a few blocks from my hotel to the Yuantong Temple, a Zen Buddhist temple, spent some time there, and then took a taxi to a place called Heilongtan – Black Dragon Pool. There was a temple there also, and some nice gardens. But I decided to leave the crowded garden and paved-walkway area, where in every pavilion elderly people were playing instruments, singing, or playing cards and board games. I found a little-used path that went up the mountain, and after awhile the path crossed a red dirt road. Though I’d apparently left the park, I continued up the road to a lone farmhouse which doubled as the gate to a cemetery on the slope behind it. In front of the house a woman wearing a black coat was hanging some laundry on a line strung between the pine trees. She looked younger than me, but her face was lined, her skin dark, and her cheeks ruddy. Nearby, a red-cheeked boy was throwing pebbles at some chickens.
I asked the women if I could enter the cemetery and have a look, and she said I could. As I passed by the courtyard I saw two men within starting to cut up a small animal. I strolled amongst the old tombs for awhile, took pictures of some, and of a couple of taciturn mules, then headed back to the courtyard. The people seemed friendly so I entered and greeted the two men, who were now pulling the animal’s guts out. Now that I had a loser look I was pretty sure I knew what kind of animal it was, but I asked the men anyway. One of them smiled and said something in his local dialect. The women spoke Mandarin, so she confirmed my suspicion that the men were cutting up a dog.
I tried not to show any judgment or squeamishness on my face, telling myself: “This is there custom, and perhaps their necessity.” I couldn’t bear to take a picture of the unlucky dog, so instead I took a few of a hen with her baby chicks. I didn’t notice until later that the dog’s blood was also in the picture, in a pool behind the chicks.
I went back to through the gate to grassy area in front of the farmhouse. There the little boy was squatting with his pants down doing his business. I was about to head back down the road when the woman came out and asked me to take a picture of her. She didn’t have a camera of her own; she just wanted me to take a picture of her with my camera, and she didn’t ask me to send her the picture. As I was taking her picture, another woman, also wearing a black coat, came out of the farmhouse with a shovel, which she used to scoop up the little boy’s poop. Seeing what I was doing, she said she wanted her picture taken too. I took a few pictures her, each of them took pictures of me with the other, and then I took a couple pictures of the boy, since he now had his pants on. He ran off to the house while I chatted with the women for awhile.
The boy returned and asked one of the women to help him find a photograph that he wanted to show me. The women told him to go look for it himself. The boy pouted, started back toward the house, but then stopped and picked up a stone. “What are you doing?” asked the first women. “I’m throwing at nainai!” said the boy as he through the stone at the second women. He used the word “nainai”, which literally means “grandma”, but is also used to address older women, and I had already learned that the two women were just friends. The boy’s shot missed, and the two women laughed about it. We said goodbye, they returned to the farmhouse and their chores, the boy resumed harassing the chickens, and I headed down the red dirt road, feeling glad that they hadn’t invited me to stay for dinner.
I arrived in Kunming, the capital city of Yunnan, in the early afternoon. I was met at the airport by Meng Yani, a student studying to be a journalist at a university in Kunming, a friend of mine, and a Hani girl – a member of the Hani ethnic group. Specifically, she and her family belong to the Aini subgroup of the Hani minority group. There are 26 ethnic minorities in Yunnan, (56 in China); most of the Hani people live in Xishuangbanna.
On the day I arrived in Kunming Yani and I walked to Cuihui Lake Park and strolled for awhile. The place was hen renao – lively – with people strolling, singing, playing erhus and flutes, dancing, taking pictures, sitting and chatting, and laughing.
For the next few days I was on my own because Yani was busy finishing her Latin Dance course. I spent the 7th at the Yunnan Minzu Village at Haigeng Park. Yunnan’s 26 ethnic minorities – their houses, costumes, and customs – are all represented there. I had dinner that evening with Yani. Our meal included a delicious dish called huluofan – a pineapple with the top cut off, stuffed with colorful rice mixed with chunks of pineapple.
The next day I took a cab to Xishan – West Mountain – on Dianchi (Dian Lake), in Kunming. I did a lot of hiking there and saw some interesting temples perched on the mountain side, including one called Dragon’s Gate.
Monday 1/9
I walked a few blocks from my hotel to the Yuantong Temple, a Zen Buddhist temple, spent some time there, and then took a taxi to a place called Heilongtan – Black Dragon Pool. There was a temple there also, and some nice gardens. But I decided to leave the crowded garden and paved-walkway area, where in every pavilion elderly people were playing instruments, singing, or playing cards and board games. I found a little-used path that went up the mountain, and after awhile the path crossed a red dirt road. Though I’d apparently left the park, I continued up the road to a lone farmhouse which doubled as the gate to a cemetery on the slope behind it. In front of the house a woman wearing a black coat was hanging some laundry on a line strung between the pine trees. She looked younger than me, but her face was lined, her skin dark, and her cheeks ruddy. Nearby, a red-cheeked boy was throwing pebbles at some chickens.
I asked the women if I could enter the cemetery and have a look, and she said I could. As I passed by the courtyard I saw two men within starting to cut up a small animal. I strolled amongst the old tombs for awhile, took pictures of some, and of a couple of taciturn mules, then headed back to the courtyard. The people seemed friendly so I entered and greeted the two men, who were now pulling the animal’s guts out. Now that I had a loser look I was pretty sure I knew what kind of animal it was, but I asked the men anyway. One of them smiled and said something in his local dialect. The women spoke Mandarin, so she confirmed my suspicion that the men were cutting up a dog.
I tried not to show any judgment or squeamishness on my face, telling myself: “This is there custom, and perhaps their necessity.” I couldn’t bear to take a picture of the unlucky dog, so instead I took a few of a hen with her baby chicks. I didn’t notice until later that the dog’s blood was also in the picture, in a pool behind the chicks.
I went back to through the gate to grassy area in front of the farmhouse. There the little boy was squatting with his pants down doing his business. I was about to head back down the road when the woman came out and asked me to take a picture of her. She didn’t have a camera of her own; she just wanted me to take a picture of her with my camera, and she didn’t ask me to send her the picture. As I was taking her picture, another woman, also wearing a black coat, came out of the farmhouse with a shovel, which she used to scoop up the little boy’s poop. Seeing what I was doing, she said she wanted her picture taken too. I took a few pictures her, each of them took pictures of me with the other, and then I took a couple pictures of the boy, since he now had his pants on. He ran off to the house while I chatted with the women for awhile.
The boy returned and asked one of the women to help him find a photograph that he wanted to show me. The women told him to go look for it himself. The boy pouted, started back toward the house, but then stopped and picked up a stone. “What are you doing?” asked the first women. “I’m throwing at nainai!” said the boy as he through the stone at the second women. He used the word “nainai”, which literally means “grandma”, but is also used to address older women, and I had already learned that the two women were just friends. The boy’s shot missed, and the two women laughed about it. We said goodbye, they returned to the farmhouse and their chores, the boy resumed harassing the chickens, and I headed down the red dirt road, feeling glad that they hadn’t invited me to stay for dinner.
~~~
Tuesday 1/10
I went to the Shilin – the Stone Forest – located in Lunan Yi Nationality Autonomous County, east of Kunming. This was one of the highlights of my trip. Trails meander through spires of gray stone that resemble giant stalagmites. The park is actually a typical karst topography caused by the dissolution of limestone; the formations are believed to be over 270 million years old.
According to a famous legend of the Sani people, a branch of the Yi ethnic group, the stone forest is the birthplace of Ashima, a beautiful, clever, warm-hearted, and faithful Sani girl. Ashima was in love with the courageous Ahei, an orphan adopted by her family, and Ahei also deeply loved his beautiful step-sister. But the jealous Azhi, the son of a wealthy village merchant, caused a dam to be breached and Ashima drowned in the flood. A stone goddess retrieved Ashima’s body and turned her into a stone standing by the river for Ahei to find. In the Stone Forest the Ashima rock resembles a girl, with a kerchief on her head and a bamboo basket on her back.
I went to the Shilin – the Stone Forest – located in Lunan Yi Nationality Autonomous County, east of Kunming. This was one of the highlights of my trip. Trails meander through spires of gray stone that resemble giant stalagmites. The park is actually a typical karst topography caused by the dissolution of limestone; the formations are believed to be over 270 million years old.
According to a famous legend of the Sani people, a branch of the Yi ethnic group, the stone forest is the birthplace of Ashima, a beautiful, clever, warm-hearted, and faithful Sani girl. Ashima was in love with the courageous Ahei, an orphan adopted by her family, and Ahei also deeply loved his beautiful step-sister. But the jealous Azhi, the son of a wealthy village merchant, caused a dam to be breached and Ashima drowned in the flood. A stone goddess retrieved Ashima’s body and turned her into a stone standing by the river for Ahei to find. In the Stone Forest the Ashima rock resembles a girl, with a kerchief on her head and a bamboo basket on her back.
Ashima Rock, Shilin
In Kunming, when I had boarded the bus to Shilin, I started chatting with a young man named Zhang Yihua, from the city of Panzhihua in southern Sichuan Province. I learned that he was a student at Beijing Agricultural University, and was doing a little sightseeing on his own in Yunnan before heading home to spend Spring Festival with his family.
At the Stone Forest, after Zhang Yihua and I bought our entrance tickets, we saw another foreigner walking around looking lost, so I helped him by translating the ticket sales person’s directions, and the man went off on his own. Afterwards, he caught up with us in the park, and the three of us explored the Stone Forest together.
The third member of our party was Henri Bayle, a Frenchman from Reunion Island near Madagascar. He spoke fluent English, but no Chinese, so I translated for him and Zhang Yihua. Henri asked me a lot of questions about living in China, learning Chinese, and teaching a foreign language in China. I told him he could probably get a job teaching French at a university, as the Chinese are interested in other languages in addition to English. He said he was interested in making a career change because he was getting tired of sales and marketing work with IBM.
At the Stone Forest, after Zhang Yihua and I bought our entrance tickets, we saw another foreigner walking around looking lost, so I helped him by translating the ticket sales person’s directions, and the man went off on his own. Afterwards, he caught up with us in the park, and the three of us explored the Stone Forest together.
The third member of our party was Henri Bayle, a Frenchman from Reunion Island near Madagascar. He spoke fluent English, but no Chinese, so I translated for him and Zhang Yihua. Henri asked me a lot of questions about living in China, learning Chinese, and teaching a foreign language in China. I told him he could probably get a job teaching French at a university, as the Chinese are interested in other languages in addition to English. He said he was interested in making a career change because he was getting tired of sales and marketing work with IBM.
~~~
Wednesday 1/11
Yani and I both flew to Xishuangbanna, but on different flights. My flight was at 4:30, and Yani was supposed to fly at 1:30, but her flight was delayed until 6:00, so she had to spend several hours at the airport.
After arriving in Jinghong, I went to the Manytrees Youth Hostel. I checked in and went to a nearby restaurant for a dinner: a bowl of rice noodles. There were several young girls working at the restaurant. As I was eating, one of them came to my table, sat across from me, ate her bowl of porridge and started asking me questions. I was happy to have someone to talk with. Soon a second girl sat down next to the first, then a third, then a fourth. I asked them if they spoke any English – they all answered “Yi dian” – “Just a little,” so we spoke Chinese. I asked them if they had English names and one of them said she was Stella, but that she didn’t really like the name and wanted a new one. I had them each tell me their Chinese names, and based on those I gave them all English names: Helen, Tina, Alice, and Cathy. They were all excited about their English names.
When I’d finished eating they were ready to end their work shift, so we all headed off to the Lancang River waterfront and the nearby night market for an evening stroll. Alice and Helen were the youngest, both still in high school. Cathy, at 22, was the oldest, and acted somewhat more mature and flirty than the others. Alice told me that her dream was to become a singer. As we walked she sang some Daizu folk songs. The five of us took a lot of pictures of each other. Before I headed back to the hostel I asked them for their email addresses so that I could send them the photos. They all said they didn’t have computers or email addresses, and told me I should bring the photos the next time I come to Banna. I promised them I would.
Yani and I both flew to Xishuangbanna, but on different flights. My flight was at 4:30, and Yani was supposed to fly at 1:30, but her flight was delayed until 6:00, so she had to spend several hours at the airport.
After arriving in Jinghong, I went to the Manytrees Youth Hostel. I checked in and went to a nearby restaurant for a dinner: a bowl of rice noodles. There were several young girls working at the restaurant. As I was eating, one of them came to my table, sat across from me, ate her bowl of porridge and started asking me questions. I was happy to have someone to talk with. Soon a second girl sat down next to the first, then a third, then a fourth. I asked them if they spoke any English – they all answered “Yi dian” – “Just a little,” so we spoke Chinese. I asked them if they had English names and one of them said she was Stella, but that she didn’t really like the name and wanted a new one. I had them each tell me their Chinese names, and based on those I gave them all English names: Helen, Tina, Alice, and Cathy. They were all excited about their English names.
When I’d finished eating they were ready to end their work shift, so we all headed off to the Lancang River waterfront and the nearby night market for an evening stroll. Alice and Helen were the youngest, both still in high school. Cathy, at 22, was the oldest, and acted somewhat more mature and flirty than the others. Alice told me that her dream was to become a singer. As we walked she sang some Daizu folk songs. The five of us took a lot of pictures of each other. Before I headed back to the hostel I asked them for their email addresses so that I could send them the photos. They all said they didn’t have computers or email addresses, and told me I should bring the photos the next time I come to Banna. I promised them I would.
Helen, Tina, Alice, and Cathy
Thursday 1/12
I spent most of the day with Yani. We first scouted out a hotel that I could move to, because I didn’t like the hostel. It was very noisy there – people talking loudly or arguing, (I’m not sure which), late at night, dogs barking, traffic noise, etc. Plus the bed was very hard, so I didn’t sleep well my first night in Jinghong.
We found a nice hotel a few blocks away, and I told them I’d check in the next day. Yani and I then went to Manting Park, which is worth a visit. We saw lots of peacocks; a bird that the Dai people view as a symbol of beauty, kindness, and good fortune. In the afternoon we tried to find the Nan Yao Yuan – South Medicine Park – but instead we ended up at the Redai Huahui Yuan – Tropical Flowers and Plants Park. That park was also nice and worth a visit.
I spent most of the day with Yani. We first scouted out a hotel that I could move to, because I didn’t like the hostel. It was very noisy there – people talking loudly or arguing, (I’m not sure which), late at night, dogs barking, traffic noise, etc. Plus the bed was very hard, so I didn’t sleep well my first night in Jinghong.
We found a nice hotel a few blocks away, and I told them I’d check in the next day. Yani and I then went to Manting Park, which is worth a visit. We saw lots of peacocks; a bird that the Dai people view as a symbol of beauty, kindness, and good fortune. In the afternoon we tried to find the Nan Yao Yuan – South Medicine Park – but instead we ended up at the Redai Huahui Yuan – Tropical Flowers and Plants Park. That park was also nice and worth a visit.
~~~
Friday 1/13
Instead of checking into to the new hotel, I was picked up by Yani, her father and a family friend from her village. We drove to Baka, which is south of Jinghong, about 25 kilometers from Myanmar. Baka is a Hani zhai – a Hani village. I also heard the term shanzhai – mountain village – a term that also has the meaning of fortified hill village or mountain stronghold. Baka is surrounded by rolling hills mostly covered with rubber trees, rather than original rain forest. In January the leaves were still on the trees but had turned reddish-brown. The valleys and areas close to the villages were devoted to banana orchards. It was warm there but not hot; and it was very green, peaceful, and beautiful.
We arrived in Baka at midday, in time to watch the preparations for a wedding. We first dropped off my luggage at Yani’s home and then went to the bride’s home to have lunch. The bride’s home was a traditional Hani two-story bamboo log home. The family lived on the second floor, and the ground floor, which had no walls, was used to store food, tools and equipment, and to keep livestock – chickens, black pigs, a cow or two. Though Yani’s home is modern, not made of wood, and has modern appliances – such as a stove rather than a fire pit for cooking – it still resembles the traditional home with the living quarters on the second floor.
I’m guessing that because Yani’s mother is a doctor they can afford to have a modern home – there are only a few of them in the village. Yani’s father makes a living tapping rubber trees, like many of the village men. I think he’s one of the happiest people I’ve met – there was always a smile on his face. Yani’s mom gave me some Chinese medicine for my shoulder and neck pain – caused by several days of toting my heavy backpack – but it had no effect.
While we waited for the groom and his family and friends to arrive I gave a group of cute village kids an impromptu English lesson. They new the English words “apple,” “banana,” and the words for some face and body parts, but that was it.
I sat for awhile on a tiny bamboo stool at a low, round bamboo table with a bamboo leaves for a table cloth, and ate a meal with Yani and a group of lao nainai – old “grandmothers,” (one of them actually was Yani’s grandmother). They were all relatives or friends of the bride. The elderly women were wearing head scarves, and some were wearing their traditional handmade hats: colorful combinations of embroidered cloth, feathers, and silver.
The Hani elders don’t speak Mandarin, and I don’t speak Haniyu – the Hani language – so Yani translated from Haniyu to Hanyu (Mandarin Chinese) so that I could understand the conversation. Some of the family friends who’d come for the wedding were speaking Daileyu – the language of the Daizu, the Dai people, which is the largest minority in Xishuangbanna. In Jinghong the signs are all printed in both Hanzi (Chinese characters) and the Daileyu script: ภาษาไทลื้อ.
I noticed that all the grandmothers’ lips and teeth were stained a deep ruby red. I’d first seen this while walking on the narrow village lane from Yani’s house to the bride’s house. When we passed by a nainai headed in the opposite direction she smiled and greeted Yani. It looked to me like she had blood on her lips. When she smiled I saw that her teeth were also red. I asked Yani about it and she told me it’s caused by years of chewing binlang – acrea nut or betel nut.
Instead of checking into to the new hotel, I was picked up by Yani, her father and a family friend from her village. We drove to Baka, which is south of Jinghong, about 25 kilometers from Myanmar. Baka is a Hani zhai – a Hani village. I also heard the term shanzhai – mountain village – a term that also has the meaning of fortified hill village or mountain stronghold. Baka is surrounded by rolling hills mostly covered with rubber trees, rather than original rain forest. In January the leaves were still on the trees but had turned reddish-brown. The valleys and areas close to the villages were devoted to banana orchards. It was warm there but not hot; and it was very green, peaceful, and beautiful.
We arrived in Baka at midday, in time to watch the preparations for a wedding. We first dropped off my luggage at Yani’s home and then went to the bride’s home to have lunch. The bride’s home was a traditional Hani two-story bamboo log home. The family lived on the second floor, and the ground floor, which had no walls, was used to store food, tools and equipment, and to keep livestock – chickens, black pigs, a cow or two. Though Yani’s home is modern, not made of wood, and has modern appliances – such as a stove rather than a fire pit for cooking – it still resembles the traditional home with the living quarters on the second floor.
I’m guessing that because Yani’s mother is a doctor they can afford to have a modern home – there are only a few of them in the village. Yani’s father makes a living tapping rubber trees, like many of the village men. I think he’s one of the happiest people I’ve met – there was always a smile on his face. Yani’s mom gave me some Chinese medicine for my shoulder and neck pain – caused by several days of toting my heavy backpack – but it had no effect.
While we waited for the groom and his family and friends to arrive I gave a group of cute village kids an impromptu English lesson. They new the English words “apple,” “banana,” and the words for some face and body parts, but that was it.
I sat for awhile on a tiny bamboo stool at a low, round bamboo table with a bamboo leaves for a table cloth, and ate a meal with Yani and a group of lao nainai – old “grandmothers,” (one of them actually was Yani’s grandmother). They were all relatives or friends of the bride. The elderly women were wearing head scarves, and some were wearing their traditional handmade hats: colorful combinations of embroidered cloth, feathers, and silver.
The Hani elders don’t speak Mandarin, and I don’t speak Haniyu – the Hani language – so Yani translated from Haniyu to Hanyu (Mandarin Chinese) so that I could understand the conversation. Some of the family friends who’d come for the wedding were speaking Daileyu – the language of the Daizu, the Dai people, which is the largest minority in Xishuangbanna. In Jinghong the signs are all printed in both Hanzi (Chinese characters) and the Daileyu script: ภาษาไทลื้อ.
I noticed that all the grandmothers’ lips and teeth were stained a deep ruby red. I’d first seen this while walking on the narrow village lane from Yani’s house to the bride’s house. When we passed by a nainai headed in the opposite direction she smiled and greeted Yani. It looked to me like she had blood on her lips. When she smiled I saw that her teeth were also red. I asked Yani about it and she told me it’s caused by years of chewing binlang – acrea nut or betel nut.
A couple of elderly Hani women
While we were seated around the low bamboo table in the bride’s house, I asked Yani to ask her grandmother for some binlang; her grandmother happily prepared a chew for Yani. She removed from her little box a bit of dry, woody material, placed it inside a green leaf, added some other ingredient, folded up the leaf into a neat little package. Yani placed it in her mouth, chewed and sucked on it for a few minutes, and then spit red saliva into a paper cup to show me. She told me that the men sometimes chew binlang too, but that it’s mostly the women who chew it. The men prefer cigarettes and alcohol.
The wedding, a traditional Hani wedding, was very interesting, and was like nothing I’d ever seen before. It started with the bridegroom and his family and friends arriving at the bride’s home. Most of the men in the groom’s party carried cases of beer on their shoulders. When they tried to pass through the outer gate they were stopped by several women – relatives and friends of the bride. The men had to push their way through the crowd, but every women had a bottle of baijiu – white liquor – and a cup; the groom’s men had to gulp down cup after cup of baijiu as they ran the gauntlet. The strategy many of them used was to hold a few small cupfuls of liquor in their mouths and then spit it out – though the women were yelling at them to swallow. A few hardy ones swallowed all they were given.
Stationed on the second floor balcony, I took pictures of their arrival. The balcony had a low wall all the way around, but only part of it was roofed. At one point I stepped close to the wall to get a better view, and my foot bumped into something. I looked down and saw a large cow’s head, horns and all, gazing up at me. Cow’s blood had stained the wooden floor around the head.
The groom’s troop then came to the wooden stairs leading up to the second floor living quarters. Now they had to force their way through a tightly packed group of the bride’s male relatives and friends, who blocked the stairs, all with bottles of baijiu and cups. The groom’s men, gulping down or spitting out more liquor and making awful faces and loud complaints, made their way slowly up the stairs, still shouldering their cases of beer.
When the groom’s men finally made it up to the balcony, four of them were told to sit at a low, round bamboo table, which was laid out with a few dishes of food placed on wide banana leaves. The men were offered a meal, but this was another challenge, because they had to use oversized and bizarrely shaped utensils: meter-long chopsticks, giant bamboo spoons and cups, etc. While they were doing their best to eat some of the food they were being harassed by the bride’s women, who shouted at the men and waved in front of their faces carrots, carved to resemble penises and testicles, attached to the ends of long, flexible bamboo sticks. I’m not sure what the meaning of all this was, but it was clearly great fun – everyone was shouting, laughing, and having a great time. These are lively, warm, happy people.
The final part of the wedding was more solemn. The bride and groom knelt before each one of the elders, offering a small cupful of clear soda, which had been substituted for baijiu. The elder Hani, holding hands with the bride, sang a marriage-weeping song to her. To me the song sounded like a lament, it was plaintive and chant-like – it reminded of Native American chants. Each of the elders sang for several minutes. Hand towels were distributed because the elders and the bride were crying. Even the groom, kneeling behind the bride, had tears in his eyes. Yani told me it was because tomorrow the bride would leave her childhood home and go to live with her husband.
The bride and groom then moved on to the next elder, and the previous one was given candy, cookies, and a cigarette by the bridesmaid and the groom’s best man. When they came to me I was not required to sing and weep with the bride, but they insisted I drink a little cup of soda and take some candy and a cigarette. They also lit my cigarette, as part of the ceremony, but I didn’t have to smoke it. Several of the elderly women smoked theirs.
The wedding, a traditional Hani wedding, was very interesting, and was like nothing I’d ever seen before. It started with the bridegroom and his family and friends arriving at the bride’s home. Most of the men in the groom’s party carried cases of beer on their shoulders. When they tried to pass through the outer gate they were stopped by several women – relatives and friends of the bride. The men had to push their way through the crowd, but every women had a bottle of baijiu – white liquor – and a cup; the groom’s men had to gulp down cup after cup of baijiu as they ran the gauntlet. The strategy many of them used was to hold a few small cupfuls of liquor in their mouths and then spit it out – though the women were yelling at them to swallow. A few hardy ones swallowed all they were given.
Stationed on the second floor balcony, I took pictures of their arrival. The balcony had a low wall all the way around, but only part of it was roofed. At one point I stepped close to the wall to get a better view, and my foot bumped into something. I looked down and saw a large cow’s head, horns and all, gazing up at me. Cow’s blood had stained the wooden floor around the head.
The groom’s troop then came to the wooden stairs leading up to the second floor living quarters. Now they had to force their way through a tightly packed group of the bride’s male relatives and friends, who blocked the stairs, all with bottles of baijiu and cups. The groom’s men, gulping down or spitting out more liquor and making awful faces and loud complaints, made their way slowly up the stairs, still shouldering their cases of beer.
When the groom’s men finally made it up to the balcony, four of them were told to sit at a low, round bamboo table, which was laid out with a few dishes of food placed on wide banana leaves. The men were offered a meal, but this was another challenge, because they had to use oversized and bizarrely shaped utensils: meter-long chopsticks, giant bamboo spoons and cups, etc. While they were doing their best to eat some of the food they were being harassed by the bride’s women, who shouted at the men and waved in front of their faces carrots, carved to resemble penises and testicles, attached to the ends of long, flexible bamboo sticks. I’m not sure what the meaning of all this was, but it was clearly great fun – everyone was shouting, laughing, and having a great time. These are lively, warm, happy people.
The final part of the wedding was more solemn. The bride and groom knelt before each one of the elders, offering a small cupful of clear soda, which had been substituted for baijiu. The elder Hani, holding hands with the bride, sang a marriage-weeping song to her. To me the song sounded like a lament, it was plaintive and chant-like – it reminded of Native American chants. Each of the elders sang for several minutes. Hand towels were distributed because the elders and the bride were crying. Even the groom, kneeling behind the bride, had tears in his eyes. Yani told me it was because tomorrow the bride would leave her childhood home and go to live with her husband.
The bride and groom then moved on to the next elder, and the previous one was given candy, cookies, and a cigarette by the bridesmaid and the groom’s best man. When they came to me I was not required to sing and weep with the bride, but they insisted I drink a little cup of soda and take some candy and a cigarette. They also lit my cigarette, as part of the ceremony, but I didn’t have to smoke it. Several of the elderly women smoked theirs.
The bride and groom, (on the right), and a Hani elder
Eventually Yani and I went back to her house and went to bed. Yani gave me her room, and she slept with her mom. The next day I asked Yani where her dad had slept and she told me that she wasn’t sure, and that he might not have slept, because sometimes the wedding party lasts all night. She also said that he, like most of the men, had drank a lot of baijiu and beer.
I spent most of the next day at Yani’s house. Several neighbors, invited by Yani’s parents, came over to celebrate Gatapa, an important Hani festival. I watched a man use a blowtorch on a huge, already dead, black pig – presumably to burn off hair. To escape the commotion of guests and feast preparation, Yani and I went for a walk with the kids to the village well. The well was in a tree-shaded place at the edge of the village, underneath a concrete structure that resembled a large dog house. The water level was right up to the top of the well, making it easy for us to use bamboo and plastic ladles to drink the cool, clean water. Yani told me that even on the hottest days of summer the water remained cool and was refreshing to drink. I sampled it and it tasted delicious.
In the afternoon, after taking a short nap, I wrote in my journal for awhile. Then Yani’s father came into Yani’s room and asked me if I would like to stay another night, go back to Jinghong tomorrow rather than today as planned. I talked with Yani about it. I was a little worried about delaying another day – Yani had already called the hotel and asked them if I could come a day later, now she would have to ask them again. I decided it would be best to go back to Jinghong that afternoon.
I spent most of the next day at Yani’s house. Several neighbors, invited by Yani’s parents, came over to celebrate Gatapa, an important Hani festival. I watched a man use a blowtorch on a huge, already dead, black pig – presumably to burn off hair. To escape the commotion of guests and feast preparation, Yani and I went for a walk with the kids to the village well. The well was in a tree-shaded place at the edge of the village, underneath a concrete structure that resembled a large dog house. The water level was right up to the top of the well, making it easy for us to use bamboo and plastic ladles to drink the cool, clean water. Yani told me that even on the hottest days of summer the water remained cool and was refreshing to drink. I sampled it and it tasted delicious.
In the afternoon, after taking a short nap, I wrote in my journal for awhile. Then Yani’s father came into Yani’s room and asked me if I would like to stay another night, go back to Jinghong tomorrow rather than today as planned. I talked with Yani about it. I was a little worried about delaying another day – Yani had already called the hotel and asked them if I could come a day later, now she would have to ask them again. I decided it would be best to go back to Jinghong that afternoon.
~~~
That evening, in my hotel room in Jinghong, I was regretting my decision. I had an opportunity to be flexible, to go with the flow, and I didn’t. Why? I’m not sure. Maybe I was feeling I needed some privacy. And I remember looking forward to a hot shower in the hotel room – even though Yani’s house has a shower with hot water, too. I chose comfort rather than adventure, solitude rather than society.
Why did I go to Xishuangbanna in the first place? And why did I accept Yani’s invitation –an invitation I was hoping she would make – to go to her hometown and stay at her home? One reason was to experience and learn about Yunnan’s ethnic minority people. So, there I was, living in an ethnic minority village, eating their food, walking through their banana orchards, chatting with elderly Hani people, and teaching English to poor mountain village kids, who would have been delighted if I’d stayed a day or two more. I was achieving two goals I’ve had for a long time: to experience authentic, rural Chinese life, and to teach poor kids English.
But instead I chose to go back to relatively noisy, touristy city, so that I could spend more money on a hotel room, restaurant meals, park entrance fees, etc. Sometimes I have an imaginary conversation with an American friend who asks me what I think about living in China. I always answer that “flexibility” is the most important thing. I failed to follow my own advice. I rationalized: I was eating their food, using Yani’s room, making her father sleep who knows where. But Yani told me that her parents liked me and wanted me to stay, and I’m sure that she didn’t mind being home. She didn’t have to go back to Jinghong with me, but I think she felt obligated as host. She told me that one of the kids was really sad that I was leaving, and that made me regret my decision even more.
This bothers me, and worries me – that I chose to be alone rather than with people who like me, that I chose solitude rather than family. That night, alone in my hotel room in Jinghong, I felt angry at myself, depressed, and lonely. Before I left Yani’s home I made a promise to the kids: I swore by Chairman Mao that I would return. I said it that way in jest, but I really did mean it, and I intend to return to Baka.
Sunday 1/15
I set out alone in the morning – Yani was not returning my messages. After I arrived at Minzu Fengqing Yuan – Minority Customs Park – she contacted me; she said her phone had needed recharging. I told her where I was at, then waited for nearly an hour for her to join me. She’d misunderstood and thought I’d gone to the Daizu Yuan – Daizu Culture Park – south of Jinghong, because we’d talked about that the day before. I was still feeling gloomy from yesterday, and this miscommunication didn’t help me snap out of it. Plus, the Minority Customs Park I went to was old, not well-maintained, and not very interesting.
After eating a bowl of rice noodles I took a cab to the Mengle Dafosi – the Mengle Big Buddha Temple. The huge golden statue of the Buddha, and the opulent temple, were very impressive. The Mengle Big Buddha Temple is the largest Theravada Buddhist temple in China. Yani joined me while I was there. I asked her if I had offended her parents by not staying another day in Baka. She said I shouldn’t worry about it – she said they were glad to have me as a guest and hoped that I would return someday. It was a sunny day, and I felt better after spending the afternoon with Yani in the shade of the Big (Smiling) Buddha.
Why did I go to Xishuangbanna in the first place? And why did I accept Yani’s invitation –an invitation I was hoping she would make – to go to her hometown and stay at her home? One reason was to experience and learn about Yunnan’s ethnic minority people. So, there I was, living in an ethnic minority village, eating their food, walking through their banana orchards, chatting with elderly Hani people, and teaching English to poor mountain village kids, who would have been delighted if I’d stayed a day or two more. I was achieving two goals I’ve had for a long time: to experience authentic, rural Chinese life, and to teach poor kids English.
But instead I chose to go back to relatively noisy, touristy city, so that I could spend more money on a hotel room, restaurant meals, park entrance fees, etc. Sometimes I have an imaginary conversation with an American friend who asks me what I think about living in China. I always answer that “flexibility” is the most important thing. I failed to follow my own advice. I rationalized: I was eating their food, using Yani’s room, making her father sleep who knows where. But Yani told me that her parents liked me and wanted me to stay, and I’m sure that she didn’t mind being home. She didn’t have to go back to Jinghong with me, but I think she felt obligated as host. She told me that one of the kids was really sad that I was leaving, and that made me regret my decision even more.
This bothers me, and worries me – that I chose to be alone rather than with people who like me, that I chose solitude rather than family. That night, alone in my hotel room in Jinghong, I felt angry at myself, depressed, and lonely. Before I left Yani’s home I made a promise to the kids: I swore by Chairman Mao that I would return. I said it that way in jest, but I really did mean it, and I intend to return to Baka.
Sunday 1/15
I set out alone in the morning – Yani was not returning my messages. After I arrived at Minzu Fengqing Yuan – Minority Customs Park – she contacted me; she said her phone had needed recharging. I told her where I was at, then waited for nearly an hour for her to join me. She’d misunderstood and thought I’d gone to the Daizu Yuan – Daizu Culture Park – south of Jinghong, because we’d talked about that the day before. I was still feeling gloomy from yesterday, and this miscommunication didn’t help me snap out of it. Plus, the Minority Customs Park I went to was old, not well-maintained, and not very interesting.
After eating a bowl of rice noodles I took a cab to the Mengle Dafosi – the Mengle Big Buddha Temple. The huge golden statue of the Buddha, and the opulent temple, were very impressive. The Mengle Big Buddha Temple is the largest Theravada Buddhist temple in China. Yani joined me while I was there. I asked her if I had offended her parents by not staying another day in Baka. She said I shouldn’t worry about it – she said they were glad to have me as a guest and hoped that I would return someday. It was a sunny day, and I felt better after spending the afternoon with Yani in the shade of the Big (Smiling) Buddha.
The Golden Buddha at the Mengle Big Buddha Temple
Monday 1/16
Yani and I took a taxi to the Banna Yuanshi Senlin Gongyuan – Banna Primeval Forest Park – east of Jinghong. The park is easy to get to and worth seeing. We had a nice time strolling through the forested park and chatting.
The next day I was on my own again. I hired a cab driver, for 200 yuan, to take me to two places outside of Jinghong, wait at each place, then return me to my hotel. I first went to the Jinuo Shanzhai – the Jinuo Mountain Village, which represents the Jinuo people and their culture. There I bought a souvenir from a Jinuo craftsman: a tall bamboo cup, inscribed with flowers and characters: 基诺人很欢迎您 – The Jinuo People welcome you. In Xishuangbanna the cup was that nice green-gold color of fresh bamboo. In Beijing, after only a day in the dry air, it had faded to a dull light tan, and the inscriptions were hardly visible. Guess I should have taken a picture of it before I left Banna.
I then went to the Redai Gu – Rainforest Valley. There I met a happy, black-toothed woman who took a stick from the basket next to her, lit it, and handed it to me to smoke. It was aromatic and strong, and she laughed when I coughed. Both the Jinuo Mountain Village and the Rainforest Valley were interesting, smaller than the Primeval Forest Park that Yani and I went to the day before, but both worth a visit.
Wednesday 1/18
Today’s excursion was another highlight of my trip. I took a bus to Menglun, southeast of Jinghong, and spent the day at the Menglun Redai Zhiwuyuan – the Menglun Tropical Forest. It’s a vast park comprised of a West Part – gardens, roads and electric tour buses, lots of tourists – and an East Part – tropical rain forest, walking trails, few tourists. Beautiful and unusual trees, vines, and vegetation, and a wonderful symphony of bird songs. It was foggy and cool in the morning when I arrived, but by the afternoon it was sunny and warm.
The next morning, before I checked out of my hotel, I walked to Mei Mei’s Café, a well-known Jinghong restaurant that serves both Chinese and Western food, and where foreign tourists can get information about places to see and how to go. There I ran into Henri Bayle, the Frenchman I’d met at the Stone Forest in Kunming. He was having breakfast with another Frenchman he’d met. Henri asked me to send him photos of my trip, because his camera had been stolen. He kept his camera in his coat pocket rather than a camera bag, and someone had deftly swiped it. He’d already been to other countries before coming to China, and was planning to head down to Thailand next, so he’d taken a lot of photos. I promised to send him some. After hearing his story I became a lot more aware of my camera, wallet, and other things.
In the afternoon I flew back to Kunming. Yani saw me off at the tiny Xishuangbanna airport. We drank some green tea while waiting for my flight; she gave me two CD’s of Yunnan folk music; we promised to keep in touch. Except for in their poetry, the Chinese tend to be reserved; they don’t hug very much. I knew that, but I hugged Yani anyway. I wish she were the daughter I don’t have; I’m happy she’s my friend.
I still had two days to spend in Kunming before flying back to Beijing. I went to a few Kunming tourist sights each day, but the only one worth mentioning is the Yunnan Sheng Bowuguan – the Yunnan Provincial Museum – which was excellent, and free. There were two very informative, very interesting exhibits. One was on the ancient Dian Kingdom of Yunnan – a bronze culture, “the people of the bronze drum.” The other exhibit was about Yunnan’s ethnic minority intangible culture – their costumes, music, dance, art, writing, etc.
Other than the museum, I didn’t really enjoy my last few days in Yunnan. It was colder in Kunming than in Xishuangbanna, the wind was blowing hard, the myriad electric motor bikes were starting to annoy me, my trip was coming to an end, and I was missing Yani, the warm weather of Xishuangbanna, and the warmth of her family.
Yani and I took a taxi to the Banna Yuanshi Senlin Gongyuan – Banna Primeval Forest Park – east of Jinghong. The park is easy to get to and worth seeing. We had a nice time strolling through the forested park and chatting.
The next day I was on my own again. I hired a cab driver, for 200 yuan, to take me to two places outside of Jinghong, wait at each place, then return me to my hotel. I first went to the Jinuo Shanzhai – the Jinuo Mountain Village, which represents the Jinuo people and their culture. There I bought a souvenir from a Jinuo craftsman: a tall bamboo cup, inscribed with flowers and characters: 基诺人很欢迎您 – The Jinuo People welcome you. In Xishuangbanna the cup was that nice green-gold color of fresh bamboo. In Beijing, after only a day in the dry air, it had faded to a dull light tan, and the inscriptions were hardly visible. Guess I should have taken a picture of it before I left Banna.
I then went to the Redai Gu – Rainforest Valley. There I met a happy, black-toothed woman who took a stick from the basket next to her, lit it, and handed it to me to smoke. It was aromatic and strong, and she laughed when I coughed. Both the Jinuo Mountain Village and the Rainforest Valley were interesting, smaller than the Primeval Forest Park that Yani and I went to the day before, but both worth a visit.
Wednesday 1/18
Today’s excursion was another highlight of my trip. I took a bus to Menglun, southeast of Jinghong, and spent the day at the Menglun Redai Zhiwuyuan – the Menglun Tropical Forest. It’s a vast park comprised of a West Part – gardens, roads and electric tour buses, lots of tourists – and an East Part – tropical rain forest, walking trails, few tourists. Beautiful and unusual trees, vines, and vegetation, and a wonderful symphony of bird songs. It was foggy and cool in the morning when I arrived, but by the afternoon it was sunny and warm.
The next morning, before I checked out of my hotel, I walked to Mei Mei’s Café, a well-known Jinghong restaurant that serves both Chinese and Western food, and where foreign tourists can get information about places to see and how to go. There I ran into Henri Bayle, the Frenchman I’d met at the Stone Forest in Kunming. He was having breakfast with another Frenchman he’d met. Henri asked me to send him photos of my trip, because his camera had been stolen. He kept his camera in his coat pocket rather than a camera bag, and someone had deftly swiped it. He’d already been to other countries before coming to China, and was planning to head down to Thailand next, so he’d taken a lot of photos. I promised to send him some. After hearing his story I became a lot more aware of my camera, wallet, and other things.
In the afternoon I flew back to Kunming. Yani saw me off at the tiny Xishuangbanna airport. We drank some green tea while waiting for my flight; she gave me two CD’s of Yunnan folk music; we promised to keep in touch. Except for in their poetry, the Chinese tend to be reserved; they don’t hug very much. I knew that, but I hugged Yani anyway. I wish she were the daughter I don’t have; I’m happy she’s my friend.
I still had two days to spend in Kunming before flying back to Beijing. I went to a few Kunming tourist sights each day, but the only one worth mentioning is the Yunnan Sheng Bowuguan – the Yunnan Provincial Museum – which was excellent, and free. There were two very informative, very interesting exhibits. One was on the ancient Dian Kingdom of Yunnan – a bronze culture, “the people of the bronze drum.” The other exhibit was about Yunnan’s ethnic minority intangible culture – their costumes, music, dance, art, writing, etc.
Other than the museum, I didn’t really enjoy my last few days in Yunnan. It was colder in Kunming than in Xishuangbanna, the wind was blowing hard, the myriad electric motor bikes were starting to annoy me, my trip was coming to an end, and I was missing Yani, the warm weather of Xishuangbanna, and the warmth of her family.
~~~
I’ll return to Baka – summer vacation, and maybe next winter break, too. I like my job at Capital Medical University, and I'm looking forward to the spring semester. I have to work at a university to earn a living, but I keep thinking about those kids in Baka. They may never have a foreign teacher teach them English until they go to college, and many will never go to college. I wish I could figure out a way to move down there and teach them all year round.
At the Kunming airport while waiting for my flight, I thought about my trip: how it went, what I learned, why I did it. In early December when I started making plans for this trip I was remembering last winter break: how I spent it alone in my university apartment, on a mostly deserted campus, in freezing Beijing, wishing the stupid incessant fireworks would stop, feeling bored and lonely. My two week’s in Yunnan was the complete opposite: warm weather, new friends, everyday an adventure.
Finding someplace warm and green, challenging myself, having interesting experiences, making new friends – all of these sound like good reasons for this trip. I’ve spent the last three years focused on teaching, studying, and traveling. So perhaps, without knowing it, I was seeking something else with this trip – something I need in addition to teaching, learning, and adventure. Everyone needs food and family – right?
Maybe the purpose of this trip was simply to learn how to ask “Have you eaten?” in some different languages, hear it spoken by new friends, and to enjoy their warm hospitality.
Have you eaten?
Ni chi le ma?
Men na bai di nai ya?
No ho za ma?
At the Kunming airport while waiting for my flight, I thought about my trip: how it went, what I learned, why I did it. In early December when I started making plans for this trip I was remembering last winter break: how I spent it alone in my university apartment, on a mostly deserted campus, in freezing Beijing, wishing the stupid incessant fireworks would stop, feeling bored and lonely. My two week’s in Yunnan was the complete opposite: warm weather, new friends, everyday an adventure.
Finding someplace warm and green, challenging myself, having interesting experiences, making new friends – all of these sound like good reasons for this trip. I’ve spent the last three years focused on teaching, studying, and traveling. So perhaps, without knowing it, I was seeking something else with this trip – something I need in addition to teaching, learning, and adventure. Everyone needs food and family – right?
Maybe the purpose of this trip was simply to learn how to ask “Have you eaten?” in some different languages, hear it spoken by new friends, and to enjoy their warm hospitality.
Have you eaten?
Ni chi le ma?
Men na bai di nai ya?
No ho za ma?
~~~
The kids of the village of Baka
Articles on the Hani people:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hani_people
http://www.chinafacttours.com/facts/people/hani-ethnic-minority.html
A good BBC program on the folk music of the Hani and Yi people: http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b00cjnjs
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hani_people
http://www.chinafacttours.com/facts/people/hani-ethnic-minority.html
A good BBC program on the folk music of the Hani and Yi people: http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b00cjnjs