South of the Clouds: Yunnan’s ancient tea-horse road

In November, Gadling traveled with WildChina throughout Yunnan province. The theme of the trip was “the ancient tea-horse road,” and it followed a trading route that runs from Yunnan’s tropical lowlands up to the Tibetan plateau and eventually in to India.

As the name implies, the “road” was a caravan route along which tea and horses were traded, though salt was also a major commodity. Lesser known than its glamorous older sibling, the Silk Road, the tea-horse road was nevertheless an important trade route. Though defined in the singular, the tea-horse road was actually a series of small trade routes; it was rare for traders to travel the entire route.

Tea, still grown and fermented for travel in Yunnan today, was carried north, while mules and horses from Tibet plodded south. Small traces of the original trade still exist: condensed bundles of tea packed into bamboo pipes at a rural market, an old square in a village where horse stalls still sit behind a guesthouse once used by muleteers (those who traveled the route with mules), and even a few people who worked in the trade before 1949.

Though the route extends all the way to India, we focused only on locations in Yunnan. First we visited Xishuangbanna prefecture, at the south of the province. Here, Pu-er tea is grown on small trees whose size belies their age: many are several hundred years old. We then traveled to Dali, a conduit market town where tea traders and growers traveled north to meet Tibetans who had journeyed south. The Bai minority group still live in and around Dali and were middlemen between the tea and horse traders.

After Dali came Shaxi, a market town where we met the son of a muleteer who was killed by bandits. Everyone in Shaxi once depended on the tea-horse trade, as it was an important stopover town along the route. Today, Shaxi’s market square still fills every Friday with Yi villagers who dress up and travel for fun, trading, and food.

After a quick stop in Lijiang, another conduit market town filled with rushing canals and cobble-stoned streets, we climbed up to Shangri-la. A town packed with prayer flags, restaurants serving yak meat, and the distant lure of giant mountains, Shangri-la (also called Zhongdian) at times feels more Tibetan than mainstream Chinese. A few sad horses lingered near a marshy lake, decorated and waiting for tourists to reenact the glory days of the trade route with horse rides.

By no means the end of the line for traders, Shangri-la was nevertheless an appropriate ending point for our trip. We’d gone from summer temps in sub-tropical Xishuangbanna to near-freezing at 10,000 feet, and it was time to go home and warm up with a nice cup of tea.

Read more about our travels in Yunnan here.

Though my trip was funded by WildChina, the opinions expressed here are all my own.

Far West in the Far East: The Wa Women of Nanya

Last week I was treated to the kind of experience travelers look for but seldom – at least in my case – come across. An hour up a dirt road outside a small town in western Yunnan province, China, a dozen women from the Wa tribe donned their ceremonial clothing and spent the afternoon dancing for me and my friend. All they asked was that we take photos and video of them, since there’s very little recorded of either their clothing or dances.

But let me back up. I spent the past week traveling around Xishuangbanna, an area in southern Yunnan, with My Friend the Fulbright Scholar (MFFS). MFFS is in China on a scholarship to study the relationship between tourism and minority crafts. The majority of the Chinese population is Han, but there are dozens of tribes in China that have their own clothing, language, and customs, and as might be expected, their ways of life are changing.

Though we’d visited several other minority villages during our trip, seeing the Wa was a particular goal for MFFS. Not only is the group somewhat elusive due to its rural locations along the Burmese border, but their mysterious status is amplified by the fact that they were headhunters until the 1970s.

Our luck began with our arrival in Menglian, a small town close to Burma and just north of Xishuangbanna. We planned on buying a ticket for an early morning bus to a Wa village, but read in our trusty Lonely Planet that a helpful cafe owner named Nan Qing was Wa. We sought her out, and she immediately chatted MFFS up, cooked us dinner, gave me the jacket off of her back, and arranged transport to her childhood village the next morning.

%Gallery-80170%We met Nan Qing in the morning for a Chinese breakfast of savory noodles, then hopped on motorbikes for the hour-long ride to Nanya up a dirt and cobblestone road through the mountains. All but the steepest hillsides were cultivated, and we passed small herds of water buffalo as well as people carrying impossible loads on their backs.

Once in Nanya, Nan Qing showed us around, pointing out medicinal plants and telling us about the Wa’s daily lives. While they were once large in the opium trade, their work is now mostly agricultural. They subsist on less than $1000 US per year, butchering their meat and growing most of their own food; according to Nan Qing they need only to purchase salt, spices, and rice.

We came across a woman weaving an intricate stripe for a skirt, all on a small but complicated bamboo loom. Behind her, an older woman with three-inch diameter earrings squatted and watched. While we sat in the sun, the village “official,” a petite, strong woman that appeared to be in her 50s stopped by. I thought perhaps she was keeping tabs on our whereabouts, but it turned out she was talking to Nan Qing about dancing for MFFS and me.

Nan Qing announced that the women of the village would dance for us, and asked that we please record it for them. Usually if I ask someone in China if I can take their picture they say no, so this invitation was a welcome surprise. As the women filtered onto a large cement patio outside their community hall, MFFS and I began snapping photos. They encouraged to get up close, inside their circle, and many of the women asked for photos of themselves sewing, pretending to smoke long pipes, or posing with their friends.

Their clothing consisted of long headdresses covering their waist-length hair and weighted down with silver necklaces. They paired black shirts festooned with fake silver buttons with hand-woven skirts in bright colors. The women wore heavy silver bracelets and necklaces, carried hand-woven bags, and wore Nike sport socks in a typical display of Chinese incongruity.

Though the dances were clearly all about the women, three men led the rhythm at the center with one large drum, a pair of cymbals, and a small gong. The women marched and chanted in unison, speaking in their Wa dialect. I couldn’t understand any of it, but the rituals of grooming and smoking came up several times. In one dance the women let their hair down, smoothing it and doing a side-step as they wrapped it back up in their headdresses. In another, they squatted down and pretended to light and smoke long pipes.

After several hours of dancing and posing for photos (and a giggly game of “Dress the Foreign Girls in our Traditional Clothing”), the afternoon wound down. We all meandered up small paths and stairs to the road, and most of the women headed back home, spooling bright pink thread as they walked. The only gift I had with me was a small bar of face soap from my parents’ town in Washington state, which seemed horribly inadequate for such an amazing afternoon. The women accepted it gracefully, saying that the oldest woman in the village would use it to wash her face.

Nan Qing asked my friend and me if we had any ideas on how to bring more money into Nanya. “The villagers are simple people who lead simple lives,” Nan Qing explained, “but they are very poor.” She suggested bringing tourists to watch the dancing, which MFFS and I tried not to immediately discourage. Nan Qing came up with the idea of sewing logos on the traditional clothing and selling it in town, which would bring money into the village without bringing tourists, and that seems like a great idea though I wonder if there is much of a market for those goods in little Menglian. If you have any ideas or examples of a project like that, leave me a comment.

Click here to read more about my life in China.

Far West in the Far East: Eighteen hours on a Chinese sleeper bus

With huge distances to cover, long-haul bus travel is a norm in China. The good news is that overnight buses here are set up for long distance travel; rather than seats that recline, these buses have actual beds in them. The bad news is that there tends to be no lines drawn between what I consider “indoor” behavior (sitting quietly, reading, or staring out the window) and “outdoor” behavior (spitting, screaming on your mobile phone, and smoking). However, the journeys aren’t anything a seasoned traveler can’t handle, especially one used to being in China.

It’s hard to photograph the inside of the bus, since three rows of bunk beds run the length of the vehicle. Not surprisingly, the beds are narrow and short, making it difficult for a Westerner to get comfortable but certainly better than sitting upright. Luggage, sacks of rice, and shoes are all tucked under the bottom bunk.

My ride from Menglian to Kunming wasn’t my first trip on a Chinese sleeper bus but it was my longest. Eighteen hours is a long time to do any one thing, and riding a Chinese bus is no exception. Before we left, we found out that our rickety vehicle was twenty years old and making its final run. Despite maneuvering massive vehicles, drivers routinely pass slower cars on blind corners, careening around turns with no guardrail. I find it best to just not look out the window, and hope for the best. My traveling companion required pharmaceutical help to deal with her nerves.

%Gallery-80323%We made only two lengthy stops and the bathroom on the second one was a wooden outhouse with a hole in the floor, and no light. In a way, I’m glad I couldn’t see what I was stepping on (or in). There were other quick stops for gas and water, and during these men would sprint off to pee in the bushes. Once back on the bus, they lit up cigarettes, filling the vehicle with their smoke. My friend even woke up to cigarette ash on her pants. When finished smoking, most would hock up a giant loogie, which they spit on the floor. This behavior is common in China and for the most part I’ve gotten used to it, but being trapped in that bus for so long about did me in. I spent a portion of my trip with my face in front of my open window, while my friend used my bandanna to filter the air entering her lungs. For two days afterward I was blowing black grit out of my nose.

Still, for a trip that long when train travel isn’t an option, the overnight sleeper bus is a good choice. Cheaper and more environmentally-friendly than flying (though it’s debatable based on the cloud of black smoke we left in our wake), the buses are perfectly adequate for any traveler who is mentally prepared for the smoke and death-defying driving.

Read more about my life in China here.

Far West in the Far East: Eating banana roti

You’ll find banana roti all across the banana pancake trail in Asia. A backpacker favorite, banana roti is a cheap, almost-Western treat – the Asian version of a sweet crepe. I don’t know much about the migration of the banana roti to Thailand, Laos, and Southwest China, but I’m assuming that because it’s a roti, it originated in the Indian subcontinent.

Now, however, you can find a banana roti stand in almost any town in Southeast Asia that you might find a backpacker.

Last week I traveled to Xishuangbanna (loosely pronounced “shee-shwan-bah-nah”) in southern Yunnan province. My first stop was Jinghong, a slow-paced tropical town along the Mekong river. I was thrilled to discover a banana roti stand; it felt in tune with the Southeast Asian vibe of the town.

To make the roti, the vendor takes a small lump of dough that he slaps onto the counter repeatedly, until the dough is paper thin and stretchy. Then he dumps a frightening amount of oil onto a large, flat wok, and sets the dough to sizzle on it. Some vendors add sliced banana at this point; the vendor in Jinghong (who was from Burma) tossed the sliced banana as well as chocolate and sweetened condensed milk into a cup and mashed it up before pouring it onto the dough.Once the filling is added, he folds the dough into a square and flips it, topping it with margarine or butter. When the pancake is lightly browned and crispy on the outside, he flips it onto the counter and slices it into bite-sized pieces. Then he scoops it into a to-go container, drizzles it with more sweetened condensed milk and chocolate and sticks it with toothpicks so you can share with your friends.