The Hindu's have their cows, the French their wine; the British have their stodgy manners, and Americans their money, so why should anyone expect the Chinese not to have their own sacred thing? Perhaps no one does, for as soon as you set foot in this place, you can't help but realize, the grass is sacred. Americans tend to have a practical outlook on grass; they see it as something which looks nice but which can also be enjoyed through walking upon. The Chinese however have elevated their ideas of what it means to be grass to a whole new level. For them grass is merely to be pondered, to cover the ground and be green but never, never be walked upon.
And as far as this goes, I will give them some credit: the grass here (at least in Kunming) is always green--and I mean really, really green. They put Ireland to shame, as horrible as it is to admit it. Put I do not think the Chinese have actually developed an artistic sense of grass, since they still have not comprehended the vast enjoyment which can be gotten from treading upon grass.
On the college campus at which I'm staying, they have very much grass. Entire sections of the campus our covered in the green stuff, however not a soul walks upon it. Indeed it is as if they have dug pits and filled them with lava in the places where there is grass. I have never seen a Chinese student even dare to dash across the grass when it is dark and no one is looking. (That is a contradiction, I realize, but please, we are above such petty criticisms are we not?) I have not seen a Chinese student so much as creep a little toe onto the edge of these grassy spots.
I, of course, being American and having a healthy appreciation of the joys of walking on the grass do not often uphold China's sacred respect of grass. But I do not walk with impunity, I have been screamed at and scolded by Chinese who told me (in different words of course) "don't walk on the grass." When I ask them what else they have the grass for, inevitably the answer is, worship...well perhaps not quite that (China hasn't fallen for Shintoism yet, that I know of), however the common belief is that it is for looks. They believe this even of the grass which grows on the edge of the road and which probably dies every year from all the pollution.
I had my suspicions that they never mow the grass, instead keeping it in check with over-abundant watering, but these have been proven to be wrong. I did indeed see them "mowing" their grass the other day. Buddhist monks with small golden scissors crawled around on the lawn until it was all beautifully manicured to a healthy 2 and a 1/4 inches (or the respective length in the metric system). Effective.
Actually, after seeing this, I felt guilty walking on the grass and have since reformed my impolite ways. I now am a conscientious path-taker who will even commit the un-American action of walking out of my way to stay on the path. I know, this is a great disappointment for all of you, but I cannot forever stem the tide of influence of a nation of a billion and a half people.
My advice to you, if you ever find yourself in this neck of the woods, is to not walk on the grass.
Phil.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Tiger Leaping Gorge Brought to you by Snickers (TM)
As promised, Tiger Leaping Gorge. First, let me say that I do actually have pictures of this beautiful natural wonder, however I choose not to share any of them with you at this time. Neener, Neener, Neener!
But before you throw up your hands in disgust and vow never to visit me again, hear me out; I do have my reasons and they are good, if not the best. Unfortunately, due to the covert nature of these reasons, I will be unable to reveal them to you, so you will simply have to take this part on faith. Let it suffice that starting this Friday, I will be on the Chinese version of Spring break and I will be going to what amounts to the greatest place on earth. When I return, sometime in the coming week afterwards, I will open up a flood of pictures here such as the internet has never seen (maybe a slight exaggeration). So with patience, good things will come.
And now on to Tiger Leaping Gorge. For those of you who are in the know when it comes to geography, the Yangtze is one of the main rivers of China. It originates in the West of China and then flows due south as if it would escape China and drain through Burma into the Indian Ocean. However, there is a place called the Stone Drum where a massive wall of rock forces the Yangtze back onto itself and up to the north again. There is a saying that were it not for the Stone Drum, the waters of the Yangtze would be lost to China forever. It's believable when you see this formidable wall of rock.
But as the Yangtze flows back north into China again, it passes through a gorge made by two 19,000 ft. mountains, Haba Mountain on the Western side, and Yulong Mountain on the Eastern side. These to mountains ensure that the gorge through which the Yangtze flows is as sheer as possible. The trail we took through this spectacular gorge followed the Western and less steep side of the gorge. Usually we were walking about a thousand feet above the river, which was still visible however, directly below us. The trail makes a triangle of sorts, rising until about halfway and then descending for the rest of the time. Often as we walked we were in the shadow of Yulong mountain. It was amazing to see this mountain rise out of the gorge in dramatic cliffs upon which nothing could grow, nor any snow could hang. The clouds, moving from the east, came over the mountains casting moving shadows along out trail.
I was actually surprised by the lack of development this trail has received. It's never a rough or impassible trail, but it is not your typical Chinese tourist spot with marble stairs ensuring you never get your feet dirty. There are guest houses dotted along the way, but seeing as they are in villages which have probably been living on the edge of the gorge for a long time, it is understandable that they profit a little off the tourism. Besides, the guest houses have fairly good food and wonderful beds. You forget that you are hiking around in the wilderness of Himalayan foothills, what with your warm showers, your heated bed, and your cup of fresh coffee (which really wasn't that good, but I had not partaken of that wonderful beverage for a week, so it seemed better than it should have).
The wildlife in the gorge is apparently diverse, although I was only witness to small forms of this. There were many goats which looked like normal goats but behaved like mountain goats, throwing themselves carelessly over the edges of cliffs and running about like I often do (with what some might call a death wish). There were also many little birds which I think were either Thrushes or some species of sparrow (both wild guesses made in order to convince the ornithologists amongst you that I do not know what I am doing). They made a strange clicking noise and had tails which stuck up awkwardly behind them. Also there were snakes. On our way into the gorge (driving) we say several fellows selling large dead serpents for eating purposes. However as I was hiking, I suddenly came upon a big green snake--maybe four feet or more in length and as thick as my wrist--sunning itself. I'm not an especially brave person, so I did not undertake hand-to-hand combat with the beast, but rather let it slip away off the cliff to some unknown den where it probably digested less fortunate tourists. At the next village I asked one of the old men who looked like he would know if the snakes of the region were dangerous. He assured me that they were most definitely not. But when I described the particular creature I had seen, his face grew solemn and even a little pale and he told me not to "mess with the vile thing" (in Chinese of course).
After this, I was on the look out for more green death snakes.
There are also many locals trying to make a little cash by offering to give you rides on their "very good" horses--usually at the steepest portions of the trail. Usually at the peak of ever large rise you would find a little hut with water bottles, fresh fruit on ice, and of course Snickers. Actually by the time I had finished with my journey through the gorge, I was edgily searching the high cliff walls for Snickers' logo to be engraved or carved into some forest. Apparently the candy bar sponsors this gorge. So if you ever have the chance to hike Tiger Leaping Gorge, be sure to purchase a goodly amount of Snickers so that the gorge may continue to exist in its pristine state.
Phil.
But before you throw up your hands in disgust and vow never to visit me again, hear me out; I do have my reasons and they are good, if not the best. Unfortunately, due to the covert nature of these reasons, I will be unable to reveal them to you, so you will simply have to take this part on faith. Let it suffice that starting this Friday, I will be on the Chinese version of Spring break and I will be going to what amounts to the greatest place on earth. When I return, sometime in the coming week afterwards, I will open up a flood of pictures here such as the internet has never seen (maybe a slight exaggeration). So with patience, good things will come.
And now on to Tiger Leaping Gorge. For those of you who are in the know when it comes to geography, the Yangtze is one of the main rivers of China. It originates in the West of China and then flows due south as if it would escape China and drain through Burma into the Indian Ocean. However, there is a place called the Stone Drum where a massive wall of rock forces the Yangtze back onto itself and up to the north again. There is a saying that were it not for the Stone Drum, the waters of the Yangtze would be lost to China forever. It's believable when you see this formidable wall of rock.
But as the Yangtze flows back north into China again, it passes through a gorge made by two 19,000 ft. mountains, Haba Mountain on the Western side, and Yulong Mountain on the Eastern side. These to mountains ensure that the gorge through which the Yangtze flows is as sheer as possible. The trail we took through this spectacular gorge followed the Western and less steep side of the gorge. Usually we were walking about a thousand feet above the river, which was still visible however, directly below us. The trail makes a triangle of sorts, rising until about halfway and then descending for the rest of the time. Often as we walked we were in the shadow of Yulong mountain. It was amazing to see this mountain rise out of the gorge in dramatic cliffs upon which nothing could grow, nor any snow could hang. The clouds, moving from the east, came over the mountains casting moving shadows along out trail.
I was actually surprised by the lack of development this trail has received. It's never a rough or impassible trail, but it is not your typical Chinese tourist spot with marble stairs ensuring you never get your feet dirty. There are guest houses dotted along the way, but seeing as they are in villages which have probably been living on the edge of the gorge for a long time, it is understandable that they profit a little off the tourism. Besides, the guest houses have fairly good food and wonderful beds. You forget that you are hiking around in the wilderness of Himalayan foothills, what with your warm showers, your heated bed, and your cup of fresh coffee (which really wasn't that good, but I had not partaken of that wonderful beverage for a week, so it seemed better than it should have).
The wildlife in the gorge is apparently diverse, although I was only witness to small forms of this. There were many goats which looked like normal goats but behaved like mountain goats, throwing themselves carelessly over the edges of cliffs and running about like I often do (with what some might call a death wish). There were also many little birds which I think were either Thrushes or some species of sparrow (both wild guesses made in order to convince the ornithologists amongst you that I do not know what I am doing). They made a strange clicking noise and had tails which stuck up awkwardly behind them. Also there were snakes. On our way into the gorge (driving) we say several fellows selling large dead serpents for eating purposes. However as I was hiking, I suddenly came upon a big green snake--maybe four feet or more in length and as thick as my wrist--sunning itself. I'm not an especially brave person, so I did not undertake hand-to-hand combat with the beast, but rather let it slip away off the cliff to some unknown den where it probably digested less fortunate tourists. At the next village I asked one of the old men who looked like he would know if the snakes of the region were dangerous. He assured me that they were most definitely not. But when I described the particular creature I had seen, his face grew solemn and even a little pale and he told me not to "mess with the vile thing" (in Chinese of course).
After this, I was on the look out for more green death snakes.
There are also many locals trying to make a little cash by offering to give you rides on their "very good" horses--usually at the steepest portions of the trail. Usually at the peak of ever large rise you would find a little hut with water bottles, fresh fruit on ice, and of course Snickers. Actually by the time I had finished with my journey through the gorge, I was edgily searching the high cliff walls for Snickers' logo to be engraved or carved into some forest. Apparently the candy bar sponsors this gorge. So if you ever have the chance to hike Tiger Leaping Gorge, be sure to purchase a goodly amount of Snickers so that the gorge may continue to exist in its pristine state.
Phil.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Yi Villager Who Secretly Is World Traveler:
Rabid dogs have been no match for me, nor have the evil serpents of the Yunnanese Jungles. Yes, I emerge victorious and safe after a week of awful battle with Nature.
If this cryptic sort of commentary is not to your liking, I will modify it for a second to explain more clearly just what I have been doing as of lately. For the last week, I have been, with all of my other classmates and teachers from our program, wandering around in the mountains and countryside north of Lijiang (丽江), the tourist capital of northwest Yunnan.
Lijiang city itself is somewhat of a letdown, being a normal city surrounding the baited trap of "old town." This "old town" consists of refurbished old style Chinese houses which now house stores geared entirely toward selling cheap, imitation, and often completely spurious goods to the thousands of naive tourists who traipse around its narrow streets feeling like they've actually been somewhere different from their modern cities. They would most likely have done better to stay where they were and have a good meal.
But one must not get stuck on the grime which lies on the floor, so we look up, up to the horizon. Lijiang, however weak its here-and-now is, is set in one of the most picturesque plains I have ever seen. It rests at the end of the foothills which lead to the Jade Dragon Snow Mountain range in the north. From most places in the city, the peaks of this range loom over you ominously. Unlike the most of the larger mountains in Washington, these peaks are much more sheer and have more exposed rock. They are also a good deal taller, the highest (Yulong Peak) being some 19,200 ft. Lijiang is not a low-lying city either, being somewhere around 10,000 ft. above sea level.
Luckily it was part of our itinerary to venture out of this dismal city into the beautiful countryside. After spending a day in Lijiang we headed towards the mountains. We hiked up and over one of the main ridges to the mountains and into a valley with a small fading lake. Around the lake were dotted several small groupings of houses, constituting the disperse village of Wenhai. Here we stayed at a lodge recently built by the villagers to attract more tourism. I would say without hesitation that this is one of the most beautiful villages I have ever set eyes upon. The fields and terraces that retreated up the ravines of the surrounding villages were all a vibrant green, and the ridges became so steep as they went up as to reveal sheer cliffs on almost every side. And of course there were the Jade Dragon Snow Mountains, closer than ever, hanging over the valley.
I actually had the opportunity to hike up fairly close to these peaks with one of my classmates and a man who writes for National Geographic named Paddy. On our way up we passed through forests like I have never seen before. There were entire glades of azalea trees whose pink and white flowers not only tinted the ground, but perfumed the entire hillside. From this we climbed through a forest of Rhododendron trees which were as big as large apple trees. This was not something I would necessarily have noted, but Paddy, being the fountain of knowledge he proved to be, told us that Rhododendron's do not generally become large trees. So I relate the discovery to you.
Eventually we emerged on the high altitude meadows that covered the shoulders of the ridge. From there, enduring a tearing wind, we could see a panorama not often witnessed. To the north and west we could see down the various valleys into what was the massive gorge of the Yangtze. To the south and east was the vast Lijiang plain with its city sprawling out of it. To the southwest the ridges dropped rapidly into the Wenhai bowl and to our northeast rose the absolutely massive point of Yulong Mountain.
Various villages could be seen perched on the descending ridges with their green fields and the occasional creeks which carved grooves as they slid down the hillsides. I would guess we were at some 12,000 ft. of elevation, and we were pretty much onto the lowest sides of the Jade Dragon Snow Mountain range. While the peaks did not actually prove to be made of Jade, I did find several bright green marble-like shards of stone on our way down. Paddy claimed they were not Jade or any valuable stone, but I suspected this was a maneuver on his part to con me into throwing away my fortune. I saw him pack his pockets with the stones as I did. (They are definitely worthless, as I have found out by now, but are still really cool looking and count as a good souvenir, being a legitimate part of the Jade Dragon Snow Mountains.)
On our way down, we came to our first encounter with rabid dogs. Three vile looking beasts tried to venture against us as we were crossing an open field, but we drove them off with a hail of rocks (not our green ones). I was feeling fairly manly about this whole episode until we saw the dogs' owner who was hauling a immensely heavy load up the hillside. After exchanging a few words with him, I came to the conclusion that the dogs were neither rabid nor driven off by us, but obedient and protective to this their master. Oh well, at least I imagined to have an adventure for some moments.
I will conclude with yet one more anecdote. Right before Paddy and I started climbing the mountain we passed through a small Yi minority village which consisted of two houses. We stopped on the larger of the two, and after fending off more raging dogs, conversed with the inhabitants for a bit. It turns out that they were one of the richer families in the area and the Grandma still retained almost all of her old customs. She had strange dot tattoos on her hands which in essence a serial number--she had been sold as a slave when she was a young girl and the tattoos were so that her real parents could recognize her if they ever found her again. Strange custom. However her son, who was already in his thirties and married with a son, was an equally interesting person. While we were talking with him, he suddenly decided to mention that he had recently been gallivanting around New York City.
The conversation went something like this (in Chinese of course):
Us: "Are you a farmer?"
Yi Villager Who Secretly Is World Traveler: "Yes, I've got crops on this side of the valley."
Us: "Is farming difficult here?"
Yi Villager Who Secretly Is World Traveler: "Not really. We have plenty of water and the soil is good."
Us: "How long have the terraced fields been on the hillside?"
Yi Villager Who Secretly Is World Traveler:"Not long."
Us (surprised): "Really? That's odd. We thought they were thousands of years old."
Yi Villager Who Secretly Is World Traveler: "Yeah, that's what most Chinese people want foreigners to believe, but last time I was in New York I visited Central Park and some of the landscaping there inspired me..."
Apparently, this Yi man had recently been taken to New York by the Nature Conservancy, which does work in the area. It turns out that no matter how far you venture into the depths of the wilderness and what is seemingly so disconnected from the world, there are all still connections to all that you might think you have left behind.
Tomorrow I shall regale you with tales of my trek through the shadows of Tiger Leaping Gorge. Have a good night or morning or afternoon depending on when this reaches you, and of course, do not take the wonders of communication for granted.
Phil.
If this cryptic sort of commentary is not to your liking, I will modify it for a second to explain more clearly just what I have been doing as of lately. For the last week, I have been, with all of my other classmates and teachers from our program, wandering around in the mountains and countryside north of Lijiang (丽江), the tourist capital of northwest Yunnan.
Lijiang city itself is somewhat of a letdown, being a normal city surrounding the baited trap of "old town." This "old town" consists of refurbished old style Chinese houses which now house stores geared entirely toward selling cheap, imitation, and often completely spurious goods to the thousands of naive tourists who traipse around its narrow streets feeling like they've actually been somewhere different from their modern cities. They would most likely have done better to stay where they were and have a good meal.
But one must not get stuck on the grime which lies on the floor, so we look up, up to the horizon. Lijiang, however weak its here-and-now is, is set in one of the most picturesque plains I have ever seen. It rests at the end of the foothills which lead to the Jade Dragon Snow Mountain range in the north. From most places in the city, the peaks of this range loom over you ominously. Unlike the most of the larger mountains in Washington, these peaks are much more sheer and have more exposed rock. They are also a good deal taller, the highest (Yulong Peak) being some 19,200 ft. Lijiang is not a low-lying city either, being somewhere around 10,000 ft. above sea level.
Luckily it was part of our itinerary to venture out of this dismal city into the beautiful countryside. After spending a day in Lijiang we headed towards the mountains. We hiked up and over one of the main ridges to the mountains and into a valley with a small fading lake. Around the lake were dotted several small groupings of houses, constituting the disperse village of Wenhai. Here we stayed at a lodge recently built by the villagers to attract more tourism. I would say without hesitation that this is one of the most beautiful villages I have ever set eyes upon. The fields and terraces that retreated up the ravines of the surrounding villages were all a vibrant green, and the ridges became so steep as they went up as to reveal sheer cliffs on almost every side. And of course there were the Jade Dragon Snow Mountains, closer than ever, hanging over the valley.
I actually had the opportunity to hike up fairly close to these peaks with one of my classmates and a man who writes for National Geographic named Paddy. On our way up we passed through forests like I have never seen before. There were entire glades of azalea trees whose pink and white flowers not only tinted the ground, but perfumed the entire hillside. From this we climbed through a forest of Rhododendron trees which were as big as large apple trees. This was not something I would necessarily have noted, but Paddy, being the fountain of knowledge he proved to be, told us that Rhododendron's do not generally become large trees. So I relate the discovery to you.
Eventually we emerged on the high altitude meadows that covered the shoulders of the ridge. From there, enduring a tearing wind, we could see a panorama not often witnessed. To the north and west we could see down the various valleys into what was the massive gorge of the Yangtze. To the south and east was the vast Lijiang plain with its city sprawling out of it. To the southwest the ridges dropped rapidly into the Wenhai bowl and to our northeast rose the absolutely massive point of Yulong Mountain.
Various villages could be seen perched on the descending ridges with their green fields and the occasional creeks which carved grooves as they slid down the hillsides. I would guess we were at some 12,000 ft. of elevation, and we were pretty much onto the lowest sides of the Jade Dragon Snow Mountain range. While the peaks did not actually prove to be made of Jade, I did find several bright green marble-like shards of stone on our way down. Paddy claimed they were not Jade or any valuable stone, but I suspected this was a maneuver on his part to con me into throwing away my fortune. I saw him pack his pockets with the stones as I did. (They are definitely worthless, as I have found out by now, but are still really cool looking and count as a good souvenir, being a legitimate part of the Jade Dragon Snow Mountains.)
On our way down, we came to our first encounter with rabid dogs. Three vile looking beasts tried to venture against us as we were crossing an open field, but we drove them off with a hail of rocks (not our green ones). I was feeling fairly manly about this whole episode until we saw the dogs' owner who was hauling a immensely heavy load up the hillside. After exchanging a few words with him, I came to the conclusion that the dogs were neither rabid nor driven off by us, but obedient and protective to this their master. Oh well, at least I imagined to have an adventure for some moments.
I will conclude with yet one more anecdote. Right before Paddy and I started climbing the mountain we passed through a small Yi minority village which consisted of two houses. We stopped on the larger of the two, and after fending off more raging dogs, conversed with the inhabitants for a bit. It turns out that they were one of the richer families in the area and the Grandma still retained almost all of her old customs. She had strange dot tattoos on her hands which in essence a serial number--she had been sold as a slave when she was a young girl and the tattoos were so that her real parents could recognize her if they ever found her again. Strange custom. However her son, who was already in his thirties and married with a son, was an equally interesting person. While we were talking with him, he suddenly decided to mention that he had recently been gallivanting around New York City.
The conversation went something like this (in Chinese of course):
Us: "Are you a farmer?"
Yi Villager Who Secretly Is World Traveler: "Yes, I've got crops on this side of the valley."
Us: "Is farming difficult here?"
Yi Villager Who Secretly Is World Traveler: "Not really. We have plenty of water and the soil is good."
Us: "How long have the terraced fields been on the hillside?"
Yi Villager Who Secretly Is World Traveler:"Not long."
Us (surprised): "Really? That's odd. We thought they were thousands of years old."
Yi Villager Who Secretly Is World Traveler: "Yeah, that's what most Chinese people want foreigners to believe, but last time I was in New York I visited Central Park and some of the landscaping there inspired me..."
Apparently, this Yi man had recently been taken to New York by the Nature Conservancy, which does work in the area. It turns out that no matter how far you venture into the depths of the wilderness and what is seemingly so disconnected from the world, there are all still connections to all that you might think you have left behind.
Tomorrow I shall regale you with tales of my trek through the shadows of Tiger Leaping Gorge. Have a good night or morning or afternoon depending on when this reaches you, and of course, do not take the wonders of communication for granted.
Phil.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Almost a Movie Star
There are many experiences which creep up behind one who is in a foreign country, and often these experiences like to give you a good strong whack on the back of your head. However, there are also times when you see something shiny on the ground and reach down to pick it up while the experience goes flying off over your head without you ever knowing how close you came.
This has been the method of my experience with becoming a Chinese movie star. I had, before arriving in China, contemplated using that beautiful asset of mine: my luscious hair--not my words. The Chinese, though many of you may find this difficult to believe, have been starved of almost all exposure to my amazing "do". This being the deplorable state of affairs in China, I had imagined that it might be advantageous to grace as many souls as possible with my presence--even if this be on the silver screen. Indeed I became convinced that this was my duty.
Therefore it did not come as a surprise to me, when a young woman in one of the cafes which I frequent came up to me and asked me to star in the next Chinese blockbuster. Of course she was far too coy to phrase the question in such a blunt manner, instead she asked me if I knew any others foreigners who wanted to be in a movie. Being the savvy person I am, I immediately saw through her politeness, for what she really wanted was: to get this amazing 头发 (toufa, which means hair in Chinese) on the screen. I graciously inclined and said I would love to star in her movie.
Apparently this young woman was struck dumb by the power of the hair; it was some time before she responded--she feigned like she was laughing at something in order to cover her exuberance. However she said should would love to have me in the movie. But this is where I began to doubt the veracity of her project, I began to doubt if she was even Chinese. In repyling, she used the Chinese word for extra rather than the word for star which she clearly intended. Language differences are very frustrating.
She gave me her card and asked me to conscript some other foreigners who I assumed she needed to play supporting to me. The young woman (Jasmine by name) apparently was rather more skittish than not, for she seemed offended when I started calling her with ideas for the script--true, I had not yet had a chance to cast my eyes on this document, but I nonetheless know the essentials which every movie must have: large explosions with lettered noises like in the old batman show, swords, a villain who has his face burned off by acid (lava is also acceptable), and of course a healthy dose of ninjas. Particularly special among my suggestions where the idea that she should have a scene of me flying through the sky fighting with large pterodactyls. However, as I have said, Jasmine is a skittish girl. She actually began to express disapproval at my many suggestions (mostly this was when I called her in the wee hours of the night with a particularly brilliant thought like the pterodactyls or fiber-optic cameras in my hair). I suppose this was just jealousy. But after all Jasmine, we cannot all have beautiful, wavy locks of manly hair.
But as they say Hell has a furious lot of women in it (or something like that) so apparently Jasmine feels some kinship with those lost females--she changed her phone number. With that small fizzle in the air of the electronic world, all of China lost what might have been one of its best chances for enlightenment. Confucius was lucky, he had not the 头发 of an American.
Some good though has come out of all this loss: I discovered China's healthy illegal DVD market. This should certainly be listed as one of the great wonders of the world. For something less than a dollar I can buy movies which have not yet come out in the theaters back home, or are just arriving. It was this discover which brought me safely through the last weekend's sickness, although I do not think I shall be watching any movies for a while. Between Jasmine's abandonment of me and the twenty odd films that stood by me through the gastrointestinally troubled nights of this last weekend, I am a trifle soured on the glitz and glamor of the film industry.
In a brief bit of news, I shall be depriving even you, the faithful American public, of my presence for the next week. I go on matter of the gravest import to crawl about among the high mountain passes of the Himalaya. If I am not eaten by rabid dogs, you will all hear from me again for sooner than you wish.
Phil.
This has been the method of my experience with becoming a Chinese movie star. I had, before arriving in China, contemplated using that beautiful asset of mine: my luscious hair--not my words. The Chinese, though many of you may find this difficult to believe, have been starved of almost all exposure to my amazing "do". This being the deplorable state of affairs in China, I had imagined that it might be advantageous to grace as many souls as possible with my presence--even if this be on the silver screen. Indeed I became convinced that this was my duty.
Therefore it did not come as a surprise to me, when a young woman in one of the cafes which I frequent came up to me and asked me to star in the next Chinese blockbuster. Of course she was far too coy to phrase the question in such a blunt manner, instead she asked me if I knew any others foreigners who wanted to be in a movie. Being the savvy person I am, I immediately saw through her politeness, for what she really wanted was: to get this amazing 头发 (toufa, which means hair in Chinese) on the screen. I graciously inclined and said I would love to star in her movie.
Apparently this young woman was struck dumb by the power of the hair; it was some time before she responded--she feigned like she was laughing at something in order to cover her exuberance. However she said should would love to have me in the movie. But this is where I began to doubt the veracity of her project, I began to doubt if she was even Chinese. In repyling, she used the Chinese word for extra rather than the word for star which she clearly intended. Language differences are very frustrating.
She gave me her card and asked me to conscript some other foreigners who I assumed she needed to play supporting to me. The young woman (Jasmine by name) apparently was rather more skittish than not, for she seemed offended when I started calling her with ideas for the script--true, I had not yet had a chance to cast my eyes on this document, but I nonetheless know the essentials which every movie must have: large explosions with lettered noises like in the old batman show, swords, a villain who has his face burned off by acid (lava is also acceptable), and of course a healthy dose of ninjas. Particularly special among my suggestions where the idea that she should have a scene of me flying through the sky fighting with large pterodactyls. However, as I have said, Jasmine is a skittish girl. She actually began to express disapproval at my many suggestions (mostly this was when I called her in the wee hours of the night with a particularly brilliant thought like the pterodactyls or fiber-optic cameras in my hair). I suppose this was just jealousy. But after all Jasmine, we cannot all have beautiful, wavy locks of manly hair.
But as they say Hell has a furious lot of women in it (or something like that) so apparently Jasmine feels some kinship with those lost females--she changed her phone number. With that small fizzle in the air of the electronic world, all of China lost what might have been one of its best chances for enlightenment. Confucius was lucky, he had not the 头发 of an American.
Some good though has come out of all this loss: I discovered China's healthy illegal DVD market. This should certainly be listed as one of the great wonders of the world. For something less than a dollar I can buy movies which have not yet come out in the theaters back home, or are just arriving. It was this discover which brought me safely through the last weekend's sickness, although I do not think I shall be watching any movies for a while. Between Jasmine's abandonment of me and the twenty odd films that stood by me through the gastrointestinally troubled nights of this last weekend, I am a trifle soured on the glitz and glamor of the film industry.
In a brief bit of news, I shall be depriving even you, the faithful American public, of my presence for the next week. I go on matter of the gravest import to crawl about among the high mountain passes of the Himalaya. If I am not eaten by rabid dogs, you will all hear from me again for sooner than you wish.
Phil.
Monday, April 9, 2007
Blowing Our Teacher's Mind
So, many of you have probably seen the famous picture of Tienanmen Square where the guy is standing in the road with his hand out, about to be rolled over by a row of large tanks...Sorry I couldn't get a better version, but I am hiding behind the Great Firewall of China.General knowledge in the States says that the poor guy was flattened flatter than flat things that are flat, while the tanks kept rolling on, presumably to flatten other people into flat things. All of this of course raises the important question, did these people--tank drivers or now-presumably-flat people, eat pancakes for breakfast? But aside from that lighter note, there is another important question: was anybody actually run over?
It will come as no surprise to you that my Chinese teacher was shocked into stuttering when we (me and my classmates) boldly asserted that the man in the picture had been ruthlessly turned into a pancake. She claimed that he had walked away. Of course, us being the brilliant and informed, unbiased, and pure champions of truth throughout the world, we of course informed her that she didn't know what was going on in her own country and that she was wrong. We said, it was quite clear from the picture that the fellow had not faired well. She eventually came round to see our point of view.
However, there is some sort of catch. See, I had the misfortune a few days before this to be reading in one of our illustrious textbooks for our history class here, and this textbook (published in America, imported by our program) had the same picture in it. Thing was, the caption said something entirely different. The caption said that the man had held the tanks at bay, tempting fate, for several seconds before being rushed off by his friends and hid. No one knows what became of him.
Now you may begin to see what I'm getting at here. It's very well and good for me to say that I know that at Tienanmen there was this massacre and a whole bunch of people where killed, including this one fellow who was run over by a tank. However, it seems just as well that this young woman who teaches us Chinese can also say that the man was not run over. While my classmates and I were jumping around ridiculing her government for its horrible practices, noting her own ignorance on these matters (due of course to a government which censors everything) and finally explaining to her what really happened, it seems we might have been just as much dupes as we pitied her for being. We make a choice, right? We choose to believe a story. I wouldn't ever say that this means there isn't any version of the story that is correct--there is.
Not that we are dupes of any particular government or organization, but simply dupes of ourselves. It's nice and hunky dory to imagine that we have this conception of how things worked in some other country many years ago, but conceptions like these happen to be built on a fairly shaky mesh of rumors. Why is my classmate's firm belief that the guy in the photo was flattened not as naive as my teacher's belief that he wasn't? In her case the obvious answer is, well the Chinese government is telling her the story which makes it look the best; as for my classmates, it seems that they got there story from...from where? From people who were at odds or at least have some interest in making the Chinese government appear less than pristine.
But someone is asking, what does it matter? Who cares whether this one guy was run over or not, the point is that there was a massacre at Tienanmen. Yes, I'm not doubting that. But it seems to me it's more than easy for us to hold up China and say "Ah, this land--they have no rights, or they don't have the same rights, they don't have freedom." The funny thing is, when I've asked people, they all say of course they have freedom. It's almost an insulting question. If you think that isn't so, take a moment to ponder the feelings that have been going through your mind for the past few paragraphs. I've almost been saying that you don't have freedom.
The Tienanmen case is just a sign of the larger issue at hand: almost every time we come to discuss media, governments, economics, or freedoms in class, the lines are drawn. My teacher on one side, fairly loudly defending her country, and my classmates on the other telling her how the government in China is 1984's Big Brother. In fact, almost all the terms my classmates use at some point come from this book or the conspiracy theories around it. They say that China's government doesn't allow free speech (it owns all media outlets), that it censors books, movies, and other things far too heavily, that they have been brutalizing and arresting people who protest. My teacher's answers are always logical arguments that just happen to fit our conception of someone who has been duped by the government. She says if they did that it was for the good of everyone, or if they do this it is for the greater safety of the population. I really don't like these sorts of arguments--but that's because I have this inbred distrust of the government. I'm not going to blame George Orwell, although perhaps I should, but I wish I could go back before that book was published and so how much this distrust of the government was alive in people.
You can see the same sort of confusion over issues when religion enters the picture. It doesn't take long to realize that there are a whole bunch of people out there peddling the line that religion in China is as free as anywhere else in the world. But there are just as many, if not more, going around bewailing the dangerous and threats and curtailments of religious freedom in China. I've talked with citizens here who tell me that there is nothing more free than religion in China, that even those once furtive "house churches" are coming out into the open and not being troubled in the least. But I've talked to people who tell me the exact opposite. That they are in extreme danger, that they have to move every year in order to avoid persecution, and that they often experience mistreatment at the hands of officials. Tell me which one you believe...why? I often find I believe whichever viewpoint I believe because it's the most pleasant one. That makes sense, yeah?
If there is a point here, it's probably this: that everybody wants to think there government is not as bad as everyone else's. And that when you come down to it, we don't have too much to go on either way. The question comes down to who I'm going to believe for my facts, because inevitably I have to believe somebody.
Saturday, April 7, 2007
No More Cultural Differences
Well, my record had been perfect, I had been free from all adverse affects of sickness since my arrival in China, but that is all in the past tense now. Not wanting to have to summon up the horrible details in my own mind, I'll spare all of you these. Just imagine the worst case of flu you've ever had and then magnify it by the China factor (everything is bigger and badder here). It was not a pleasant weekend, despite being Easter. Due to my illness the only service I was able to make it to was Good Friday's. This however was an experience in and of itself.
Even allowing for quite a bit of culture differences, I was somewhat disturbed by this service. For those of you who may be slightly uncertain on the facts, Good Friday is the most solemn service of the whole year, with good reason. However, apparently in China, the service serves the purpose of being a photo-op as well. While the people did actually stop short of shouting, "Hey, get me with the priest!" there were more than enough flashes going off. But, I understand there are cultural differences. Apparently the priests understood too for they did not seem to be irritated or even thrown off their beat by the camera flashes. I have a fair amount of respect for these priests, they put up with quite a bit. Of course, since they are Chinese, you must simply say that they are used to things which I would call "Cultural difference."
However, one does have to wonder, does being cut in line involve cultural differences? Maybe at the bank or a grocery store, but when you are in line to go up to the cross on Good Friday? I have not so much faith in cultural differences. I was sitting fairly far back at mass when that time to head up to the cross came around, I was ready to follow in line like always. However that apparently is not how they do it. First there was an uncertain pause, as the people up front apparently were not sure what to do. Then there was a general rush as everyone in the church mobbed the cross hoping to get in and out before the other Schmoes. Not a pretty sight.
I took it all in stride though, simply saying "cultural differences." But there came a point when I was wedged in line between the old guy who was holding a voluble conversation with the young woman behind me, when all of a sudden a family decided that I had usurped my position in line and was no longer deserving of it. Yes, indeed, I was cut in line going up to the cross on Good Friday. And this was no small cut either, the people who cut had been standing some thirty feet behind me. But really this didn't matter, since almost immediately after a priest got on a loudspeaker and said that everything was taking to long, so everybody should hurry it up a bit. After this the line went into double time. "Cultural differences," while a wonderful term, is only capable of explaining away so much. I do not quite understand how one can explain such actions by cultural differences. It seems to me if you have a clue about the purpose of all this, the rushing to get into line first would not be terribly important.
Communion after this was held along the same general principles: a general scramble to get up to the priest before...before what? It's not like mass suddenly ended as soon as you got communion, not at all. Everyone (mostly everyone) stayed until mass was actually over, so what was the point?
Perhaps I'm being too touchy. Or maybe it is the residue of being sick which is making me a little argumentative. But I don't think I'm as willing to accept "Cultural differences" as an explanation of things which I do not understand anymore.
Even allowing for quite a bit of culture differences, I was somewhat disturbed by this service. For those of you who may be slightly uncertain on the facts, Good Friday is the most solemn service of the whole year, with good reason. However, apparently in China, the service serves the purpose of being a photo-op as well. While the people did actually stop short of shouting, "Hey, get me with the priest!" there were more than enough flashes going off. But, I understand there are cultural differences. Apparently the priests understood too for they did not seem to be irritated or even thrown off their beat by the camera flashes. I have a fair amount of respect for these priests, they put up with quite a bit. Of course, since they are Chinese, you must simply say that they are used to things which I would call "Cultural difference."
However, one does have to wonder, does being cut in line involve cultural differences? Maybe at the bank or a grocery store, but when you are in line to go up to the cross on Good Friday? I have not so much faith in cultural differences. I was sitting fairly far back at mass when that time to head up to the cross came around, I was ready to follow in line like always. However that apparently is not how they do it. First there was an uncertain pause, as the people up front apparently were not sure what to do. Then there was a general rush as everyone in the church mobbed the cross hoping to get in and out before the other Schmoes. Not a pretty sight.
I took it all in stride though, simply saying "cultural differences." But there came a point when I was wedged in line between the old guy who was holding a voluble conversation with the young woman behind me, when all of a sudden a family decided that I had usurped my position in line and was no longer deserving of it. Yes, indeed, I was cut in line going up to the cross on Good Friday. And this was no small cut either, the people who cut had been standing some thirty feet behind me. But really this didn't matter, since almost immediately after a priest got on a loudspeaker and said that everything was taking to long, so everybody should hurry it up a bit. After this the line went into double time. "Cultural differences," while a wonderful term, is only capable of explaining away so much. I do not quite understand how one can explain such actions by cultural differences. It seems to me if you have a clue about the purpose of all this, the rushing to get into line first would not be terribly important.
Communion after this was held along the same general principles: a general scramble to get up to the priest before...before what? It's not like mass suddenly ended as soon as you got communion, not at all. Everyone (mostly everyone) stayed until mass was actually over, so what was the point?
Perhaps I'm being too touchy. Or maybe it is the residue of being sick which is making me a little argumentative. But I don't think I'm as willing to accept "Cultural differences" as an explanation of things which I do not understand anymore.
Thursday, April 5, 2007
The New Stars of Food Preparation
Today I did something which I rarely do even in America, I went to Pizza Hut. Now, you may be wondering why I would abuse you to such an extent, telling you even about my most mundane trips to a fast food restaurant--wonder no more. Some of you may have heard rumors that the major fast food labels have a different sort of appeal over here on the other side of the Pacific. You may have even herd rumors of these normally "lowest of the low" being something entirely different out of the shadow of the Great American Government. This is true, but how true, I had no idea. I too had heard rumors that the American fast food establishments here were more akin to fancy restaurants than your grab and go grease-bomb food.
My first clue that things were slightly amiss was learning the location of these fast food emporiums. In Kunming, they only have a limited number of American fast food spots (KFC, Pizza Hut, MacDonalds, and I've heard but not corroborated rumors of Burger King). Imagine my surprise when I learned that these restaurants, being birds of a feather, had flocked together, but in THE major downtown square. Now you may be thinking "So what, who cares whether KFC is by the regional headquarters of the First Chinese Bank or not?" Well, let me give you the shocking details: this square, being the posh sort of place it is, has no automobile traffic. Yes, if you can imagine it, there are no drive-through's or even parking lots at KFC, Pizza Hut, or even MacDonalds!
Now, if you have recovered from this shocker, I will continue on. But I warn you, it is not going to be easy. There are things even more disturbing than a MacDonald's without a drive-through. As I said, I went to Pizza Hut. We were walking by the side of the building, on our way to the front door, and I couldn't help but notice that the place actually looked like a respectable restaurant. Looks can be deceiving however. For after we got in, I discovered that Pizza Hut in China is not a respectable restaurant--it is a palace! The interior had been done up like it was some sort of fashionable mix between the nicest Starbucks you've ever been in, and cheesily Italian restaurant someplace where there has never been an Italian.
They were even playing some brand of bad jazz music in the background. Have you ever been to a Pizza Hut which played any kind of Jazz at all? It's almost an oxymoron. But I have yet to reveal the biggest shock of all: the food was actually delicious. I understand that I am most likely suffering from some version of home-sickness which predisposes me to American styles of cooking before I even begin to eat, but the food at this Pizza Hut was genuinely good.
I regret to inform you that I in all likelihood will never frequent this fine establishment again, but this is merely due to the unhappy occasion that it's prices are the one thing which did not change for the better in the journey across the ocean. But I will never forget: Pizza Hut's, like all fast food restaurants, restaurants too. Just because they have the unfortunate title of "fast food" doesn't mean they can't dress themselves up every once in a while and go out for a night on the town. Pizza Hut's have feelings too, so next time you pass one of their more seedy little brothers in the States, remember: in a different land, in a different culture, they are the stars of food preparation.
Phil.
My first clue that things were slightly amiss was learning the location of these fast food emporiums. In Kunming, they only have a limited number of American fast food spots (KFC, Pizza Hut, MacDonalds, and I've heard but not corroborated rumors of Burger King). Imagine my surprise when I learned that these restaurants, being birds of a feather, had flocked together, but in THE major downtown square. Now you may be thinking "So what, who cares whether KFC is by the regional headquarters of the First Chinese Bank or not?" Well, let me give you the shocking details: this square, being the posh sort of place it is, has no automobile traffic. Yes, if you can imagine it, there are no drive-through's or even parking lots at KFC, Pizza Hut, or even MacDonalds!
Now, if you have recovered from this shocker, I will continue on. But I warn you, it is not going to be easy. There are things even more disturbing than a MacDonald's without a drive-through. As I said, I went to Pizza Hut. We were walking by the side of the building, on our way to the front door, and I couldn't help but notice that the place actually looked like a respectable restaurant. Looks can be deceiving however. For after we got in, I discovered that Pizza Hut in China is not a respectable restaurant--it is a palace! The interior had been done up like it was some sort of fashionable mix between the nicest Starbucks you've ever been in, and cheesily Italian restaurant someplace where there has never been an Italian.
They were even playing some brand of bad jazz music in the background. Have you ever been to a Pizza Hut which played any kind of Jazz at all? It's almost an oxymoron. But I have yet to reveal the biggest shock of all: the food was actually delicious. I understand that I am most likely suffering from some version of home-sickness which predisposes me to American styles of cooking before I even begin to eat, but the food at this Pizza Hut was genuinely good.
I regret to inform you that I in all likelihood will never frequent this fine establishment again, but this is merely due to the unhappy occasion that it's prices are the one thing which did not change for the better in the journey across the ocean. But I will never forget: Pizza Hut's, like all fast food restaurants, restaurants too. Just because they have the unfortunate title of "fast food" doesn't mean they can't dress themselves up every once in a while and go out for a night on the town. Pizza Hut's have feelings too, so next time you pass one of their more seedy little brothers in the States, remember: in a different land, in a different culture, they are the stars of food preparation.
Phil.
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
Old People Dancing
Well, heavy weather lightens the mood. Today was officially my first day of rain in Kunming. For those of you in Washington State, this will come as a somewhat envious statement. But to tell you the truth, I couldn't have been more happy to have some rain. Things where getting a little bit dry around here.
And perhaps it is fitting that I take time on the one day when no one is dancing in the local park, to tell you about the people dancing in the local park. My school is not terribly far from a large park. The park, Green Lake Park, is like it sounds, a park with green lakes. Lakes is a term which is used with no little amount of poetic license, but such usages are more than acceptable here in China. By lake the Chinese usually mean some pit, fenced in by large stone walls which contains stagnant, dirty, foul smelling and otherwise obnoxious substances which have been called water (mostly by people who are unaware what water actually is). Green Lake Park is divided into three separate lakes by many wonderful walkways and plazas. At the time of my visit, one of these lakes has been drained, ostensibly because the water was too dirty. This is a very large step for the Chinese authorities: actually recognizing the possibility that water does indeed become dirty...something almost unheard of here. So you might currently call Green Lake Park the Park With Two Green Lakes and one Brown Swamp.
Concerning the one brown swamp: there are several small birds which seem not yet to have realized that this lake is no longer a lake, no longer a suitable habitation for any sort of fowl. These birds are obviously of the younger "Punk" generation which has yet to realize the futility of struggle. Currently they are busily "sticking it to the man" or Gander as is more appropriate in this case. While I do applaud their fervor and gusto, I do not see the wisdom in covering oneself with horrible smelling mud and floundering around like some nasty species of bullfrog when one is a perfectly sound waterfowl capable of flight. At least they were capable of flight at one point, I think the mud has so clogged their feathers, they shall be doomed to their swampy existence forever. And I have a feeling the older members of the aviary community at Green Lake Park take the high road when it comes to these "Punks." The high road being a stolid course of ignoring the little turds and living it up while their intolerable presence has been removed.
But surely you would like to know more about this park than its bird-life. During the day, the park is what you would expect of any park: full of tourists, people trying to sell miscellaneous articles of jewelry, produce and handicraft, and many shady people who look like the type who would stab you and take your wallet. The tourists can be spotted a mile away, as can the vendors while this last group can often be seen stabbing people and taking their wallets. But it is as evening settles upon the Chinese world that the life of Green Lake Park really begins to soar.
If you happen to be making your way through the park around 6 or 7, you will generally be startled by a course, high pitched screeching which reminds you of a horror film which traumatized your youth. You might have expected that this was a group of the shady people who stab and steal, molesting an undeserving individual, however you would be horribly wrong in such a judgment. How dare you assume that China has such problems?the screeching happens to be a very high class form of Chinese opera. Like anything high class, this singing generally strikes the untrained ear as the most annoying thing on earth. But for those who have taken the time (and endured the torture) long enough, it is supposed to be one of the highest forms of pleasure. Personally, I am content to take their word for this. If you can manage to tune out the wailing of these many amateur vocalists, you will be able to navigate further in to the depths of the Park. And then you'll be in for a wonderful treat.
At these waning hours of the day, the older community of Kunming (much like the older aviary community of Green Lake Park) enjoy their freedom from the younger generation--the opera singers serve a double purpose: their voices are so high pitched they actually attain ranges inaudible to the average sexagenarian's ear, but which prove to be very uncomfortable to those with young ears.
The old people in the park gather in their large groups to dance and frolic free from all cares. Mostly these dances remind me of square dancing back in the states, but occasionally you can see waltzers and perhaps even a salsa or two if you keep your eyes pealed. They use very old boom-boxes to blare music which must be even older. And despite their age they keep up a fast pace, which I would probably be incapable of maintaining. I thought a bit about joining them, but not wanting disturb their perfect tempo, I thought better of it. As you may know, I am not a dancer. No twirling and whirling and prancing for me, I like my music and exercise unadulterated and pure.
If I had a camera, I would have taken a picture. But since it is always dark when the dancing starts, taking a picture would have not achieved anything more than replicating darkness. So for those of you who want me to get a camera, please stop your whining. Have a little respect for yourselves.
Phil.
And perhaps it is fitting that I take time on the one day when no one is dancing in the local park, to tell you about the people dancing in the local park. My school is not terribly far from a large park. The park, Green Lake Park, is like it sounds, a park with green lakes. Lakes is a term which is used with no little amount of poetic license, but such usages are more than acceptable here in China. By lake the Chinese usually mean some pit, fenced in by large stone walls which contains stagnant, dirty, foul smelling and otherwise obnoxious substances which have been called water (mostly by people who are unaware what water actually is). Green Lake Park is divided into three separate lakes by many wonderful walkways and plazas. At the time of my visit, one of these lakes has been drained, ostensibly because the water was too dirty. This is a very large step for the Chinese authorities: actually recognizing the possibility that water does indeed become dirty...something almost unheard of here. So you might currently call Green Lake Park the Park With Two Green Lakes and one Brown Swamp.
Concerning the one brown swamp: there are several small birds which seem not yet to have realized that this lake is no longer a lake, no longer a suitable habitation for any sort of fowl. These birds are obviously of the younger "Punk" generation which has yet to realize the futility of struggle. Currently they are busily "sticking it to the man" or Gander as is more appropriate in this case. While I do applaud their fervor and gusto, I do not see the wisdom in covering oneself with horrible smelling mud and floundering around like some nasty species of bullfrog when one is a perfectly sound waterfowl capable of flight. At least they were capable of flight at one point, I think the mud has so clogged their feathers, they shall be doomed to their swampy existence forever. And I have a feeling the older members of the aviary community at Green Lake Park take the high road when it comes to these "Punks." The high road being a stolid course of ignoring the little turds and living it up while their intolerable presence has been removed.
But surely you would like to know more about this park than its bird-life. During the day, the park is what you would expect of any park: full of tourists, people trying to sell miscellaneous articles of jewelry, produce and handicraft, and many shady people who look like the type who would stab you and take your wallet. The tourists can be spotted a mile away, as can the vendors while this last group can often be seen stabbing people and taking their wallets. But it is as evening settles upon the Chinese world that the life of Green Lake Park really begins to soar.
If you happen to be making your way through the park around 6 or 7, you will generally be startled by a course, high pitched screeching which reminds you of a horror film which traumatized your youth. You might have expected that this was a group of the shady people who stab and steal, molesting an undeserving individual, however you would be horribly wrong in such a judgment. How dare you assume that China has such problems?the screeching happens to be a very high class form of Chinese opera. Like anything high class, this singing generally strikes the untrained ear as the most annoying thing on earth. But for those who have taken the time (and endured the torture) long enough, it is supposed to be one of the highest forms of pleasure. Personally, I am content to take their word for this. If you can manage to tune out the wailing of these many amateur vocalists, you will be able to navigate further in to the depths of the Park. And then you'll be in for a wonderful treat.
At these waning hours of the day, the older community of Kunming (much like the older aviary community of Green Lake Park) enjoy their freedom from the younger generation--the opera singers serve a double purpose: their voices are so high pitched they actually attain ranges inaudible to the average sexagenarian's ear, but which prove to be very uncomfortable to those with young ears.
The old people in the park gather in their large groups to dance and frolic free from all cares. Mostly these dances remind me of square dancing back in the states, but occasionally you can see waltzers and perhaps even a salsa or two if you keep your eyes pealed. They use very old boom-boxes to blare music which must be even older. And despite their age they keep up a fast pace, which I would probably be incapable of maintaining. I thought a bit about joining them, but not wanting disturb their perfect tempo, I thought better of it. As you may know, I am not a dancer. No twirling and whirling and prancing for me, I like my music and exercise unadulterated and pure.
If I had a camera, I would have taken a picture. But since it is always dark when the dancing starts, taking a picture would have not achieved anything more than replicating darkness. So for those of you who want me to get a camera, please stop your whining. Have a little respect for yourselves.
Phil.
Sunday, April 1, 2007
Howard's Questions
AGAIN ANOTHER LONG POST BUT ALSO WORTH IT
READ ONE BEFORE IF YOU HAVEN'T
Last post, when I was talking about the King of Artificial Pig Insemination, I said there was another experience I had with him which disturbed me quite a bit. This is that.
The day we visited the Miao villages, we returned to Jianshui. The night was made weird enough for me by suddenly finding myself in perfect comfort with more than enough food, a comfortable bed, even air-conditioning, while I still knew that the villagers were in the same situation as I saw them earlier in the day. Made it really hard to eat dinner, but being the courageous person I am, I didn't find it too difficult to polish off a dish or two. Think about that one next time you plan on buying me a birthday present.
However dinner was not all a loss. I ended up sitting at Howard's table (our group had around 16 people so we needed two or three tables). At first Howard was polite and only made small talk, but it didn't talk long (or too many beers) for him to begin a train of thought which is mostly responsible for this writing. I thought there was something a little odd going on when I saw him stop a waitress and ask her for a beer before we were even seated. He began by asking us (the three students sitting near him) what our thoughts were on the day. We all gave him our slightly academic and carefully inert answers.
"It's really sad to see their situation, but I think your school is going to help."
"You are giving them a reason to go out and work in the fields everyday. You are giving them hope."
"While it was a little weird, I think it was all worth it because I am so inspired right now."
These sorts of answers were pretty easy to summon up. But we were not giving Howard's intelligence enough credit (something I have a feeling cocky college students are apt to do to anyone who has the accent or appearance of Howard). He began working the conversation around (with the help of much more beer on his side) to a harder question. More and more there would be an awkward silence after one of his questions, simply because none of us had anything near the answer, and were to ashamed to BS one. He started asking us if we thought what he was doing was right. He worried that instead of helping, he was actually destroying these people's lives, or worse, dooming them to their lives forever.
He knows better than I do, that the situation of those Miao villages, if nothing changes, is not sustainable. They are not going to make it--in a hundred years, there will either be no one alive in that valley, or there will have been some sort of miracle. And this is what Howard was worrying about. He's almost finished this new school which is to be the pride and joy of these people, which is to give them something to live for, and where does that leave them? Is it nothing more than a chain by which he has bound these people to the area forever? For now that this school is there, the government is surely not going to abandon the area and move the people out, instead it's going to be more of the same. They are going to have to stay where they are until the last drop of water has been turned to unusable sludge and the last person has dropped dead from some simple malady.
As Howard began expressing his worries to us, he also began to appear more and more drunk. By this point he had had five or six beers (not much in the States) but the Chinese beer bottle is something which makes us look like Barbie-worshiping little pansies. The Chinese beer bottle is at least three times the size of the normal American beer bottle. Most of you know my thoughts about drunkenness, but that's not the point here. Howard was still lucid enough to express (though slurred and shouting) that he was being torn up inside.
If ever there was a person who I thought was not to be this way, it would have been Howard. After all, he had given up his life in the States, he was selflessly giving away large sums of money, seeing tangible results, and here he was--almost on the verge of explosion--telling us that he wasn't sure if he was one of the worst people in the world.
Not only was he worried that he was binding these villagers to a future which was more like doom, but he was also worrying that he was wrecking more than this. The thing is, while he can build schools, he cannot say what is taught in them. Every school he builds becomes a new point of Han majority Communist indoctrination. So while he may be giving these kids an opportunity to escape a life which is horrific, he's wiping out their culture, history, and in some cases personality. I know this is a weird feeling for an American, since our culture changes by the moment and we don't feel especially sad if any part of it suddenly up and walks away (I can name quite a few parts that at this moment would be making me hysterically happy if they were to up and leave), but in those cultures which have been around for a few thousand years, it means a bit more I think.
Howard is genuinely confused about this subject. He doesn't know whether he is doing something good or something bad. He is not sure whether he will be looked back on by history as one of the great destroyers or builders. I don't know what religion Howard prescribes to (he was raised Mormon but abandoned that quite early at the expense of an ongoing relationship with his family--they cut him off, literally), but it was clear that it wasn't giving him any guidance.
In a dark sort of way, it was humorous to watch some of the students at the table argue with him. All the altruism, all the high-minded certainty of a college education does NOT stand up against experience.
Somebody got wise and thought they could cheer him up (a feeling which in my mind is almost as patronizing as they claimed giving the candy to kids in the villages was) by asking Howard if he thought the villagers' situation was better than it had been 15 years ago. Howard, again with his disarming reality, said he didn't have a clue. He'd only been here for three years and didn't know anything about the situation before that. Next logical question was, of course, has their situation improved in these three years that Howard has been so selflessly helping them. Howard's answer, laced with a fair bit of profanity (which he was using well by this time) was "Not a bit."
I don't think anyone is immune to the sort of questions that plagued Howard. But, and this is where I figured it worth telling you, he at least is still doing something. While he has been torn apart by worries that he may be doing more harm than good, he at least has chosen a path and is following it. If you want to think about this sort of stuff, it is inevitable that you can walk yourself in wonderful little circles that successfully keep you from doing anything useful. The trick is to recognize the questions, but not get caught up in asking them. Even though Howard has seen no improvement in the lifestyle of the people he is trying to help, even though the only proof he has that he has been helping is that there are these new buildings with kids going to school in them, he's still going on. I cannot imagine how tough this must be.
He obviously cares enough about these people to be personally vested in them, and yet for all his efforts (which are not small) he has not been given any results, not been given any pat on the back even in the most simply of manners.
My question is this: when is Howard going to tire? When is he going to be fed up with the seeming uselessness of everything he is doing? And what then?
My only consolation at this moment comes from something my former roommate here said: "God did not call us to save the world, only to live a holy life." Whether we see results which make us feel like we are saving the masses from their horrible fate, or whether we think we are simply throwing our money down a chute which resembles a trash can, doesn't much matter. I'm hoping to meet up with Howard again at some point in the future to talk with him a bit more, perhaps he can shed some light on his own predicament.
Phil.
READ ONE BEFORE IF YOU HAVEN'T
Last post, when I was talking about the King of Artificial Pig Insemination, I said there was another experience I had with him which disturbed me quite a bit. This is that.
The day we visited the Miao villages, we returned to Jianshui. The night was made weird enough for me by suddenly finding myself in perfect comfort with more than enough food, a comfortable bed, even air-conditioning, while I still knew that the villagers were in the same situation as I saw them earlier in the day. Made it really hard to eat dinner, but being the courageous person I am, I didn't find it too difficult to polish off a dish or two. Think about that one next time you plan on buying me a birthday present.
However dinner was not all a loss. I ended up sitting at Howard's table (our group had around 16 people so we needed two or three tables). At first Howard was polite and only made small talk, but it didn't talk long (or too many beers) for him to begin a train of thought which is mostly responsible for this writing. I thought there was something a little odd going on when I saw him stop a waitress and ask her for a beer before we were even seated. He began by asking us (the three students sitting near him) what our thoughts were on the day. We all gave him our slightly academic and carefully inert answers.
"It's really sad to see their situation, but I think your school is going to help."
"You are giving them a reason to go out and work in the fields everyday. You are giving them hope."
"While it was a little weird, I think it was all worth it because I am so inspired right now."
These sorts of answers were pretty easy to summon up. But we were not giving Howard's intelligence enough credit (something I have a feeling cocky college students are apt to do to anyone who has the accent or appearance of Howard). He began working the conversation around (with the help of much more beer on his side) to a harder question. More and more there would be an awkward silence after one of his questions, simply because none of us had anything near the answer, and were to ashamed to BS one. He started asking us if we thought what he was doing was right. He worried that instead of helping, he was actually destroying these people's lives, or worse, dooming them to their lives forever.
He knows better than I do, that the situation of those Miao villages, if nothing changes, is not sustainable. They are not going to make it--in a hundred years, there will either be no one alive in that valley, or there will have been some sort of miracle. And this is what Howard was worrying about. He's almost finished this new school which is to be the pride and joy of these people, which is to give them something to live for, and where does that leave them? Is it nothing more than a chain by which he has bound these people to the area forever? For now that this school is there, the government is surely not going to abandon the area and move the people out, instead it's going to be more of the same. They are going to have to stay where they are until the last drop of water has been turned to unusable sludge and the last person has dropped dead from some simple malady.
As Howard began expressing his worries to us, he also began to appear more and more drunk. By this point he had had five or six beers (not much in the States) but the Chinese beer bottle is something which makes us look like Barbie-worshiping little pansies. The Chinese beer bottle is at least three times the size of the normal American beer bottle. Most of you know my thoughts about drunkenness, but that's not the point here. Howard was still lucid enough to express (though slurred and shouting) that he was being torn up inside.
If ever there was a person who I thought was not to be this way, it would have been Howard. After all, he had given up his life in the States, he was selflessly giving away large sums of money, seeing tangible results, and here he was--almost on the verge of explosion--telling us that he wasn't sure if he was one of the worst people in the world.
Not only was he worried that he was binding these villagers to a future which was more like doom, but he was also worrying that he was wrecking more than this. The thing is, while he can build schools, he cannot say what is taught in them. Every school he builds becomes a new point of Han majority Communist indoctrination. So while he may be giving these kids an opportunity to escape a life which is horrific, he's wiping out their culture, history, and in some cases personality. I know this is a weird feeling for an American, since our culture changes by the moment and we don't feel especially sad if any part of it suddenly up and walks away (I can name quite a few parts that at this moment would be making me hysterically happy if they were to up and leave), but in those cultures which have been around for a few thousand years, it means a bit more I think.
Howard is genuinely confused about this subject. He doesn't know whether he is doing something good or something bad. He is not sure whether he will be looked back on by history as one of the great destroyers or builders. I don't know what religion Howard prescribes to (he was raised Mormon but abandoned that quite early at the expense of an ongoing relationship with his family--they cut him off, literally), but it was clear that it wasn't giving him any guidance.
In a dark sort of way, it was humorous to watch some of the students at the table argue with him. All the altruism, all the high-minded certainty of a college education does NOT stand up against experience.
Somebody got wise and thought they could cheer him up (a feeling which in my mind is almost as patronizing as they claimed giving the candy to kids in the villages was) by asking Howard if he thought the villagers' situation was better than it had been 15 years ago. Howard, again with his disarming reality, said he didn't have a clue. He'd only been here for three years and didn't know anything about the situation before that. Next logical question was, of course, has their situation improved in these three years that Howard has been so selflessly helping them. Howard's answer, laced with a fair bit of profanity (which he was using well by this time) was "Not a bit."
I don't think anyone is immune to the sort of questions that plagued Howard. But, and this is where I figured it worth telling you, he at least is still doing something. While he has been torn apart by worries that he may be doing more harm than good, he at least has chosen a path and is following it. If you want to think about this sort of stuff, it is inevitable that you can walk yourself in wonderful little circles that successfully keep you from doing anything useful. The trick is to recognize the questions, but not get caught up in asking them. Even though Howard has seen no improvement in the lifestyle of the people he is trying to help, even though the only proof he has that he has been helping is that there are these new buildings with kids going to school in them, he's still going on. I cannot imagine how tough this must be.
He obviously cares enough about these people to be personally vested in them, and yet for all his efforts (which are not small) he has not been given any results, not been given any pat on the back even in the most simply of manners.
My question is this: when is Howard going to tire? When is he going to be fed up with the seeming uselessness of everything he is doing? And what then?
My only consolation at this moment comes from something my former roommate here said: "God did not call us to save the world, only to live a holy life." Whether we see results which make us feel like we are saving the masses from their horrible fate, or whether we think we are simply throwing our money down a chute which resembles a trash can, doesn't much matter. I'm hoping to meet up with Howard again at some point in the future to talk with him a bit more, perhaps he can shed some light on his own predicament.
Phil.
The King of Artificial Pig Insemination
THIS IS REALLY LONG, I'M SORRY, BUT IT IS WORTH IT
I'm sorry for those of you who were offended by the title of this post--you'll probably even be more offended by the length, but I'm not terribly worried about sensibilities right now, especially given the topic of what I'm about to say. Believe it or not, a post with such a title, can be considered (at least by foolish people like me) to be incredibly important.
The first side note of this weekend, is that I have now officially been to the tropics, having traveled as far south as latitude 23.37 which is just below the Tropic of Cancer (23.5). I ventured out into the more rural portions (农村--nongcun) of Yunnan accompanied by some very interesting people. Indeed, one of these people was the reason for this trip. Enter the King of Artificial Pig Insemination, Howard (I would include his last name but never learned it). Howard is a large man is his mid fifties, who looks like your stereotypical farmer from Wisconsin. This is because Howard is your stereotypical farmer from Wisconsin, or at least was until a few years ago. It is one of his accomplishments, which he will proudly tell you of, that he is responsible for the births of around 100 million pigs and 12 million calves. I won't go into the nitty-gritty of his business, in order to save your eyes the unpleasant details which I learned from him over dinner, but I feel I should give some background. He makes what he calls a "buffer." This term of course is not what you would call scandalous--it should be. He explained it this way: if you have a sow in Beijing which you really think is a good sow, and I have a boar in Kunming which is really a good boar and you decide that this boar is good enough for your good sow, you say "That boar...That's the boar for me," well then you can't simply fly your sow down to Kunming to have a whole passel of little piglets which would of course be the best, nor can you fly them back. Solution? Howard's "buffer": a solution which guarantees that everything important will make it up to your sow in order to produce the desired results, in this case: a whole passel of really good piglets.
However, there is more to Howard than his "buffer," much more (he's about 6'5" and over 300 pounds). Being from Wisconsin, he speaks with a very heavy Minnesotan accent (goatta be supportive, eh?), but no one should be judged by their accent, no matter how ridiculous it sounds. Howard is also a man I respect more than most. Without the aid of any other philanthropies or even people, he is building schools in the poorer portions of Yunnan's south. This in and of itself, while being amazing, is not something which would necessarily qualify Howard for my respect, however there is more to Howard.
As he told me, he had been working on his artificial pig insemination business for twenty-five years in the states (particularly in Wisconsin) without ever taking a vacation. One day, he apparently decided that this whole no vacation policy had some defects. In short he decided to take a vacation. His expressed his methodology for choosing a destination in this manner (read with half french, half hick, half Minnesotan accent): "Well, I was looking for a place to go and really didn't know since I haven't been out of the States much, but I got an Atlas, you know, and I found this place that started with an "X" and had lots of letters, so I said, that's the place for me." The town Howard found was Xixuanbanna, a tropical resort town in southern Yunnan. Apparently it was a good choice.
He planned a vacation for two weeks, and by the end of the first week, with the aid of his tour guide, had planned to build a school in the countryside. Enter Tony: Tony is a Yunnan native who happened to know some English and was working as a tour guide at the time Howard came to China. Tony, for some reason I do not know, went from being Howard's tour guide to his liaison and partner in building the schools.
For all of this, I respect Howard, but even more I respect him for his understanding of reality. He does what he's doing, and doesn't make any big deal of it (unless he's trying to get someone to help him out). He was genuine about all he did. What there was there was. Perhaps it was his appearance which disarmed me, or his accent, but he came across as not caring in the slightest whether people though him good for doing this, not caring whether people noticed he was doing anything at all. In everything, he came across as simply wanting people to notice the villagers. I don't know how I would act if I were single-handedly helping entire villages of people, but it would probably involve a dose of pride. Not so for Howard.
Having introduced these two people, this brings us back to my weekend trip. They were going to visit one of the schools Howard is helping to build, and invited our program to accompany them. They warned us at the outset that it would not be an outing or any sort of enjoyable experience. While the cities in China may appear to be developed and not have many poor beyond any other city, the countryside of China is in desperation.
After five hours in a bus on the freeway, we spent the night in Jianshui which is a tourist-type city in the south of Yunnan. The next morning we headed out on something akin to the forest service roads back in Washington for another two or three hours, passing through the various levels of Chinese development and poverty. Essentially, we started at 7:30 am in a first world city, and ended up by 10:00 am in the third world.
The villages we visited were of the Miao minority which are also widely found in Vietnam and have a huge population in the United States (they're called the Hmung and live near Michigan). These villagers had, a little before the Communist Revolution, been driven into inhospitable lands by their opposition to the Qing dynasty. By inhospitable, I mean they cannot grow anything worthwhile. The land is almost devoid of water, over-populated by their forced migration, and incredibly remote. Currently the Chinese government is debating whether to simply abandon all efforts to aid these people and let the problem go away (they all die) or to bring them into the cities (difficult because these minorities do not speak any Chinese). Helping the people where they are is not an option, as far as the government sees it. The situation is un-sustainable, and it seems, no matter how much money is thrown at it, it will only get worse.
Currently the Miao people are growing onions, one of the few crops the land will support, but onions are not what you might call a cash crop, and these people barely survive. It is considered doing well if you can make 1200 yuan ($250) a year for a whole family. Out of this they must return some to keep their crops going the next year, and they also have to feed and clothes themselves. Saying their life is hard is a waste of time.
Medical care is non-existent in these villages as they are too remote and anyone with the education of a doctor is smart enough to go no where near these villages. The children go barefoot, all have worms, fungal infections on their skin, various other diseases and their parents are surprised by their survival. I saw one little girl (no more than two or three) who was floundering in her crib--completely covered in flies. I learned through the broken Chinese of her grandmother that this child had had some fever which gave her brain damage, and so they were waiting for her to die. I do not know what else to say, but I can't simply stop.
They have no sanitation, and since the water in the area is severely limited, they drink out of their sewer. I mean this literally. There is only a pond to service three villages (about 2000 people) and since this pond is the lowest place in the area, everything drains there. The insecticides they use in order to compete with produce from wealthier areas, the sewer and runoff--all of this ends up in the water they drink. I am surprised that they can survive at all. The situation sucks.
Because they cannot speak putonghua (Chinese) they are essentially doomed to continue this existence. It is impossible for them to go to the city even to wash dishes or collect trash, since the most basic elements of life in a Chinese city, inevitably involves speaking Chinese. If ever the word doomed came into play, it is in this situation.
And so we have the King of Artificial Pig Insemination. He, on his first vacation in twenty-five years, happened to learn a little of this situation. Most people would have tried to give some money to a charity already in place or petitioned somebody to do something. But there are no charities in place, and petitioning often is just another excuse for returning to a comfortable life without too much guilt. Howard did something which I do not know whether I would have had the courage to do: he decided to help, stopped most things which were going on in his life and actually did help. On that first trip he decided that he would build a school, that same year he returned, started and actually completed a school (mostly with his own funds). He hopes that if the children of these villages can at least learn to speak Chinese they will be able to break their doom.
But now comes the really convicting part, at least for me. Howard is not an especially rich man. He gave around $15,000 to build the first school and supports about 70 students who graduate from it with scholarships so they can attend highschool and college ($125/year per student for this first, $300/year per student in the second case). These numbers shocked me. They are so low, they are very real numbers which any middle class person in America with a fair bit of tightening the belt, could come up with--they are less than one semester of my own tuition. I thought about that one for a very long time.
Howard did not think though that one school was enough, being a smart enough guy to realize that this is no isolated problem in China. So he returned the next year to stay for two months, and a year later moved to Kunming for good. Luckily his business is such that it can be moved from Wisconsin to China without too much difficulty. Everyone has a pig "which is the pig for me." He has built two schools now and has almost completed the third (the one which we were visiting in the Miao villages). Tony has been his go-between to the government at all levels and the villagers themselves, he meets twice a year with every student (as well as their family) who receives a scholarship from Howard, and is generally helpful in a million other ways. I was shocked yet again when I found out that Tony is not paid. He still holds down his tour guide/interpreter job in Kunming. Humbling.
Howard and Tony, building schools because they decided they couldn't fool themselves anymore by giving vague funds to major philanthropies. I can tell you it was one of the weirdest feelings I've ever had, walking into these villages for no more than an afternoon to gawk, giving away candy (Tony suggested we do this). Many of the kids in my program complained in hush whispers about how horribly patronizing this was, or how stupid it was that we came here for a day to gawk and then walked away. But then again, no one stopped them from staying. And frankly, I don't think any one of us had the right to speak, much less question anything Howard and Tony were doing. At least they weren't so paralyzed by political correctness (which in this case is a second name for cowardice) to ignore the problems they saw. While driving into a village on a bright green bus, hopping off and giving candy to the children may be patronizing, I really don't think the children gave a flying rat's hind-end whether it was patronizing. Candy is candy, world-wide.
I won't deny I felt pretty miserable, but since I'm still too much of a coward to stay in the village and help, too much of a coward to do what Howard is doing, I'm not going to complain about any feelings I have. I mean sure, I could say that we shouldn't have gone to these villages, that it was something rude to traipse around their homes, but most of this doesn't mean anything when I think of the little girl I saw in the crib.
I have much more to say, but won't right now. There was another experience with Howard which may have disturbed me more than the villages. Whatever the case, I'm glad I went and I ask everyone of you to remind me of this if you ever hear me complain about anything again.
Phil.
I'm sorry for those of you who were offended by the title of this post--you'll probably even be more offended by the length, but I'm not terribly worried about sensibilities right now, especially given the topic of what I'm about to say. Believe it or not, a post with such a title, can be considered (at least by foolish people like me) to be incredibly important.
The first side note of this weekend, is that I have now officially been to the tropics, having traveled as far south as latitude 23.37 which is just below the Tropic of Cancer (23.5). I ventured out into the more rural portions (农村--nongcun) of Yunnan accompanied by some very interesting people. Indeed, one of these people was the reason for this trip. Enter the King of Artificial Pig Insemination, Howard (I would include his last name but never learned it). Howard is a large man is his mid fifties, who looks like your stereotypical farmer from Wisconsin. This is because Howard is your stereotypical farmer from Wisconsin, or at least was until a few years ago. It is one of his accomplishments, which he will proudly tell you of, that he is responsible for the births of around 100 million pigs and 12 million calves. I won't go into the nitty-gritty of his business, in order to save your eyes the unpleasant details which I learned from him over dinner, but I feel I should give some background. He makes what he calls a "buffer." This term of course is not what you would call scandalous--it should be. He explained it this way: if you have a sow in Beijing which you really think is a good sow, and I have a boar in Kunming which is really a good boar and you decide that this boar is good enough for your good sow, you say "That boar...That's the boar for me," well then you can't simply fly your sow down to Kunming to have a whole passel of little piglets which would of course be the best, nor can you fly them back. Solution? Howard's "buffer": a solution which guarantees that everything important will make it up to your sow in order to produce the desired results, in this case: a whole passel of really good piglets.
However, there is more to Howard than his "buffer," much more (he's about 6'5" and over 300 pounds). Being from Wisconsin, he speaks with a very heavy Minnesotan accent (goatta be supportive, eh?), but no one should be judged by their accent, no matter how ridiculous it sounds. Howard is also a man I respect more than most. Without the aid of any other philanthropies or even people, he is building schools in the poorer portions of Yunnan's south. This in and of itself, while being amazing, is not something which would necessarily qualify Howard for my respect, however there is more to Howard.
As he told me, he had been working on his artificial pig insemination business for twenty-five years in the states (particularly in Wisconsin) without ever taking a vacation. One day, he apparently decided that this whole no vacation policy had some defects. In short he decided to take a vacation. His expressed his methodology for choosing a destination in this manner (read with half french, half hick, half Minnesotan accent): "Well, I was looking for a place to go and really didn't know since I haven't been out of the States much, but I got an Atlas, you know, and I found this place that started with an "X" and had lots of letters, so I said, that's the place for me." The town Howard found was Xixuanbanna, a tropical resort town in southern Yunnan. Apparently it was a good choice.
He planned a vacation for two weeks, and by the end of the first week, with the aid of his tour guide, had planned to build a school in the countryside. Enter Tony: Tony is a Yunnan native who happened to know some English and was working as a tour guide at the time Howard came to China. Tony, for some reason I do not know, went from being Howard's tour guide to his liaison and partner in building the schools.
For all of this, I respect Howard, but even more I respect him for his understanding of reality. He does what he's doing, and doesn't make any big deal of it (unless he's trying to get someone to help him out). He was genuine about all he did. What there was there was. Perhaps it was his appearance which disarmed me, or his accent, but he came across as not caring in the slightest whether people though him good for doing this, not caring whether people noticed he was doing anything at all. In everything, he came across as simply wanting people to notice the villagers. I don't know how I would act if I were single-handedly helping entire villages of people, but it would probably involve a dose of pride. Not so for Howard.
Having introduced these two people, this brings us back to my weekend trip. They were going to visit one of the schools Howard is helping to build, and invited our program to accompany them. They warned us at the outset that it would not be an outing or any sort of enjoyable experience. While the cities in China may appear to be developed and not have many poor beyond any other city, the countryside of China is in desperation.
After five hours in a bus on the freeway, we spent the night in Jianshui which is a tourist-type city in the south of Yunnan. The next morning we headed out on something akin to the forest service roads back in Washington for another two or three hours, passing through the various levels of Chinese development and poverty. Essentially, we started at 7:30 am in a first world city, and ended up by 10:00 am in the third world.
The villages we visited were of the Miao minority which are also widely found in Vietnam and have a huge population in the United States (they're called the Hmung and live near Michigan). These villagers had, a little before the Communist Revolution, been driven into inhospitable lands by their opposition to the Qing dynasty. By inhospitable, I mean they cannot grow anything worthwhile. The land is almost devoid of water, over-populated by their forced migration, and incredibly remote. Currently the Chinese government is debating whether to simply abandon all efforts to aid these people and let the problem go away (they all die) or to bring them into the cities (difficult because these minorities do not speak any Chinese). Helping the people where they are is not an option, as far as the government sees it. The situation is un-sustainable, and it seems, no matter how much money is thrown at it, it will only get worse.
Currently the Miao people are growing onions, one of the few crops the land will support, but onions are not what you might call a cash crop, and these people barely survive. It is considered doing well if you can make 1200 yuan ($250) a year for a whole family. Out of this they must return some to keep their crops going the next year, and they also have to feed and clothes themselves. Saying their life is hard is a waste of time.
Medical care is non-existent in these villages as they are too remote and anyone with the education of a doctor is smart enough to go no where near these villages. The children go barefoot, all have worms, fungal infections on their skin, various other diseases and their parents are surprised by their survival. I saw one little girl (no more than two or three) who was floundering in her crib--completely covered in flies. I learned through the broken Chinese of her grandmother that this child had had some fever which gave her brain damage, and so they were waiting for her to die. I do not know what else to say, but I can't simply stop.
They have no sanitation, and since the water in the area is severely limited, they drink out of their sewer. I mean this literally. There is only a pond to service three villages (about 2000 people) and since this pond is the lowest place in the area, everything drains there. The insecticides they use in order to compete with produce from wealthier areas, the sewer and runoff--all of this ends up in the water they drink. I am surprised that they can survive at all. The situation sucks.
Because they cannot speak putonghua (Chinese) they are essentially doomed to continue this existence. It is impossible for them to go to the city even to wash dishes or collect trash, since the most basic elements of life in a Chinese city, inevitably involves speaking Chinese. If ever the word doomed came into play, it is in this situation.
And so we have the King of Artificial Pig Insemination. He, on his first vacation in twenty-five years, happened to learn a little of this situation. Most people would have tried to give some money to a charity already in place or petitioned somebody to do something. But there are no charities in place, and petitioning often is just another excuse for returning to a comfortable life without too much guilt. Howard did something which I do not know whether I would have had the courage to do: he decided to help, stopped most things which were going on in his life and actually did help. On that first trip he decided that he would build a school, that same year he returned, started and actually completed a school (mostly with his own funds). He hopes that if the children of these villages can at least learn to speak Chinese they will be able to break their doom.
But now comes the really convicting part, at least for me. Howard is not an especially rich man. He gave around $15,000 to build the first school and supports about 70 students who graduate from it with scholarships so they can attend highschool and college ($125/year per student for this first, $300/year per student in the second case). These numbers shocked me. They are so low, they are very real numbers which any middle class person in America with a fair bit of tightening the belt, could come up with--they are less than one semester of my own tuition. I thought about that one for a very long time.
Howard did not think though that one school was enough, being a smart enough guy to realize that this is no isolated problem in China. So he returned the next year to stay for two months, and a year later moved to Kunming for good. Luckily his business is such that it can be moved from Wisconsin to China without too much difficulty. Everyone has a pig "which is the pig for me." He has built two schools now and has almost completed the third (the one which we were visiting in the Miao villages). Tony has been his go-between to the government at all levels and the villagers themselves, he meets twice a year with every student (as well as their family) who receives a scholarship from Howard, and is generally helpful in a million other ways. I was shocked yet again when I found out that Tony is not paid. He still holds down his tour guide/interpreter job in Kunming. Humbling.
Howard and Tony, building schools because they decided they couldn't fool themselves anymore by giving vague funds to major philanthropies. I can tell you it was one of the weirdest feelings I've ever had, walking into these villages for no more than an afternoon to gawk, giving away candy (Tony suggested we do this). Many of the kids in my program complained in hush whispers about how horribly patronizing this was, or how stupid it was that we came here for a day to gawk and then walked away. But then again, no one stopped them from staying. And frankly, I don't think any one of us had the right to speak, much less question anything Howard and Tony were doing. At least they weren't so paralyzed by political correctness (which in this case is a second name for cowardice) to ignore the problems they saw. While driving into a village on a bright green bus, hopping off and giving candy to the children may be patronizing, I really don't think the children gave a flying rat's hind-end whether it was patronizing. Candy is candy, world-wide.
I won't deny I felt pretty miserable, but since I'm still too much of a coward to stay in the village and help, too much of a coward to do what Howard is doing, I'm not going to complain about any feelings I have. I mean sure, I could say that we shouldn't have gone to these villages, that it was something rude to traipse around their homes, but most of this doesn't mean anything when I think of the little girl I saw in the crib.
I have much more to say, but won't right now. There was another experience with Howard which may have disturbed me more than the villages. Whatever the case, I'm glad I went and I ask everyone of you to remind me of this if you ever hear me complain about anything again.
Phil.
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