I haven’t updated this blog since first getting back to China, and my return to the Middle Country deserves its place on the blog! Upon leaving Thailand, I set my sights for Yunnan, the Southern China province characterized by its City of Eternal Spring, the Rice Terraces of Yuanyang and the tourist getaways of Lijiang and Dali. Yunnan was of special interest to me because it is also home to many of China’s ethnic minorities (yes, this is what the Chinese call them).
The journey began in Kunming, home to the special Camellia Flower and its accompanying festival. The capitol of the Yunnan province, Kunming was the jump off point for anywhere you would like to go in Yunnan and I found myself and the travelers around me returning to the City of Eternal Spring more than we would have preferred. Nevertheless, Kunming offered some beautiful sights.
My first day in Kunming took me to the Ethnic Minority Village in the SE part of Kunming. The Village was a “theme park” of ethnic minorities, with over 20 different minorities each having their own village inside the compound where they worked, lived and practiced their own unique cultural heritage. Here is a good time to bring up a shining example of the kindness shown to me by the Chinese.
Jumping on the bus to the Ethnic Minority Village, I had no idea where the stop would be. Cautiously peering out my window for any sign that might indicate my destination I spotted a big blue information advertisement for the Minority Village and quickly descended from the bus. Strolling around the area, I discovered that my feet were a little green and the Minority Village was no where in the vicinity. Pondering my predicament, I found the nearest large hotel, hoping their large establishment required their employees to speak English and posed in my best Chinese the question of where in the world this Village was. A lively older woman came up to me and over-enthusiastically answered my question, in Chinese waaay too far for me to grasp. “Wo bu dong, wo bu dong,” I repeated, hoping she would begin to counsel me in my mother tongue. Like a cat taking her new-killed prey proudly to its owner, the woman led me by the arm out to the street and pointed me in the direction of my destination, all the while still talking to herself in Chinese (since I couldn’t understand a word). Pointing to the sidewalk and moving her arms upward, I took her signals to mean I should continue straight down the paved road. Happy that I was at least heading in the right direction, I bid her farewell and departed to where her hands, unintelligible speech and eager energy instructed.
Not more than half a kilometer down the road I heard the sound of someone yelling, unintelligibly to my ears, in my general direction. With my only companions being the flowers on the sidewalk and the cars to my left, I turned to see what all the fuss was about. Wouldn’t you know it, it was the same woman from the hotel jogging in my direction, flailing her arms in hopes of capturing my attention. When she came closer I saw she'd adopted a pair of yellow evening slippers with chicken faces on the sole and a brightly colored umbrella that you might find in Key West, indicating to me that she was making the stroll along with me. Starting up her excited Chinese again, I was able to decipher that she really doesn’t want me to get lost, and sure enough, the slippered woman led me 3 km down the road to the Ethnic Minority Village with the protective nature of mother bird. Even though it was a straight shot down the road she initially instructed, it was such a kind gesture that I thanked her over and over as she headed 3 km in the other direction, in that combination of a jog and hurried walk that that only Chinese females can do (Hannah calls it the China shuffle). A flattering display of hospitality, this instance was one of many that imprinted a love for Chinese culture into my psyche.
Being a student of culture and helping to put on the Smithsonian Folklife Festival (a 2-week festival with the same “cultural exposition” goal as the Ethnic Minority Village), the Village was a fascinating example of cultural tourism. Its hope was to display the varying cultures found within Yunnan in one location, a goal that made me wonder what role the Chinese government played in putting this exhibition together. As I strolled through the religious altars of the Dai and the clothing stands of the Hani, I couldn’t put my finger just on how I felt about the place. In my most optimistic I appreciated what the Village was trying to do and was excited that these cultures had the stage to share themselves with the larger audience. In my more pessimistic views the Village was nothing more than a human zoo, with the meanderings through the minorities’ living spaces akin to the tapping on a fish tank at the aquarium. But hey, the free wine offered by the Naxi’s wasn’t all that bad . . .
Upon departure I headed south of the Village to Dianchi Lake. Not really sure what I was getting into, I was bowled over at this beautiful creation. To the left of the Lake stood the spread outskirts of Kunming while steep, grey mountains inhabited its right bank. I found myself standing in the middle of Dianchi, observing a beautiful sunset amidst the Chinese tourists and the “you-know-you’re-standing-beside-a-big-body-of-H2O” winds. Venturing out onto an abandoned dock, an even more spectacular sunset awaited me as I chugged a beer and realized how thankful I was to be alive.
