A Monk, a Meal and a Car

Yunnan, China. My pre-conceived notions of a monk is a stoic, gentle, bald guy who eschews the temptation of modern greed and chants "oh mi tofu" all day. They don't eat meat because Buddhism espouses the idea of reincarnation (that extra crispy colonel's original recipe might really be the colonel himself). In fact, traditionally, monks are supposed to beg for their supper. Sitting in the picturesque old city of Lijiang I saw three young monks walk up to the street food lady and order 3 hot dogs on a stick, 3 yak skewers and 3 chicken wings. Ali, ever the optimist, thinks maybe the food is for someone else but given the lip smacking and the grease stains, I'm pretty sure they just ate Grandpapa.

Then, when leaving the Songzanlin Monastery (home to 600 tibetan monks), we ran into monks making the daily morning delivery of goods.... in a Hummer (H2 to be exact). Even the pope-mobile is only made by Ford Motor Company.

If someone shows up on Oprah claiming to be love-child of the Dalai Lama, I'm converting. (Yes I know I'm a practicing Atheist but the only places of worship I've every honored are buddhist temples so that brings my heathen ass halfway to nirvana by my books).

My First Marriage Proposal

Yunnan, China. I sat next to a young man who was from Hunnan on the bus from Lijiang to Shangri-La. He came from a farming family and set out to Lijiang to start an air conditioning and heating company. He's doing pretty well and recently started a second office in Shangri-La. He told me his first real paycheck was for $1,100 RMB (US$160) and with that he went a bought a suit for $600 RMB (US$90 ish). He was afflicted, like many villager-cum-business owner, with an inferiority complex to the city people. With this sense of unworthiness comes a prejudice against his own origins. He pointed to the log cabins of the local Naxi farmers and said with an air of superiority "look how destitute those farmers are." I said I don't think they're destitute, I think they need less. He scoffs at me and reiterates that they are so poor that even the richest Naxi farmer only makes $40 RMB (US$0.55) a week. To him, words like "poor" and "wealthy" are always quantitative and never qualitative. My over-privileged guilt complex wonders if only people who need nothing can glorify and romanticize the people who can afford nothing. He then asked me to marry him. I think my mom would have a hard time receiving 8 cows from my potential in-laws so I politely declined.

We Don't All Look Alike

* Not blogging in order of pilgrimage because inspiration and genius cannot be confined to a timeline.

Yunnan, China. Part of my fascination with Yunnan is the wealth of minority tribes who live in the mountains. Due to the treacherous terrain, many of these tribes have been left alone from the numerous tyranical Chinese ruling parties (Qing - damn mongols; PRC - damn commies). Alas no one can hide from the omnipresent Chairman Mao for long and road construction in Yunnan began in the late 60s. After the 1996 earthquake, Yunnan was put on the map as a top tourist destination forever. The region however, was already steeped in local traditions, culture and history that persists even to today.

Most Chinese people (certainly anyone you know) are from the Han ethnicity. Yunnan however, is home to 56 other ethnic Chinese and over 50% of its population is non-Han. The main tribes are the Naxi, Dai, Bai and Wosu to name a few. So no, we really don't all look alike.

Each tribe has their own language, couture, religion and culture. The Naxi and the Wosu are the most interesting in that they are a matriarchal-based society meaning the women rules the roost. Children take the last name of the mother (Wosu only) and the women control the finances and makes the big decisions such as when to harvest. Words are more significant when the woman participal is added to it. The Wosu tribe has a tradition of the walking marriage in which the woman can choose the man she wants to sleep with for the night. In the morning the man is kicked out and does the ultimate walk of shame through the village. (All you women, independent, throw your hands up at me).

Naturally, with development and modernization, traditions manages to get clusterfucked and now the Naxi men are becoming lazy and sit around drinking and gambling as the women toil. The perverts from the city are journeying to Wosu territory to exploit the women in what is basically prostitution, like a two-yuan ho.

A Tree Grows in Beijing

My first surprise upon arriving in the brand new international terminal in Beijing is the smell. It no longer smelled like China. In all my past trips back to the mothership, I could always tell when I arrived in China by the smell. Some of it was due to childhood memories but most of it was a result of a nation modernizing too fast while the infrastructure struggled to keep pace. This time, it no longer smelled of diesel mixed with dust.

While waiting in a brisked paced customs line (much improved over the mob scene of yesteryear) I watched the janitorial staff switch shifts. A long procession of women marched precisely in a straight line in their matching, starch-pressed gray uniforms. The scene reminded me of Brave New World when Huxley describes the roles of the Gammas versus the Alphas. The Gammas were workers void of all humanity and self identifying features. They answer in unison that Ford is the greatest leader and vow to honor their duty of servitude. I wonder if these women would chime in unison that Chairman Mao is the greatest leader and cleaning their greatest pleasure.

Beijing has greatly improved for the Olympics. The city is much greener and even though a thick layer of soot covers the leaves and petals. The people are nicer too. Especially to a rich white woman (Ali) who can afford to hire her own personal tour guide to accompany her 24/7 (Me). I should have gotten a t-shirt made that says "Not Her Bitch" in Chinese, Vietnamese, Cambodian, Lao and Thai. I guess I can't escape preconceptions anywhere.

Also greatly improved since my last visit to Maoland is the "Squat and Spit" (two separate activities although commonly combined). The holy Chinese trinity is the Squat, Smoke and Spit (SSS). If the SSS is also playing cards, you might as well hang up your flourescent tour hats and call it a day; you've see the heart of China.

Asking for anything in China is like the inner workings of a GPS positioning system. You have to have three points of reference in order to pinpoint the right answer. Example: Ali and I searching for Song, a lounge/club in Beijing to meet up with a friend of mine.

Me (to security guard): Excuse me, do you know how we get to Song? It's in the basement of this building.
Security Guard 1: Down there (vague hand sweep covering about 270 degrees)
Me: I was told that it was downstairs
SG 1: Go as the Security Guard down there (vague hand sweep covering about 180 degrees)

SG 2 (same question): It's downstairs
Me: But how do you get downstairs? All the doors into the building are locked
SG2: Go has the Security Guard at the end

SG 3 (same question): SG2 said what? It's not back here. Go back to the front and ask the Security Guard there (SG1).

Finally, dragging SG3 and SG2 with me to SG1, we were able to figure out the entrance to Song. As it turns out there was this huge sign but the light fixture was broken so we didn't see it.

Shangri-La? More Like Skanki-La

I doubt James Hilton was sitting in the same internet cafe as I am when he wrote Lost Horizon and described his utopia of Shangri-La. Currently there is one guy in front of me chain smoking, one guy next to me coughing up loogie after loogie (the national passtime of China) and the lovely waft of the bathroom (the non-flushing variety) behind me. Other than that Yunnan has been fabulous. More to come on the rest of China.