Red dirt and tobacco

Our next day in Danuohei there was another cultural celebration, this time for some county bigwigs who were giving the village a certificate. "Protection of Intangible Cultural Resources" was the theme and so everyone practiced their steps, donned traditional costumes, and put on an ethnic color show for the TV cameras in the town square.  I'm sure they're proud of their culture and everything, but it was hard not to feel a sense of resignation about the whole thing.  The villagers seemed used to the display, at any rate.  The three of us from Kunming were invited to the song and dance, but wanted to do a little scouting around the farms, you know, this was a research mission. 

So Nina, Zhang, and I went to the show for a minute and then walked off. We asked a kid where we could see some farms and he pointed along the road we were on, up and around and through the crimson hills.  I couldn't believe how red the dirt was, brilliantly acid I've been told, and filled with cash crops.  We met a few folks and asked about farming: a goat herder who looked trapped and quickly moved up the hill with his flock, an old guy who had no land himself but hoed weeds for his three sons, a woman who smiled and sat on a rock while we chatted about climate change, an old lady who couldn't remember a thing, and nobody who grew buckwheat or had in the last ten years.  Lots of tobacco and corn, a little barley or wheat, some hot peppers, beans, or potatoes. We saw fat tobacco plants everywhere, often on long rows of clear plastic mulch.  Yunnan is famous for its tobacco and we were in the smokebasket of China. According to our host, every family had at least one curing shed for tobacco, and as many as three; tall narrow cinderblock buildings with black chimneys and doors.  Coal powered, which must be great for flavor.     

After a few hours of futilely asking for buckwheat we decided to leave the village early and try our luck elsewhere, perhaps near Yiliang which was on the way back to Kunming.

Except for the false advertising about buckwheat, Danuohei was a cool village: centuries-old earthen buildings, winding stone streets and friendly, approachable people. But the dogs were mostly scary, so I wouldn't walk around alone without a big stick.