保山 Baoshan

My advisor Josh is in town for the week.  Nina, John and I went out with him for a few days to see a project site for the Sloping Land Conversion Program, in Baoshan prefecture on the western border of Yunnan.  The Baoshan area is famous for its Little Green Bean, which has a tan skin and bright green interior.  They're served roasted, bursting through their skins, as a snack food.   As we drove into town from the airport we saw rice paddies in the flatlands and around each paddy a couple rows of beans on the border.  Also on our drive we saw mulberries planted in the lowlands next to corn flats and rice paddies.   People keep silkworms near their homes and harvest mulberry leaves to feed them through the season, coppicing the bushes every winter. 

That afternoon we spoke with the director of the local Forestry Bureau, a jovial guy who traded jibes with Josh through the translator and told us a lot about the program and its implementation.   The following day we went to check out some project sites that were converted beginning ten years ago, in 1998. At that time SLCP was just a local project and farmers received only free seedlings, not cash or grain for retiring their cropland.  We saw densely planted ten-year-old stands of tiny Yunnan and Chinese White (armandii) pine trees, species apparently not so well suited for the altitude, over 7500'.  Last year this area saw thick snow cover.  In some vacant spaces among the pines were planted a handful of other broadleaf species, including alder, maple, and rhodedendron, to introduce diversity and test for suitability.   

Our guide from the forestry bureau, Mr Yang, told us the fields we were walking through used to be planted in buckwheat, but the people from the village lived half an hour away, and buckwheat is a very low-yielding crop, especially in these poor soil and climatic conditions.  The villagers were ready to give it up planting it and let the land go to trees, so they jumped at the chance for free seedlings.   Further up the hill we got to what is called "barren mountain" or wasteland, where the soil is so poor no crops were ever grown there.  It had been planted to pine trees three times since the seventies, and practically everything had died.  Now they were experimenting with a hardy cedar, and some trees we saw looked pretty good at three or four years old.   

Then we went to see an "economic forest," so defined by the national SLCP program that began here in 2002.  Farmers plant fruit or nut trees and are allowed to continue cropping in the understory as the trees grow.  Apparently they are only allowed to plant low-stature species such as bush beans, sweet potatoes, and a parsnip-like medicinal plant.  But we also saw corn, pole beans, and sunflowers elbowing out the pear seedlings.  There were quite a few walnut trees; apparently walnuts fetch a good market price and farmers have begun to choose that species over the pear that was initially pushed by the government.       

As you can see by the photos, our weather wasn't the best, but we got a decent idea of the lay of the land.  Fog and meat goats going up to pasture.

The penthouse

So Heidi and John and I are renting an apartment in Kunming near Green Lake.  It's nice to have a place to hang my hat, even though I haven't stopped sleeping in the sleeping bag.  Here's some photos from the courtyard, and the common room, complete with pink barbarella loveseats. Also our view, which actually includes light and not the side of another building so it could be worse.  

It's on the seventh floor with no elevator, and combined with an altitude of 6000 feet above sea level, its quite the climb.  I've stopped cussing every time I come home but just barely. The lights in the stairwell are sound-activated, which took me a couple days to figure out.  At first I was amazed at how all the bulbs could be burned out, and was blindly feeling my way home at night.   Then I noticed if I stepped loudly or was coming up with a loud talker, voila. So you snap your fingers or clap your hands as you're climbing the stairs and the lights come on and its kinda fun.  You know, these little expressions of power are important.

A notable weird thing that's going on in Kunming now is this mass street tree planting.  Crews have been cutting holes in sidewalks, in the street proper, next to already existing plantings - pretty much anywhere they can get a jackhammer in.  Everywhere you go some poor guys are cutting up the asphalt and some poor women are dragging around bags of dirt and then these little trees go in.  The trees look like hell and are planted really densely, and seem utterly doomed.  At first we thought it was because the Olympic torch was coming through town, but the torch is long gone and more trees are still going in, everywhere.  Rumor has it some company has a contract with the city and is being paid by the tree, which sounds about right. But really, the sidewalks are crowded enough without a bunch of new dead and dying little trees.

I included a photo of me at the "liquid vista" at the Kunming Institute of Botany, for those of you who miss seeing me.  Nice vest, eh?

The Hui on the hill: Huangsanwa

After leaving Danuohei we spent a night in the dusty city of Yiliang and tried to figure out where to go next.   Nina had decided she was ready to return to Kunming and prepare for her next trip, to "Shangrila."  

So that left Zhang and me

 to wear out our patience on each other.  Sunday went, well, ok.  The previous day Zhang had had a conversation with a neighbor at our guest house in Danuohei. She is from the Jiuxiang area and said there's buckwheat grown a lot around there. So the two of us rode to Jiuxiang, famous not for buckwheat but for its awesome psychedelic caves. Nina had been there a couple weeks ago.  We got off the bus where it seems all buses drop you off in Yunnan: yet another tourist mecca, featuring (surprise!) a culinary specialty (this time roast duck) and beautiful young women in ethnic costume.  

We walked quickly in the opposite direction to the highway underpass, and towards a village nestled among rice paddies and terraced hills.  We were passed by a guy in a horse cart full of green fodder who told us this was a Hui village.  The Hui are muslims, and there is a certain aura of awe (and suspicion) about them in China.   Upon entering the village we learned nobody there grows much buckwheat, but the guys up the hill do.  So we continued along the road up to the next village, passing rice paddies and corn fields, a mosque, a school, a duck confinement operation, and piles of manure cooking on the side of the road.  Near the top we saw the reservoir that filled the rice fields, looking very low.   

Here we finally found a few people who grow buckwheat.  We accosted a middle-aged man cleaning his hoe in a stream, who admitted to planting several mu (1 mu = 1/7 acre) of bitter buckwheat every year to feed his cattle.  Jackpot!  Then a young couple with a tiny dog and a motorcycle that plants 4-5 mu a year and even sell some if the harvest is good.  They were fertilizing their newly emergent corn crop, and plan on planting buckwheat in September after tobacco harvest. It appears nobody eats buckwheat here, and people think of it as a reliable animal feed if you don't grow enough corn.  The preferred staple for humans is rice, a sentiment we had heard the day before in the Yi village.   If you can't grow it yourself, sell your cash crops to buy rice.

The people of Huangsanwa (this upper village) had lost their buckwheat crop last year because of an unexpected early frost.  We also spoke to a woman who was not planting very much this year because of fears of a repeat of that rare event.  Apparently, early frost is only a problem once every few decades.  So I guess we'll see.

We headed back down the hill, and paid too much for lunch  at the tourist trap, and went then went to another village, Genjiaying, where nobody had apparently even heard of buckwheat.  It started pouring, and we returned to Kunming.

   

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.

In Danuohei

The bus dropped us off in Danuohei 大糯黑 at the mouth of this funny gate.  Looking down the path I swear there were marijuana plants lining the way.  Zhen met us there and we jumped in the tractor bed with grandma and granddad and went to the wedding in Xiaonuohei 小糯黑, which was fun, and not at all like a wedding as I know them.(And I went to seven last year)  The bride and groom met their guests at the gate with a tray of sunflower seeds, puffed beans, and hard candy.  Then we went into the hall where we were served lunch, and then had a little time to kill before the dance performances.  Many folks of the village were decked out in traditional clothes, the women in what must have been very hot outfits with elaborate needlework and round hats, and the men in embroidered hemp vests.  

Our host, a lovely man in his late thirties named Zhen, took us on a walk through the village, where he grew up.  We walked through the ruins of his old primary school, which closed seven years ago for lack of children in the village.  He attributes that to the one child policy and said the kids go to the bigger school in Danuohei.  Then we stopped in at his parents' house, where he cracked walnuts for us and we talked with his dad about growing buckwheat.

Apparently they plant it after tobacco harvest, around late August and through September, so this time of year the tobacco plants are still fat in the fields.  They use a mixture of compost and synthetic fertilizers, and grow mostly feed corn and tobacco now.  Also barley and wheat, and potatoes.  There are two types of buckwheat what we know as common buckwheat and tartary buckwheat,  or "bitter buckwheat" in Chinese.   Yields of the bitter stuff are higher so they tend to plant more of that.  The bitterness can be removed with some processing.  Buckwheat yields are about a third of that of hybrid corn, so he only plants as much as he wants to eat and plants a larger area to the more profitable crops for sale.  When I asked (through Zhang) about the purported cultural significance of buckwheat to the Yi people, he told me when they build a new house they cut a hole in one of the posts and entomb the seeds of five plants: corn, wheat, barley, buckwheat, and hemp.  All the while we were talking his wife was plaiting a hemp string, holding one end in her mouth.  So she didn't talk much.  

After this Zhen took us on a little walk through the fields where I saw a small planting of buckwheat (I mean small. One 15 ft row.)  And a wild buckwheat plant in the margin.  That was exciting.  Also small gardens of eggplants, jerusalem artichokes, beans, sunflowers, and other vegetables.  And I'm pretty sure also some pot, although Zhen turned us around before we got close.  Hmmm.  

We went back to the wedding, saw dancing with mostly drinking and hunting and music as a theme (what else is there?) and then were fed dinner.  Then we rode the tractor home.

Photos are the gate to Cannabisville, wedding cooks, our slightly annoying translator, and a cute little boy with a traditional Yi instrument the Sanxianqin 三线琴。

    

Research, with emphasis on the search

So this weekend I went out to do a preliminary investigation into a possible research topic: buckwheat diversity and agroecology.  Big mistake.  I should have just concentrated on touring about and taking photos, because this was tres frustrating.  I should warn you now that this post is a rant.

Fairly warned?

So a couple weeks ago I met a development studies professor at  Yunnan University who is an Yi scholar.  The Yi are an ethnic minority with a large population in Yunnan, and have a long history and many different clans.  They are known for living in mountainous areas, making strong alcohol, and warmly welcoming their guests.  Professor Peng suggested I go to Yi villages to research buckwheat.  They have a long history of cultivating it and making delicious buckwheat pancakes that they eat with honey. She emphasized how tasty these treats are, and how she savored them as a kid.  Sounds good, I thought.   

So then she introduced me to Mr Chen, a man who works in the audio-visual resources lab of the anthropology museum.  A very nice fellow, he called up a friend who runs a little bed and breakfast  in the Yi village Danuohei.  "Are you guys still planting buckwheat out there?  I have this 美国朋友 (American friend) who wants to conduct a research investigation."  So it was settled that I could set a time to go out there and that they plant buckwheat but not just now, closer to September, but I could still talk to people about it and see the land and get an initial idea of the situation.  The following week I arranged with Mr. Chen to visit this village, and he suggested I bring along a translator.  Probably a  good idea, I agreed.

The following Friday, bright and early, Nina and Zheng, a young grad student from KIB, and I set out from Kunming on the 8:30 bus for the Stone Forest, where we could catch a van that would take us to the Yi.  I should tell you, the day before Mr. Chen called and said our hosts were going to attend a wedding, and wanted to bring us.  So we bought red envelopes for wedding gifts, and toyed with the idea of buying some decent clothes, and thought, this could be fun! 

     

Green Lake

This is the first of what may be many posts about Green(Emerald) Lake, 翠湖. Our new apartment overlooks this awesome park, which is in the middle of the city and is a hive of strolling couples, chi-expelling exercisers, ballroom dancers, bumper cars, paddle boats, and traditional music. My first morning in Kunming I was still getting over Shanghai time, and went out at 6 to have a look around. You have (mostly old) people dancing to discotheque, batting badminton birdies, slapping their chests and legs, practicing sword tai chi forms, and droves of joggers crossing the stone bridges and circling the lake. Nina and I went out one morning with the IGERT badminton set, and were slowly edged off our territory by the arrival of farmers with handcarts of peaches, carrots, and squash to sell.

In the evening, Green Lake is a great (free!) hangout. There's more dancing to boomboxes with fans or farmhats or scarves, I mean groups of fifty or more women following a very serious leader. Plus one very gay middle-aged Chinese man who loves fan dancing and rhinestones. And there's music. Tons of little groups that all seem to congregate in the same area of the park, so they compete with each other in loudness and create a crazy aural experience for people walking by. They often bring along battery-powered amplifiers so they can heighten the pain inflicted by the shrillest instrument ever invented, the erhu. The ladies singing might be shriller, come to think of it.