A Chinese Christmas

It is not every day you get married. It is not every day you get married on Christmas Day. It is not every day you get married while your current wife is egging you on. Yes, I am a polygamist. Christmas Day 2009 I married my second wife in front of a group of well wishers from places far and wide, from New Zealand to France. My wedding gift to my new wife was a bracelet that cost me the grand sum of 50 RMB. What my new wife's name was I do not know but I know she liked me because she pinched my bottom. Let me explain.

For the Christmas break we decided to head to Guilin, in the province of Guangxi. Famed for its spectacular scenery Guilin was our first foray into real China, as opposed to special areas like Hong Kong or Shenzhen. To get there we had to get a train to the border and walk across into Shenzhen and then board the train to Guilin. The train is an overnight one which takes 12 hours. We had a tiny 4 berth room that had 4 adults and 4 children. It was a bit of a squeeze but luckily everybody had an early night. Rocked asleep by the rhythmic movement of the train it was quite a pleasant way of passing the time plus it also is a cheap from of accommodation. The train pulled into Guilin around 6.30 in the morning and we were quickly ejected onto the cold and foggy platform still trying to wipe the sleep from our eyes. Still groggy, an old man tried to put our packs on his shoulders. I tried to grab them off him as the realisation that he was going to charge me for this service quickly dawned on me. After a few exchanges and tussling we managed to get our bags back and leave the old guy there empty handed. All the advice about China was to be aware--everything comes at a cost and people are always out to fleece tourists, especially near the train station. Coming out of the station there seemed to be a throng of people who were keen to provide transport, hotels, tours and so on, but all we needed was a cab to our hostel. Having no idea on costs and having 8 of us and a few bags, we had to take a minivan. A price of 20 RMB was deicided. There are 5 RMB to every NZ dollar. We soon found out that we were overcharged as a taxi would have just cost 7 RMB. Sitting in the front seat I felt a bit odd as I was what I would consider the driver's seat, the right hand side. Just going across the border can be quite confusing as Hong Kong has the British system while the Chinese has the other. Knowing which way to look when crossing the road can be quite tricky. Riding up front I noticed that the road rules were quite different--there didn't seem to be any! There were very few lights and most intersections seemed to be a free for all. After a few close calls we were safely deposited at hour hostel.

On first impressions, our hostel looked to be a bit of a worry. There seemed to be mud everywhere and building materials were strewn everywhere. We soon found out that they were just doing some minor renovations, more likely final touch ups, as the place had only been open since August. It was owned by a lovely young lady from X'ian in the north who had arrived in Guilin via Shenzhen. A more hospitable host you could not find anywhere. They made us so welcome and they were extremely helpful. Anytime you are in Guilin I would definitely recommend the Wada Hostel. After settling in and having a European breakfast, which was the most expensive meal we ate, we went for a walk. Across a very busy road there lay a relatively new mall of the Western variety. To get there we had to cross the aforementioned busy road which was the intersection of 3 roads plus a service street on the side. Buses, bikes, trikes, motorbikes--all varieties of transports seemed to be passing chaotically before us. We stood there trying to figure out how we were going to cross this mess. There was a pedestrian crossing but not one vehicle took any notice of it. Watching the locals we noticed that you just have to push your way out on to the road and just keep going, looking for gaps--they will not just stop for you like they have to back home. The first crossing was the worst. By the time we left we were crossing the road like a native. The system has its advantages as it keeps the traffic flowing and most cars travel pretty slow, especially as some just appeared to be some sort of truck powered by a lawnmower engine sitting open to the elements.

In the mall we found a playground which the kids absolutely loved. There was also a huge food hall which had lots of different types of local food. They were at mall prices, relatively expensive for the locals but still cheap to us. That night three of us went to the night market by tax which cost the princely sum of 7RMB. The market sold mainly tourist souvenirs of local crafts and artificially-aged antiques. Like many markets bargaining was mandatory. The hotel staff had told us to pay about half of the quoted price. Because the quoted price for a local is lower than a tourist, then I’d roughly settle for a third of the price. In Hong Kong some market sellers use calculators to show the price and can be quite aggressive. Here they used pencil and paper and were relatively relaxed. My first few purchases ended with the stall holder agreeing to my ridiculous third of the price offer without too much of a fight. Part of the fun is having a good battle but with the ease in which they gave in meant that it could go much cheaper. My conscience gnawed at me though, these people were much poorer that their counterparts in Hong Kong and they were just so damn nice. Jo sensibly, on the other hand, had no such compunctions and got some great bargains. We stopped at a small noodle house and sat outside with three bowls of very delicious rice noodles which Guilin is famous for, with vegetables and meat. They also use a lot more chilies than the Cantonese who have a relatively bland diet, theirs being about textures and freshness. I had a beer, a tall bottle and the girls had a bottle of water each. When I went to pay the bill, the waitress wrote down 17.50. I thought she had made a mistake. Surely it wouldn't cost under 4 NZ dollars for a meal for three plus a big bottle of beer and two bottled waters. There was no mistake. It was a delicious meal and every subsequent meal was compared to it for cost and taste.

Our first real touristy thing was the trip the Longji rice terraces in the hills. Guangxi province, the whole of the southwest for that matter, is home to a huge proportion to the 56 minority groups in China. Up in the rice terraces we were going to visit the Dong people and on the river valleys it was the Yao people.

We took a tour coach up into the hills, racing past small rural communities that seemed gradually poorer the further from town we ventured. Up over a mountain pass which reminded me of Porters Pass, we came to a series of villages that had a noticeably different architecture. These were the homes of the Yao people. There seemed to be a lot of new building going on and there were many men involved in erecting houses that were fashioned by hand out of hand sawn beams and planks, all held together without a nail in sight. Our guide explained that many of the mountain people were reallocating their villages along the roads to take advantage of the tourist industry. Many of the young people had moved to the cities and thereby depleting the labour supply of these traditionally subsistence people. This is the only way they could survive in these circumstances.

The Yao people are a bit of an anomaly in China, as they are a matriarchal society. Women are the ones who do all the decision making with the men doing what they are told. This women’s liberation ranges from decisions to do with harvests to affairs of the heart. Unlike most of traditional China, the Yao women get to choose their husbands. They show their interest in somebody by pinching their bum, not a thumb and forefinger type of pinch but a whole hand grab--it hurts!

This is where my second marriage comes in. Part of the tour was a cultural show where we got to watch the story of the longhaired women. In their culture women cut their hair once--when they are eighteen. They have to keep their hair covered until they are married and the first person to see it is their new husband. Volunteers were requested from the audience for 4 men, two western and two Chinese to take part in a mock wedding ceremony. My wife volunteered me for this and I had to go up and partake. For security I took my 2 year old nephew, Alfie. The girls were all lined up and we had to choose one--I got Alfie to choose for me. Out back we were told what to do in the ceremony and another way to fleece the tourists was to get them to buy a wedding present for our bride. As this was explained to us western guys in English I could see a look of puzzlement on the other white guy’s face. He looked at me imploringly and explained to me that he was French and didn't speak English. I tried my best in my schoolboy French to explain what he had to do. I got most right but had completely forgotten the verb 'to buy'.

The ceremony was quite fun except the numerous bottom grabbing that came from the women behind. A man can't do this to a woman, he must just touch her foot with his. I thought this was probably made up to prevent some ugly incidents especially after a few of the rice wines we had to drink as part of the ceremony.
The most comical aspect of this visit was how the women will rush at you to buy their souvenirs. The guide had warned us not to ask how much an item is as this is interpreted as meaning that you want the item and the bargaining has begun. They will chase you if you start to walk away. My mother in law made this mistake and she was chased by a very spritely septuagenarian all over the village.
The next stop was the Dragonback Rice Terraces but our coach was too large for the winding mountain road. At our transfer point the kids went down to the river and practised skimming stones in the river while we waited for the local bus. Poppy couldn’t skim but she showed real delight in throwing rocks in the water, staring with small pebbles and graduating to large rocks. Luckily the bus arrived before she tried to throw a backpack or a small child in.

The bus climbed up a real switchback road with no safety barriers but provided a spectacular view to the river gorge below. Reaching the top we had to pass another gauntlet of souvenir shops. They had no power but had batteries to watch Chinese soap operas on TV and charge their 3G cell phones.
Christmas Day lunch was in the village just below the viewing platforms for the rice fields. The local specialty was bamboo rice and chicken. Sticky rice is baked inside the bamboo over an open fire--absolutely delicious. The only thing that spoilt the pleasure was Poppy's need to go to the squat toilet and having numerous her false starts.

After lunch we climbed to the viewing platforms. Although a hazy, cool, winter's day we could clearly see the marvels of the rice terraces, carved out over generations on seemingly impossible terrain. We all vowed to come back in summer or autumn when the colours are supposed to be amazing. Jo and I climbed down the path back to the bus only realising at the end that we had carried the children the whole way at altitude. No sympathy for any moaners.
That was our Christmas Day. By the time the bus had got us back to the hotel is was early evening. We got some food from the local supermarket and had a picnic in the hostel's bar.

We planned to have a rest day on Boxing Day and all we had to do is book our tickets for the return home. The hostel organised a taxi for us so we didn't have to all go to the road to flag one down. Our driver turned out to be a really friendly guy. He spoke no English but Lily can speak Putongua so they started chatting away. The tickets were sorted out and the taxi driver suggested a few other sights. The day was a bit drizzly so we went to a cave called Reed Flute Cave. This was a large system of limestone caves and I have never seen anything like it. I've been to many caves in New Zealand but they are too young to have developed the amazing natural formations. In true Chinese style they were brightly lit with gaudy colours but they were still awe-inspiring. The driver mentioned some other sights worth visiting and we later agreed to hire him for a day. Imagine getting a taxi driver , who will drive you anywhere and wait for your for about 40 NZ dollars?

One of the things Gulin is most famous for is its river cruise down the Li River to see the impressive limestone outcrops. The company we went with to take us down the river looked like nothing had changed since 1972, with all the frills of state-owned tourism. They managed to knock out Natasha on coach whilst picking up passengers and the boat could have been home on any river in the former Soviet Union, maybe that's where it was from. Once we had shoved off the guide decided to tell up about the 'optional' tour for 200 RMB extra that quickly turned into a compulsory one. We let her know that we were very unhappy about this and after some quick calls back to base and because of the fact that they had knocked one of us out, they offered the tour for 100RMB. We weren't happy that this wasn't part of the original tour. They basically needed us to go otherwise it would be logistical nightmare for them to come and pick us back up. Had we known this at the time we could have held out for paying nothing.

It was worth every Yuan. Well, one aspect was. We got to see two sides of the tourism coin: the authentic village and the Disney version of culture. Before this could happen we came to the end of the cruise. During summer the boats go all the way to Yangshao but the river was too shallow at this time of the year. We had to disembark at a town called Xingping. There were a huge queue of boats waiting to dock and it seemed like a real naval manoeuvre getting all these river cruisers to line up and spew all their passengers on to the land. While we waited, locals came up on bamboo rafts, climbed the sides of the boat and sold trinkets through the windows. One old guy floated over with his fishing bird with a metal ring around its neck, threw some dead fish into the water and the tethered bird jumped into the water and brought the fish back and dropped it back into a basket. Then the old guy used a long pole with a net to collect money for taking the photos. He must have collected 100 RMB from our boat alone. I reckoned that with the many boats on the river that day that he could get into 1000 RMB for the day. And this was the quiet season. I had to admire the guy. I never paid for my photo though.

To get to the next town we had to trek through this town. Like many small towns in this part of China it seemed to be in a chaotic phase of renovations to cash in on the tourism boom, and this gave it a frontier feel. To me it was a cross between Deadwood and the arrival of the patrol boat to Kurtz's lair at the end of Apocalypse Now. This was all confirmed to me when walking along the road, dodging piles of bricks and sand, a man walks out of a restaurant, waves to Theo, who is strapped to my front, and then proceeds to eject a huge glob of snot out of one nostril onto the street. While thoroughly disgusted, I had to admire his skill getting it all out without leaving any on himself.

We boarded a bus and headed to Yangshao which is a tourist town that was developed about 20 years or so ago and pretty well all set up for tourists. The main street is called West Street and made up of refurbished traditional buildings with souvenir shops on the ground floor and bars, restaurants and small hotels on the second floor. Many of the backpackers rated the town quite highly but to me it seemed too over-commercialised. Think Queenstown and Greek Islands and you get the idea--both beautiful places but so artificial and sterile.

The village we visited afterwards was the total opposite. The site of a famous bridge, it was a typical rural village. Old women sitting on their doorsteps watching the world go by; skinny dogs wandering the streets; and kids making mud pies and grass salads on the streets. Although tidy, it has a rundown, haphazard look to it that just seemed--natural. The former landlord's house, now gutted during the Cultural Revolution, is untouched after youths of the sixties, destroyed the house and its furnishings in a Mao-inspired frenzy. Talk about history coming alive.
To contrast that, the next stop was a 'village' called Shangri-la where another boat ride awaited. If you have been to Disneyland, the African cruise is what it remained me of. The boats floated on recently made canals past small shows of the minorities of the area. One particular one had topless young men and scantily clad women doing a tribal dance and then rushing back to warm blankets when we had moved past. Poor buggers. I cringed. After the cruise we could only get out of the place if we went through an elaborate maze of village buildings, each housing a traditional craft. All available for purchase. Visa, Mastercard accepted.

The next day we took it quietly and went to a local park and let the kids walk on the grass. We kept expecting someone to come along to shoo us off the grass. That's what would have happened in Hong Kong. Instead local children came to join us. The kids absolutely loved it. We had a nice walk around and looked for the zoo part, in particular the pandas. At one stage we stopped by the side of a river to let the kids have a rest and I was talking to Jo and behind me I heard a very loud 'plop' then a big cheer from some of the locals who were watching us. Poppy had picked up a rather large rock and lifted it above the railings and into the river. It was hard to tell her off.
For our final day we hired our taxi driver who took us for a big drive to an ancient village called Da'Xu. This was a fantastic village as it wasn't really on the major tourist map--it was a bit of a mission to get to over gravel roads. There was some tourism with a few little stalls set up but not in-your-face like in some of our other experiences. We met some of the local women sitting near the village square, an obvious gossip circle, and they took a huge interest in the kids, especially the blonde Poppy. We wandered down the main street, totally transported back in time. The village was over 700 years old and was one an important trading route on the river. Once the railway came it faded in obscurity and bypassed by history. The houses down the main street were once rich merchants' houses with ornate carved doors and screens inside. It was a great way to end a fantastic trip. That night we had to catch the overnight train back to Shenzhen. Thoroughly exhausted we all fell asleep to the gentle rocking of the carriage.