A Lisu Wedding

One of the wonderful things about having a local translator/ friend is that one gets access to all sorts of everyday cultural events that one wouldn't be able to experience as a run-of-the-mill tourist/visitor. Case in point: Xiao Cui, my Lisu older sister/translator was invited to a traditional wedding on one of the days that we visited her village outside of Fugong to hear stories from the town's elders. Having just read a book about Han customs ("Flow of Gifts: Reciprocity and Social Networks in a Chinese Village" by Yuxiang Yan) in which Han wedding traditions are detailed, I now have considerable perspective on the way Lisu and Han customs were combined within the wedding I attended. For example: the wedding was held in semi-traditional Lisu building with woven floor and concrete walls. But the invitations were lucky red, with a "double happiness" character (if you've ever seen Chinese New Year decorations, that shape of very common). Similarly, there was a table set up out front where every gift of 10 or 50 or 100 yuan was carefully written down on a list (which, I learned in the Yan book, is for purposes of reciprocity), but then guests were greeted in a recieving line by the wedding party in traditional Lisu dress and prevailed upon to drink a cup of Lisu beer.

Of course, everyone at the wedding had other things to do besides pay attention to the waiguoren (foreigner) in their midst-- plus, I wasn't feeling all that well, as I had had stomach upset for the past week or so. So I made myself comfortable in a corner and watched the proceedings. There isn't any particular moment in which a Lisu couple is officially married (no vows, for instance): they just have a big party, everyone celebrates, and by the end of the day they're married. At least, that was the impression I got after repeated questions. The party was basically everybody milling around schmoozing and eating big platters of traditional Lisu food in little circles. The platters were made by going through a buffet line of enormous proportions. The picture below will give you an idea of how much food there was/how many people they expected-- the silver vat on the left is completely full of rice:

Traditional Lisu wedding feast. The food is put together buffet style into platters. Several people sit or squat around these platters and eat the food either with their fingers or (nowadays) using chopsticks





I didn't end up staying at the wedding for very long, as after my first shot of Lisu whiskey (whew, strong stuff) my stomach started to rebel. Also, I think I might have insulted them by not offering a gift, but the situation was just too complex. At that point my spending money was very limited, as I was waiting for a wire from my teacher in Kunming (to my chagrin, my AAA check card, which had worked in almost every ATM throughout Yunnan, was not accepted at any of the three ATMs in Fugong city, and I was forced to borrow money or waste a day taking the 4-hour bus to Liuku and back to Fugong.) If I did offer a present, I would not know what amount would be appropriate and what would be insulting, and I could not afford to be generous. Instead, I took a motorcycle cab back down the winding river road to my hotel, where I proceeded to feel nauseous and contemplate the day's photographs.

The groom in traditional dress


The bride in traditional dress


Father of the bride in traditional dress

Fugong Market Highlights/Christmas greetings

First off, merry Christmas to those who celebrate it. My very Jewish family spent today in Chinatown at dim sum (delicious, as always) and then at a movie. Even though most everyone in Boston's Chinatown speaks Cantonese, it's still a little bit like being back in Kunming, and I have to admit that I do miss it (especially since Xiong Li Mei called me yesterday and I realized how much my Chinese has deteriorated.)

In any case, it's clear that my blog dropped off dramatically after I got home, but I remain set on finishing it. I've just also accepted the fact that it won't be quite as in-depth as the blog I kept up until this point. I have lots of beautiful pictures to share with all of you, and I'll let those do most of the talking, a sort of narrated slide show. So here I present to you, in the first installment: the Fugong marketplace.

China's rural economy is based largely on markets. The largest urban center in a given area (and in really rural places it's not always particularly urban, just urban by comparison) hosts a market every week or so (in Fugong's case ever 5 days, with the 10 days mark being the larger market.) People from all over Nujiang came to buy and sell produce, Lisu jewelry and traditional paraphenalia, and miscellaneous interesting stuff (salt crystals as big as my head, walking sticks, cross bows). Even on the days I was feeling sickest I went to the market to watch the people and take pictures. Lots of pictures.

You said you wanted half a pig? Well, here it is.


Selling traditional crossbows


Young ladies in Lisu garb from Tengchong (an area outside of Nujiang)


Two old ladies gossip on the street corner


Bickering over the price of greens


Traditional woven Lisu baskets


Bamboo pipes (and a charming Lisu nainai smoking one)




Faces at the market






(This might be my favorite picture of all the ones I took in Nujiang)



On the last day I stayed in Fugong, I went to the market and bought a traditional Lisu headdress that I had been eying for the last few market days. There was an old Lisu lady selling it, and she didn't speak any Mandarin so whenever I asked after it I had to ask through a younger woman who wore dirty pink sneakers and bad teeth, and who I assume was her granddaughter. She kept naming outlandish prices for the headdress, and I would try to bargain but she wouldn't budge. It was clear that the piece was well-made and valuable: it had real, hand-cut bone circles along the forehead and half of the beads were clearly antique. I finally decided that this would be my treat to myself from China, but I wasn't willing to pay the Y500 (about $75) she was quoting me. As I stood in the drizzle, I attracted attention from around the market (as I was the only white person there.) People came over to try and help mediate, and they all agreed that the nainai was giving me a raw deal. "Give her a break!" they yelled in a mix of Lisu and Mandarin, but after conceding Y150 she would not yield. I ultimately bought the headdress for Y350 (about $50), with the local price being Y180-200. But I know that that nainai probably ate for months off that money, and the extra $20 was very little to me. Plus, of course, it makes a good story. Later that day I also bought a traditional Lisu skirt (as seen above) for unmarried women-- light blue print with a white stripe down the middle-- and Foster dad brought me a handmade button-down unisex shirt as a going away present. I left Fugong that day well-outfitted and slightly melancholy.

At the Crossroads: Urumqi

Our next stop after Kasghar was Urumqi, the capital of Xinjiang province. We were technically only in Urumqi 24 hours, or maybe 30, but it was still a really interesting place to explore. Rather than hints of the Middle East, Urumqi was run through with splashes of Russian culture. Which makes sense, as Urumqi is in the far north of Xinjiang, near the Russian and Kazakh borders.

There were a couple of important things to note about the Urumqi airport. Despite being tiny it, A) Featured a ridiculous view of a HUGE mountain not far away

(Said mountain)


and B) It had two way escalators! I know, right? But it's true. At first I thought all the escalators in the place were broken because they weren't moving. But then I noticed that one would go one way (up, for instance) for a few minutes. And then, when I happened to look in that direction again, it would be going down! Turns out they installed motion sensors at the top and bottom of the escalators and when they're triggered they make the escalators go the proper direction! Genius, energy saving, space saving, money saving. I stood in awe. And then got in a cab toward Urumqi.

The one major place we went in Urumqi was Tian Chi lake, about two hours drive outside of town through beautiful mountains. We took a cable car up to the top of the mountain, where the lake (whose name translates as "Heavenly") is nestled between snowy peaks. Really stunning. We took a boat ride around the perimeter, which was beautiful, a really good idea. There was also a very old tree (200 years or so), a fruit tree but I'm forgetting the type, at the lake. It's considered sacred because trees of its kind normally can't live above a certain altitude, but the altitude of the lake far exceeds this limit. There were a lot of prayer flags and strips of red ribbon and string festooning the tree, left there by people making wishes for healing or a good life.

Tian Chi Lake was also a really good place to the lives of Kazakh and other minority nomads in Xinjiang. Their Yurts (round canvas tents) were everywhere, some with goats or other livestock tied up outside. Unfortunately, we didn't have time to go into the Taklamakhan Desert (one of the largest in the world), but if we did we would have seen more of that. The Kazakhs and Kurds have been living in the deserts and high mountains of Xinjiang for thousands of years, and their lifestyle has barely changed. I think that's fascinating.

Tian Chi (Heavenly) Lake




Most of the rest of our time in Urumqi was spent exploring. One night, in search of a rumored Western Restaurant/Bar recommended by our guide, we ended up walking with a Mongolian man and his friend about a mile and a half through the streets, watching the city prepare for nightfall. He led us so far afield that after awhile we started to wonder if maybe he was trying to kidnap or scam us. But just when we were muttering to ourselves (in English, it's like a secret code here) about whether we should jump in a taxi and take off, there was the bar. Disaster averted, and their omelettes were delicious.

We also spent a good amount of time at the Urumqi bazaar. The stuff there wasn't as wonderful as what I found in Kashgar (an embroidered prayer cap, a gourd carved with Uighur language) but it was still cool (a traditional Uighur-patterned head scarf.) And the best part of it was the people watching. More even than in Kashgar, I felt like I was at the crossroads of somewhere-- so many different-looking people together. People in full-out Muslim dress, old Russian babushkas, Han businessmen, Mongolian cowboy types. The faces, too, I loved the faces in Xinjiang. The countless ways that DNA can blend characteristics together is so remarkable, especially at a crossroads like Urumqi. I walked the streets and just looked at faces. Our guide, Jimmy, told us that for a long time Urumqi was very important in Asian and African relations, the crossroads of the Upper and Lower Silk Roads, and I believe it.

Probably the weirdest and best thing we saw at the Urumqi bazaar: two fully barbequed and skinned lambs. Whole.


Images of Urumqi

Up the Valley-- Sidetrips from Liuku

I forgot to post this picture last time, and I like it and the girl is adorable, so apropos of nothing:

Lisu girl in traditional dress, Liuku


As mentioned in my last entry, I went on a few side-trips during my time in Liuku, into the countryside. Both times we went up the Nujiang Valley (there is no where to go but up-- Liuku is located at the bottom, the very mouth of the valley.) The first trip we took was to Luzhang, a small lower-to-middle class village perched way up in the mountains on the side of the river. We visited Xiong Li Mei's relatives (most people here refer to people who are not blood-related as "cousins" or "sisters" so it's hard to tell exactly how people are or aren't related) in their modest home. I got to hear about both Lisu and Pumi culture, as interestingly the husband and wife are a mixed marriage, apparently something that doesn't happen often. But I was told that their daughter was being raised Lisu (in this situation, children are allowed to choose their ethnic identity at a certain age) because Pumi culture was so far away in Lanping (7 hours by bus.)

At the slightest mention of my interest in minority culture, the mother in the family called her older relatives (she called them Auntie and Grandma, but again you never know) and her daughter, they brought over the traditional clothing they save for special occasions, and they gave me an impromptu Lisu song-and-dance performance in their living room. And then, out of the blue, the auntie decided to give me the embroidered and beaded bag she was wearing that she had made herself. Almost all Lisu people carry a bag of this kind or varation, with specific embroidery and colors, as a method of self-identification in a time when most of them don't wear traditional costumes. The old woman just took her cell phone out of the bag, unhooked it from her shoulder, and handed it to me. When I told her I could never take that from her, she just said "I can make another one." It's not the most beautiful thing in the world, because Lisu are so poor-- they can only afford cheap plastic beads. But I don't care. The whole thing was pretty wonderful.

The Lisu family I visited in Luzhang, in full Lisu regalia (of that region. Here in Fugong the headpieces look different) Also note the classic poster in the background.


While we were visiting Luzhang, walking the winding road as it meandered along incredibly verdant cliffs, it started raining. Hard. Very hard. As I wrote before, as we were driving home there were rocks, serious rocks, in the road that had fallen from the mountains above. It was clearly not a safe situation, and so I was kept from going up the valley to Fugong and Gongshan during my ISP. I was furious and frustrated at first, but I just spent longer researching in Liuku, and on the second to last day we took a real trip a full 2 hours up the valley to Chengang. Chengang is a small town in itself, but really it's just a base for a series of small and very poor Lisu villages between 15 minutes and an hour a way by foot. The weather was finally decent that day, and so the ride up the valley was positively gorgeous.

Scenes from the lower valley







(I am especially proud of this photo because it was taken out a minibus window)


When we got to Chengang, it was time for lunch so we found a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant and ate there. Xiong Li Mei did some hardcore social networking for me (I never would have had the guts), and got our server to agree to take us to his home village a 15 minute hike up the mountain. And so we went, past the singularly most disgusting communal bathroom I have ever seen (I won't go into detail, but I've been in China for 5 months now and it still holds that title. And that's saying something, which you'll know if you've ever used a Chinese public toilet.) We passed several small streams and rice paddies before arriving at a very small, very shabby traditional Lisu house.

The Lisu house I visited in Chengang


Traditional Lisu houses are two stories tall, with the bottom story reserved for livestock. They are made out of woven wood and reeds, mostly. The walls are more flimsy and have a criss-cross pattern, while the floor is woven like tiles, warp and woof. Unless the owner is particularly rich, the room inside doesn't have any more furniture than a few simple wooden stools and some blankets to sleep in. A san jiao (literally "three legs" because, well, it has three legs) or traditional stove, sits over a fire, and by that Lisu cook food, boil water, and keep warm.

Inside the house, with the nainai (grandma) who lives there


And her husband, holding their bibles, probably smuggled in from Myanmar


As you might guess from the above picture, the people living in this house are Christians who celebrate both Christmas and the Lisu New Year, Kuoshijie, which fall within a week of each other. They also offered me some alcoholic cornmash, the beginning of traditional Lisu whiskey (which I recently tried at a Lisu wedding I attended, more on that later, but WOW that is strong stuff), but as Christians they don't drink. This kind of fine-line between what's permitted because of culture and what's not permitted because of religion is what my thesis is turning out to be about. I find it fascinating.

After bidding the old couple goodbye, we rode the 2 hours back to Liuku and had a little goodbye gathering for me-- I was going back to Kunming the next night on a sleeper bus. It was lovely, we went out with the same motley combination of office workers, soldiers, and math teachers as before. We had hotpot, which involves an enormous boiling vat of oil/broth and a million different kinds of meats and vegetables, which you put in one at a time and let cook. Kind of like Chinese fondue. I also got to hear several different Lisu and Pumi stories that night-- a good place to leave off. (Well, except for that cell phone pickpocketing which would come the next day.)

My goodbye gathering


And, in case you were wondering:

The inside of a sleeper bus (the nice kind)


Next time: SIT says goodbye-- Adventures in Xi'an and Beijing

The Unexpected Roommate and the Unicorn: Adventures in Liuku, Take 1

It's strange to be writing my blog entry about Liuku Trip 1 when I'm back here now, doing Nujiang Trip 2. Says something about my blogging skills, too.

Anyway: when we left off I was on a bus from Lanping, where I had a Western friend, along with several other Chinese friends, some of whom spoke English, to Liuku where I didn't know anybody and had never been before (a first for me.) Luckily, it didn't stay that way for long. As soon as I got off in Liuku, two people appeared eager to help me-- a Lisu man and a Pumi girl about my age. They got me into a hotel (at Y45, or $5.50 a night a little more expensive than I'd have liked to be paying, but less than I paid in Lanping with Tania) and had dinner. The Lisu man had things to do so he got my cell phone number and went his way, promising to bring me to his Lisu village outside the city sometime in the next few days. I was left alone with the Pumi girl, Xiong Li Mei, who was to become my closest friend in Liuku and also my ad hoc translator. She sort of... clasped on and never let go, which wasn't exactly a problem for me, although it occasionally was a little bit suffocating. She stayed with me in my hotel for the first three nights, not needing anything, not even a toothbrush, just curling up and falling asleep-- until I convinced her I really could stay in a hotel by myself.

My friend/guide, Xiong Li Mei, in traditional Pumi dress


It turns out that Xiong Li Mei's story is pretty remarkable. She grew up herding goats for her family, who live in the countryside outside of Lanping, where her mother is crippled but they can't afford a wheelchair. Until the age of 11 she didn't go to school, but she wanted to learn so badly that she kept bothering her parents until they brought an older brother home to herd in her place, and sent her to school. She had to stay in the equivalent of kindergarten for 3 years because she couldn't read, but once she gained literacy she completed first grade through 10th or 11th grade in 6 years. Now she goes to a vocational school in Liuku. Pretty amazing.

The hotel I stayed at was nice, if not particularly remarkable. The one thing I wasn't really big on were the cockroaches. Insects don't bother me most of the time (except in extenuating circumstances-- see below), but cockroaches kind of creep me out. I ended up having a peacable relationship with my cockroaches, however, as long as they kept out of the way while I showered and didn't get into my stuff. I'll admit (although it will make some of you think I'm crazy) that I talked to my cockraoches some. I made deals with them about not bothering me while I was peeing, not coming up onto the bed to steal my mini-muffins. That was the only time of day I spoke English.

The city of Liuku itself is fairly boring, Chinese stock, but the setting was beautiful with the Nu river roaring through and big emerald mountains (You can't really see it in these piectures, but I don't know if I've ever seen a place as green as Nujiang valley) looming all around. The Lisu population was also really interesting to see for the first time, mostly in Western/Han dress but with the Lisu bag, very characteristically colorful woven, stitched, or beaded, acting as a nametag to the world that said "I am Lisu, hear me roar." Or something to that effect, anyway.

Liuku, a city of mountains and a big ol' river




A Buddhist temple on the outskirts of the city


The first night, Xiong Li Mei took me to her vocational school, where her classmates, who are all studying music/art/minority skills (they get tested on things like piano playing, dancing, singing) welcomed me by singing songs from their respective minorities (Nu, Lisu, Pumi) and playing the piano. They were all really, really really excited to meet met (more on that in a minute.) But it was a really cool way to start out the experience, feeling just a little bit like a celebrity, or at least someone important and worth getting excited over.

The next week and a half was a whirlwind of research, mostly faking it: I've had a cloud of amateurishness riding me for months now, and that was the beginning of it. I spent a lot of time feeling like I had no idea what I was doing and worrying about what would come out of it. The anthropological experience is so infuriating sometimes, which is something no one told me about beforehand. The whole thing is based on finding contacts through other contacts, a chain of people-who-know-people which is actually perfectly suited to the "guanxi" (relationship) structure of Chinese society. But what was so frustrating was how many of said contacts were duds. Out of ever four phone numbers I procured, two were out of order, one was incorrect, and maybe, if I was lucky, the fourth person could help me. Oh yeah, and: the first night in town, I managed to lose my cell phone in a cab, and with it the chance to go with the Lisu man I met on the bus to his village (I never saw him again.) Big bummer. Double bummer: the aforeblogged pickpocketing of the phone I bought to replace said lost-in-taxi phone not two weeks later.

Be that as it may, I did manage to talk to over 70 informants in the 3 weeks I spent in Lanping and Liuku, which is pretty damn good if I may say so. In Liuku I talked to government officials, scholars, went to two vocational schools and a middle school, started conversations with people on the street. I talked to many of Xiong Li Mei's school friends, and got to see her school more thoroghly. It reminded me in a lot of ways of a summer camp-- the dorm rooms looked like camp cabins to me; the outdoor warmth of it all (Liuku is pretty much never cold, although I was there in warm season).

A dorm at Xiong Li Mei's school


At the school, I was treated as a major VIP-- actually, throughout the entire city it was that way. I was the only white person I saw for the entirety of my time in Liuku, the only save Tania and some friends in from Lijiang in Lanping. People openly gawked when I walked down the street. I was treated with huge cheers and endless questions about America at Xiong Li Mei's school, people were dying for my phone number, they wanted to know my taste in boys (which was an odd and embarassing question to answer in front of a class of 35.) When I went to the school to teach a class or two of English (I felt very clever for coming up with a curriculum regarding "how to tell a story" and then asking the students to tell me one they knew) people crowded around in the halls to see me speak. It was very, very surreal.

I felt like a unicorn, as in "You really exist?" Xiong Li Mei would tell her classmates and relatives about her new foreigner friend and they actually wouldn't believe her, would insist she was joking. I imagine it will be that way when I go to visit Xiong Li Mei's home village in a week or so. I will be the first white person her parents have ever met. They have also never seen a computer-- Xiong Li Mei has asked me to bring my laptop along.

I also interviewed a Pumi singing expert, a Lisu historian, a Lisu Cultural Bureau worker (who has also helped me find contacts this trip), and many random friends I met along the way. People were drawn to me by my skin, like a beacon, especially those who could speak any English. A shopkeeper, a teahouse owner. One night Xiong Li Mei and I went out for drinks with a math teacher, two soldiers, and two office workers, all about our age. That was a lot of fun, and I got stories into the bargain. Another night I went with Xiong Li Mei to a square alongside the river to watch the people dance, as they gather to do in many places in Yunnan (see my photos of Lanping.) Eventually, she convinced me to join in, which was fun for the short time before I went home and collapsed (field work is really, really tiring.)

Another day, I went with the Cultural Bureau worker to a Lisu church (as I may have mentioned before, many people, especially Lisu in the Nujiang area have been converted to Christianity for generations, since China lost the Opium Wars and missionaries poured in.) It was an intensely interesting place to be, with people coming from the city and the countryside. The entire service was conducted in Lisu language, including a beautiful hymn the assembled people (about 75) learned from scratch, building part by part until they eventually sang in 3-part harmony. With the music swelling all around me I felt this odd combination of closeness and distance and was aware of the forces that conspired to make the occasion-- imperialism, missionary work, smuggling (the Bibles are brought in from Lisu territory in Myanmar.) Fascinating.

A Lisu church (that's Lisu language in the middle)


Worshipping inside the church


It rained every day I was in Liuku, which was extremely frustrating because I was continually being told that I shouldn't be going up the valley (where the other two Nujiang cities of Fugong and Gongshan are) during a rainy period because of the danger. But then Xiong Li Mei and I went to a little village called Luzhang one day for a day trip, and I saw the danger for myself when it started to rain while we were there. On the minibus ride back rocks from the size of tennis balls to shoe boxes were scattered across the road. Not really a fan of the idea of one of those landing on car in which I am a passenger. I was really mad about not being able to go to Fugong and Gongshan, however, and sulked for a few days before regrouping to work my resources and figure out what I could do, which included the aforementioned English classes, as well as another field trip into the countryside.

On the last day before I was scheduled to depart for Kunming, the sun finally came out and I was able to get some nice views of the city not veiled in rain. I took a walk with some new friends to take pictures. That night, the city was filled with flying ants, which I'm told is fairly common after a protracted period of rain. Butterfly-sized bugs everywhere, and I do mean everywhere, I looked. At least 250 around every street lamp, and I really wish that was an exaggeration. Flying around doorways, clustering at the riverside, invading teahouses and convenience stores, waddling on the street. Every step I took I crunched body casings and antennae under my feet. Wings brushed me on all sides. I felt like I was bathing in bugs. It was truly disgusting. It is a credit to the Sanitation Department that there was not a flying ant to be seen by the next morning.

Next time: Liuku fieldtrips up the valley.

Final Picture Post (For the Time Being): Lanping

After this comes some real live text/narrative! I've finally caught the pictures up to where I left off, in Liuku! Hallelujah! So, last step: the first week and a half of my ISP (Independent Study Project), in Lanping, China:

Some lovely countryside where I was stranded for an hour and a half while waiting for an accident to be cleared off the tiny road on the way to Lanping


A dragon gate at a temple near Lanping


View from the top of the temple


Lanping isn't so much in a valley as it is plunked down between two mountains


Dancing in the square


Some of my Lanping friends


Young Bai child on a Lanping street


Children playing on a waterfall in Lanping park


Pumi women in Lanping park


Bai woman working in the Lanping marketplace


A bowl of chicken feet at the market place


Tania with the little mountain of junk food we took on our picnic


View from mid-stream in the little river I fell into on our picnic


Playing "bu shi" at the teahouse


Lanping at night