Shhhhh…. Shaxi….

I’d never even heard of Shaxi when we set off on our Yunnan adventure.  But while staying at the Bruce Chalet, we met up with an Australian family who were touring Yunnan with a guide.  I asked what they thought of Lijiang Old Town.  They were polite but noncommittal.  “It’s fine, I suppose.  A bit touristy.”  Was Shuhe better?  “Maybe… It’s just that we’ve been spoiled by visiting much nicer small towns.  We’ve seen some amazing ones, so these touristy places don’t do much for us.”  And what was the best old town they’d seen?

“Shaxi.”

That evening, I googled Shaxi and knew it had to be added to our itinerary.  We booked a hotel for three nights, but now that we’re here, I think we’ll stay a week.  It’s a treasured respite from the unbridled tourism elsewhere in Yunnan.

And that, my friends, was as far as my draft blog post got on July 4.  We did indeed stay in Shaxi–for eight days.  Like Odysseus in the land of the lotus eaters, we lounged about for days, sipping fine coffees, eating delicious food, and marveling at this land full of western comforts, beautiful weather, and a slow, comfortable pace.  I’m hesitant to even talk about it, as I want to keep it our little secret paradise.  So, shhh… Here’s where we were:

Shaxi is widely recognized as the last or best preserved trading town along a route known as the Tea Horse Caravan Route.  Many people are familiar with the famous Silk Road that connected China to India and the Middle East.  But to call the Tea Horse Caravan the “southern Silk Road” really diminishes it’s stand-alone importance.  Tea, originating in Yunnan Province, would be transported to India along a 1400-mile route that traverses nearly 80 mountains.  Small towns like Shaxi were critical stop-overs and centers of trade along the way.

 

Shaxi and surrounding communities.

Today, Shaxi is a sleepy village.  It’s central square has been recognized by the World Monuments Fund as one of the Most Endangered Sites in the world, and multiple international non-profits are cooperating to preserve and restore it.

Shaxi sits in a valley, nestled among low mountains.  While the hills are arid, here’s a lot of agriculture in the valley, thanks to mild year-round temperatures and frequent, light rain showers

Rice paddies on the edge of town.

For us, Sideng Market Square became the center of our universe for the week.  It’s a quirky place.  Two buildings dominate the square.  Xingjiao Temple dates to the 15th century Ming Dynasty.  It’s unmissable, thanks primarily to the two temple guardians perched on either side of its entrance.

Who goes there? Friend or foe?

Despite their grimaces, I felt like they presented a friendly vibe.  They must have been able to perceive that we came peacefully.

Across from the temple was an old theater.  It’s not currently used for productions, as I understand it, but there was a small museum inside.  Hipster backpackers would perch under its colorful awning all day.

We stayed just next door to the theater in a youth hostel called Horse Pen 46.  It’s an old Bai-minority courtyard that perhaps once served as accommodation for weary travelers along the Tea Horse Caravan.  We stayed in Mustang Stall 2-1.  They had a bit of a horse theme, you see.

This non-descript door led to our lovely hostel.

View of a rainbow from our balcony at Horse Pen 46.

But the real win was being able to step outside the hostel, into that lovely, peaceful Sideng Market Square.

“In Yunnan Province, you can watch the sun shine while you’re standing in the rain.” So goes a local proverb. And it happened to us, several times.

Shaxi attracted all types of laid-back, oddball travelers–both Chinese and western. This hipster fellow was practicing his tightrope walking (on his own personal tightrope) and didn’t let a rainstorm stop him.

The market no longer takes place in the square.  Instead, the square is shaded by a grand 300+ year-old tree.  Research tells me it’s a “pagoda tree,” Sapora japonica.

The tree produces copious quantities of fragrant white flowers in the summer.  Local people collect and dry them for tea, baking, and medicine.  (Coincidence: these are the same flowers we ate at the farmhouse on our Great Wall camping trip.  I’m sure of it!)  Everyday, shopkeepers or restauranteurs would sweep up the flowers and lay tarps to collect more as the wind blew.  From there, they’d be placed into large, flat baskets to dry.

And each morning, the tree would be blooming again, the air filled with the buzz of delighted bees.

A younger pagoda tree can be seen on the left, which will someday replace the old tree when it is gone.

At the four corners of the square are coffee shops.  European-style, ground coffee.  Our favorite was definitely the Old Tree Cafe.  The owners, a semi-retired couple from Guangdong Province, spoke excellent English and were all-around lovely.

Old Tree Cafe.

Caramel macchiato with real foam? Yes, please!

“Cheers to the good life!”

Their resident cat had two kittens.  Simon was fascinated and the owners let him follow the cats into their private courtyard.  There, he learned a new word.  He started by trying to respond to the cats’ cries and the result was the Chinese “mao,” which means cat.  It’s now one of his favorite words and gets used at least 10 times per day.

Excited about his new friends.

If I ever own a cat–which is unlikely, as I’m so darn allergic to the things, but if I ever do–it is going to be a pale orange tabby with stripes that look like Scandinavian wood. Just saying.

We only went inside Xingjiao Temple on one occasion.  In addition to the religious artefacts, there was a great display that explained the local commitment to Shaxi’s restoration and preservation.  I’m hopeful that the community will be successful, and Shaxi won’t turn into another Lijiang.

In the back of the temple are the five golden Buddhas.

Like most temples in China, Xingjiao is still (again?) an active place of worship.  When we arrived in the hall with the golden Buddhas, a woman and her daughter were praying to the central figure.  Simon was impressed.  As soon as the woman stood up from her prayer mat, Simon knelt down in her place and repeated her actions: prostrating to the Buddha, then praying with hands over his head.  Maybe we’re raising a little Buddhist.

An Army of Clay

Before Mary came to China, she asked people what cities they recommended visiting. Several encouraged her to see the terra cotta warriors, and I’m so glad they did! I was worried the site would be too touristy, so if Mary hadn’t suggested going there, neither Xi’an nor the terracotta warriors would have been on my itinerary. And I would have missed out!

The guide books all agree that hiring an interpreter is a good idea for the warriors. The site is 90 minutes away, so you’re already going to sink money into taxi fare. And while there are some helpful signs in English inside the museum, they don’t give you a lot of the backstory.

Our guide for the day was Jia Jia. (It’s pronounced something like Zsa Zsa.) She told us, “Jia Jia is my Chinese name. My English name? Is Lady Jia Jia.” Her English was not always clear but she made up for it by repeating the last few words of sentences, followed by an “Alright? OK! Mm hmm.” And then a big grin and a head nod. I’m pretty sure she was convincing herself that we understood, not asking for feedback. It was actually incredibly endearing.

Lady Jia Jia.

If you’ve never heard of the terracotta warriors, I’m just going to send you here, because National Geographic does a better write-up than I could.

http://science.nationalgeographic.com/science/archaeology/emperor-qin/

There are three main archaeological pits. Jia Jia insisted that we visit them in this order: Pit 2, Pit 3, Pit 1. (“I’m saving the best for last. OK?” Head nod. Grin.)

In Pits 1 & 2, the soldiers are mostly still in pieces. At the end of the Qin Dynasty, Han soldiers pillaged the site. They stole the useful weapons held by the statues and in some areas, smashed them to pieces. Other damage is the result of earthquakes, which are also caused the roof to collapse.

Only a few soldiers are restored and put on display.  It’s so interesting to see those few up close, as you really can’t appreciate the level of detail on the warriors in the pits below the viewing area.

Originally, the pieces were colorfully painted. Most of the paint has disappeared due to oxidation, but you can see traces of red on this soldier’s back.

So much detail.

This archer would originally have been carrying a longbow. He was my favorite. I think he looks like he’s practicing tai chi.

The pits are vast. Archaeologists are still actively working to extract broken soldiers and put them back together, an army of Humpty Dumpties. We didn’t see anyone at work, though. Jia Jia told us they work in the evenings, when they won’t be distracted by the hordes of tourists.

As promised, Pit 1 was the most impressive. There, we saw hundreds of fully restored soldiers, lined up much as they would have been when the tomb was created more than 2,000 years ago.

Back at the hotel that evening, I decided I still hadn’t seen enough of Xi’an.  Mary volunteered to stay in with Simon so that Joel and I could go on a date.  My first goal was to eat biang biang mein for dinner.  This noodle dish is a specialty of Xi’an.  Primarily made in Muslim restaurants, it’s a bowl of soup with a giant hand-stretched noodle.  Define giant?  Well, it’s sometimes called “beltstrap noodle” because it’s as wide and thick as a belt.  And your dish will just include one, single noodle that’s three meters long.

There are so many great things about this noodle and it’s name.  Supposedly, the name (“biang biang”) is supposed to mimic the sound of the dough being slapped on a cutting board before being stretched.  The character for biang biang mein is possibly the most complex currently used in the Chinese language.  It has 57 individual brush strokes.  Locals have invented rhymes and mnemonics to help remember how to draw it.

That scribbling on the kitty’s belly? That’s one “biang.”

Eating noodle soup with chopsticks. It’s a skill.

After dinner, we headed to the Big Wild Goose Pagoda.   (Yes, there is also a Little Wild Goose Pagoda.) Legend has it that there used to be some Buddhists who weren’t vegetarian.  They were very hungry and prayed for food.  At that moment, as a flock of geese flew overhead, one broke his wing and fell to the ground.  So the Buddhists decided to become vegetarian and built this pagoda to mark the spot.  I’m unclear if they ate the goose first.

Big Wild Goose Pagoda at night.

There is a pedestrian mall near Giant Wild Goose Pagoda and we took a stroll.  We saw a group of men practicing calligraphy on the sidewalk.  They used huge paintbrushes with only water as “ink.”  They kept consulting books as they wrote their characters, so I’m not sure if it was poetry, prayer, or propaganda.  It was very lovely to watch them work.

Statue on the pedestrian mall.

 

Wacky Foods and Packages (Pt. 1 of many)

I have so many pictures of crazy food packages that I just don’t even know where to start.

Joel wants hair like Jackie Chan.  Keep trying, dear.  Maybe after a few more washes.

 

Cola flavored kids’ toothpaste?
Tricksy, dentists.  Very tricksy.

 

Back in the U.S., Simon really liked these squeezable applesauce snacks.  And so did I, when I wasn’t fretting over the wasteful packaging.  They are rare here but I found this one, flavored “Vegetable Juice Mud.”

 

This is Simon’s favorite breakfast food.  It’s apparently purple potato oatmeal.  Nothing strange about the packaging; I just think it’s weird.

 

 

What’s for lunch?  “Torpid & peppery beef.”  (In the upper right portion of the bowl.)  Because lazy cows are the tastiest.

 

But of all the instant noodles, this is my favorite.  Doesn’t that little piglet seem to be saying, “Mmm, I’m cute AND tasty!?”  Not know it’s real name, I just call these “Cute Pig Noodles.”  The same company also makes Cute Cow, Cute Chicken, and Cute Squid, but Cute Pig is definitely the best.

 

 

 

On Being Illiterate

Gosh, do we take reading for granted.  I knew it would be tough before we arrived and steeled myself for the challenge, but wow is it difficult to navigate around a city when you can’t read.  Chinese words, of course, don’t use the Roman language but instead a series of characters called hanzi.  There are the occasional signs in English and sometimes Chinese words are also repeated in pinyin (the phonetic Romanization of the Chinese characters), but not many.

Horizon Cove bus stop.

Here’s the sign at the bus stop for our apartment complex.  The Chinese characters are in red.  The green below it is the pinyin; that’s how you’d pronounce the stuff in red.  In English, it translates as “Horizon Cove.”  But if I told a taxi driver that I wanted to go to “Horizon Cove,” he wouldn’t understand.  I’d have to tell him to take me to “Haiyi Wanpan.”

There’s no cheating by borrowing tidbits of knowledge from other languages, as I’ve been able to do while traveling in Europe.  (For instance: I learned in high school that the Spanish word for library is biblioteca; while studying abroad in college I learned that the Danish word for library is bibliotek; after memorizing the Russian/Cyrillic alphabet, I was able to figure out that библиотека was pronounced something like библиотека  b–uh–b–L–uh–teka—hey! That must mean library!)  No such luck here in China.

To be reasonably able to read Chinese texts, you need to commit to memory some 4,000+ individual hanzi.  Yikes.  Sure, millions of Chinese schoolchildren manage to do it but it seems like a lot of work.  Without a babysitter for Simon, I haven’t been able to enroll in any Chinese classes.  So I’m bumbling along, not making much progress, teaching myself critical words on a need-to-know basis.  I figured out my first word while still in the Hong Kong airport.

Way out.

Exit. They say that a good way to learn to read Chinese is by associating the hanzi with a mental image.  So I like to imagine a man flailing his arms and legs ( 出 ) while running out a door ( 口 ).  Maybe there’s a fire.  Maybe he just heard the ice cream truck go by.  Not sure, but he’s definitely in a hurry.

My realizations are simple but exciting.  One of the first words that I learned to recognize was simply “China,” (中国).  China’s name for itself is “Middle Kingdom.”  I see the word a lot.  For instance, our phone plan is provided by China Mobile, so the top of my phone screen says “中国移动.”  Notice the first two symbols?

Anyhow imagine my excitement when I was looking at our gas/water heater, trying to adjust the maximum temperature, and saw this:

Low, middle, high

Hey!  Lookie!  At the top of the dial–that’s the word for “middle”!  中.  As in, “Middle Kingdom.”  As in, “low, middle, high.”  Wheeeee.  At this rate, I’ll have mastered the 4,000 most used words by the time I’m 100 years old.  In the meantime, when I come upon a situation like this, I stand around aimlessly, raise my eyebrows inquisitively, and look at strangers until someone takes pity on me and points me to the bathroom downstairs.

“Pardon our dust…”