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We woke up at 6 a.m., hoping that the weather would cooperate with our plans. Rain would cause the cancelation of the outdoor spectacle associated with the Miao Sister's Meal courtship festival. We looked out the window and things were not looking promising. We showered and got our water proof backpacks ready for a potentially wet day.
We went to breakfast on the 12th floor of the hotel at 7:30 for their Chinese buffet breakfast. Craig got his favorite spicy noodle bowl. I can't eat something that spicy so early in the morning, so I was on the lookout for my staple egg and flour cake. They didn't have it today, so I ate heart shaped bread, dumplings, and watermelon. We also enjoyed some coffee, once I could figure out the machine. A couple of Japanese women joined us at our table. We enjoyed chatting with them. They were also toursists hoping to attend the Sister's Meal Festival, weather pending. At 9 o'clock, we met Wang Jun and Mr. Zhou, and embarked on a drive to Taijiang to see some traditional water buffalo fights that are a festival staple. It should normally take about 45 minutes to drive there, but that time was doubled due to a traffic accident and subsequent backup. When we arrived, we saw 3 Flying Tiger P-40 airplanes on the side of the road. They were just sitting there, like an abandoned car would be. It was quite unexpected, after visiting the Flying Tigers museum, to just see these here. We knew how sentimental that the Chinese were about them, and we knew that they would be worth a lot of money at home. They were still in decent shape, with their painted mouths and jagged teeth sneering under the propeller. People used them as props, using them as an anchor point for stringing up tarps, etc. It seemed really surreal. I took a few pictures and then crossed the street where a hillside outdoor arena prepared for the fights. We walked up the slippery, wet, clay road. A water buffalo was led past us, his eyes red. Wang Jun said that people think that they put pepper into the bulls' eyes to irritate them and put them in a fighting mood. He scoffed. They would never do that. (They do, apparently, feed them rice wine beforehand though, to the same effect). The bull's sheer mass was intimidating, and the thought that he was intoxicated on top of it was a little disturbing. Wang Jun was told that we need to pay 50 yuan apiece to enter. He was shocked, it is usually free. And they weren't just charging us because we were tourists/foreigners; they were charging the locals too! Nobody seemed too pleased about this. Still, he paid our admission fee and we entered. The open-air arena had cement bleachers. It was lightly raining, and entrepreneurial types were selling umbrellas and interlocking foam floor puzzle pieces to use as cushions to keep your butt dry. Wang Jun bought us umbrellas for about a dollar apiece, and we sat on our raincoats to keep our butts dry. Wang Jun told us a bit about the sport. The bulls fight one another, and the first one to back down is the loser. It is not a fight to the death. A fighting water buffalo can cost 300,000 yuan (US $50,000). Some come from other provinces, or even Thailand or Myanmar. Winners progress to the next round, until eventually there is a final showdown. Qualifying rounds have a 6 minute time limit, at which point a draw is called. But the final round has no time limit. Last year it had lasted a whopping 32 minutes! Bulls, including last year's winners, were paraded around the ring. Today's contenders were spray painted with ID numbers on one side (e.g. A-1) and Chinese characters on the other, sometimes stenciled, sometimes freehand. A TV crew was down in the ring, filming the bulls and interviewing the handlers. "How much you wanna bet they seek us out?" Craig asked. It wouldn't be the first time. Wouldn't you know, a few minutes later, they were standing right next to Wang Jun, asking him if they could interview us for national news CCTV-7. Wang Jun translated for us, and they asked us why we were here so early (it was only 40 minutes before the scheduled start time), as well as whether we were here for the festival (yes), would we change the rest of our itinerary for the day if it continued to rain (the rain might change it for us), and whether we had seen bullfighting before elsewhere in the world (no). Then they asked what our expectations were for the upcoming buffalo fights. We said that we liked the idea that the bulls fight one another rather than fighting a human, and we liked the idea that a bull could step aside at any time; it is not a fight to the death. When one gives up, the fight is stopped. As the start time approached,the arena filled in with spectators. No wonder the TV reporters had asked why we were here so early. Nobody shows up until start time. Some people congregated to watch the fights from a steep hillside overlooking the arena. We guessed that this might have something to do with wanting to avoid the newly-instituted admission fee. We wondered if we would be able to see over the umbrellas in the rows in front of us. But we needn't have worried: the rain suddenly stopped. This would that make watching the fights more comfortable. Wang Jun's mood noticeably brightened along with the weather, because it gave us a glimmer of hope that the afternoon courtship rituals may go on as scheduled. But we were hesitant to be too hopeful, we would wait and see. The judges convened, and a man pulled numbers to determine the match-ups between the bulls. A Red Bull van (seriously?) pulled up and delivered cans of Red Bull to the judges and owners. I guess it makes sense as far as sponsorship goes. Bulls and adrenaline. Then it was time to begin. The first fight was the most dramatic we would see. When the challenging bull entered the ring, he was all fired up and immediately confronted the other bull. They locked horns, pushed one another around in the slippery mud, and head-butted one another resulting in a broken horn that started bleeding. Eventually the injured bull retreated, causing the alpha bull to be declared the winner and move on to a future round. Cheers erupted as the crowd rewarded what they saw as a job well done. Because the loser had broken a horn, Wang Jun explained that he would ultimately be killed. Despite the fact that we feel that this kind of bullfighting is less exploitative and inhumane than a human stabbing a bull until it dies, it was still uncomfortable and disturbing to see the bulls injure one another, and to know that it can ultimately still be a life-and-death battle. The second match only lasted 19 seconds with very little contact and the loser giving up very early. The crowd was not impressed. The next couple of rounds were draws as the bulls refused to fight. They just sniffed one another and stood amicably. You could tell the crowd wanted action. These peacenik hippie water buffalo were not satisfying the coliseum mentality, though we preferred to see bulls that just wanted to socialize rather than fight. In a later round, the action took place against the boards on our side of the ring. People in the front couldn't see, so they stood up to get a view down at the action. There was immediate backlash as those behind them started yelling at them and throwing chopsticks at them. After being pelted with projectiles, the people sat down. This was interesting to us, culturally. In a country where personal space is at a premium and people seem to forgive a lot of transgressions, this clearly was non-negotiable. Wang Jun said that we would stay for one final match before heading to lunch. Bulls A-8 and A-18 seemed pretty well-matched from the numerological perspective as well as physically. They locked horns, pushed, pulled, and wouldn't let go. They slid one another through the wet mud, and bled from being scraped by one another's horns. At the 6 minute time limit, it was deemed a draw, and they put a rope around each bull's hind legs to pull them apart. The bulls did not want to disengage. Both of these bulls would move on to the next round for having fought valiantly until the time limit. A draw with no serious injuries, but two bulls exhibiting their strength and determination was the most positive end to the bullfighting experience that we could hope for. We now knew definitively what we had expected before, that we would not enjoy watching traditional man vs. bull to the death bullfighting. Wang Jun helped Craig down the slippery hill. Even though it was no longer raining, the clay was saturated and very slick. When we got back to the van, our shoes were absolutely covered in mud. Mr. Zhou lined the floor of the van with newspapers. We headed back to the center of towm. It was time for lunch, but many restaurants were closed so that their owners and staff could participate in the festival celebrations. We stopped in at a local hole-in-the-wall restaurant called Happy Staying, where an older woman, a younger woman, and a young man prepared, cooked, and served the food. Wang Jun ordered food for us. The staff didn't believe that foreigners could eat food with that amount of spiciness. He told them they were dealing with the American Chili King, and insisted that they prepare it the way they would for locals rather than foreigners. (We sincerely wondered how many foreigners had ever eaten there...it was not a typical tourist restaurant, and was a bit divey in atmosphere). They skeptically did as they were asked, and they were very eager to see us eat it. As always, Wang Jun oversaw the food preparation. When we walked in, there was no food to be seen anywhere. We asked to use the rest room, and were led through the dark back kitchen, where the staff were prepping the food) to a very simple bathroom. Once the prep was done, they delivered the ingredients to a wok out front, where it was prepared. All of a sudden, there were five delicious fresh dishes on our table. Only a few minutes had elapsed. These people were good - and fast! When they saw us eating and enjoying the dishes with the hot chili peppers, they were so excited that they took photos of us on their phones. That had broken the ice between us, and they immediately began chatting, asking where we were from, what brought us here, etc. Wang Jun explained that we were going to the Sister's Meal Festival. They showed us a video of festival preparations on their cell phone, and then the older woman brought over a little video player that looked like a vintage radio to show us clips of other Miao festivals in other seasons. They were so sweet! We are very glad that we patronized their establishment. They were very friendly and they served amazing local fare. It still wasn't raining when we finished with lunch. The skies were rather overcast, but it looked promising in terms of the afternoon festivities. We drove an additional 40 minutes on winding mountain roads through beautiful scenery (rice paddies full of water at this time of year) to Shidong for the Miao Sister's Meal Festival. Mr. Zhou parked the car and we walked to the village. We crossed rice paddies on rather flimsy bridges, and walked past clusters of traditional homes made of fir planks with tile roofs and carved wooden balconies. We followed the crowd through the village and down to a large basketball court. There were strings of colorful plastic flags criss-crossing overhead, the kind that are familiar from used car lots at home. Vendors were selling balloons and toys. People were gathering here; it seemed to be the staging area for the spectacle to come. Females, regardless of age, from infants and toddlers to the elderly, were getting dressed up in their traditional finery for the courtship festival. Girls aged 14-16 were being dressed and bedecked in intricate silver jewelry and headdresses by their female relatives. The girls themselves looked completely shell-shocked. I thought back to how much pressure there is around the prom in American society, and then realized how much more pressure this must be. Girls needed to impress the boys, to encourage suitors. The girl could then choose between any invitation she gets. Hopefully this would lead to marriage. The stakes are unbelievably high. And now this all plays out publicly not only before the entire village, but also tourists, and the internet (all of the participants were taking photos with their phones, posting them on WeChat, etc.) The pressure must be unbearable. Upon realizing this, we at first felt a little bit uncomfortable gawking at and photographing these girls as they went through a rite of passage. It felt a little bit invasive to us. We observed the other tourists swarming like paparazzi, taking photos, getting right in their personal space and photographing with no interactions. I had a different approach. I started off slowly, making sure to make eye contact and greet people with a smile. This instantly softened them and they would often pose for photos, or ask for photos of us. It instantly made all the difference to make that human connection. After photographing a small child, I would show them the photo, and they would often giggle and point at their image, which in turn made their families smile. We also acknowledged that some of the locals were curious about us. As they took photos of friends and family members during the festival, they would sometimes try to take a surreptitious photo of us. When we noticed this, we would smile and pose for a proper photo, and they would giggle and say thank you. It comes from an attitude of reciprocity and respect. We know that we are probably as interesting to them as they are to us. Here we are, invading their villages and cultural events...the least that we can offer is a cultural exchange for those wishing to partake. We walked down a foot path to the river, passing food stalls cooking up delicious-smelling festival food. There were photo stalls where families could be photographed with live peacocks. Photos were printed up on the spot for purchase. A couple of parents wanted to photograph us with their children. One woman (not dressed traditionally, so she may have been a Chinese tourist) gestured that she'd like a picture of us with her daughter. When we said yes, she plopped her bare-bottomed toddler into our outstretched arms. We wondered what the girl would think when left in two white strangers' arms, but she was completely unfazed. The 14-16 year old young ladies were wearing black dresses with red and orange embroidery on the sleeves. Over the dress, they wore aprons which were bedecked with silver rectangles and circles. They wore large collar-like necklaces, which had silver charms dangling from them. They wore 3-dimensional necklaces of thick silver curlicues. Large but delicate easrrings cascaded from their ear lobes. Their silver headdresses were stunning and elaborate, with many motifs (dragons, birds, suns, hands, etc.) Silver teardops dangled down in front of their eyebrows. Their faces were made up with eyeshadow, eyeliner, and bright lipstick. Many were wearing silk roses in the hair. Older women in the community dressed according to their family status. Depending on whether they were single, married, a mother, or a grandmother, they wore different colored embroidered tunics and different hairstyles. They all wore silver. The courtship dances were commencing. Multiple generations of women formed concentric circles (older on the inside, younger on the outside so that they could be easily seen by potential suitors) and danced clockwise, while two women beat a large drum. You could hear all of the silver ornamentation jingling, making a pleasant sound like a wind chime or rainstick. It was interesting that only females were dressed traditionally. The Miao have traditional men's outfits as well, but none were being worn here, except for a few very young boys. It was difficult for us to tell which young Chinese men might be tourists, or which might be involved in choosing a girl to approach and ask for rice. Wang Jun convinced me to go into the center of the dancing circles. My first instinct was to stay outside, so as not to intrude. But Wang Jun said that it was perfectly ok; he had just been in there himself. Other tourists were as well. I trust Wang Jun implicitly, so if he suggested it, I knew it was acceptable. So I made my way to the center of the circle, next to the drum players. I am so glad that he convinced me to go in! From this angle, I was able to get many portraits of the young ladies' gorgeous faces, accessorized with flowers and silver. The girls face inwards into the circle as they dance, and boys on the outside can only steal glimpses of their faces. Maybe it adds to the mystique. As the afternoon progressed, girls would leave the dancing circle and others, who had taken longer to get dressed, would enter. I was running around taking photographs, trying to capture as much of the magic as I could. We had first been introduced to festivals like this on travel programs (Michael Palin's, specifically). We were fascinated, and never imagined that some day we would be experiencing it firsthand. Visiting a place like China has seemed so daunting back then. How would we negotiate the language barrier? How would we get around? How would we ever have time to do a decent length trip with our limited vacation time? Now, we knew the answer to these questions. Use a respected agency. Work with them to plan out an itinerary, and hire a guide / driver. An English speaking guide can translate for you, and you won't need to waste time on figuring out logistics once you are there. It worked so well for us, that this was our second trip to China in 6 months. Now we were having these Michael Palin-esque experiences ourselves. At around 5 o'clock, most of the eligible bachelorettes had left the riverside. Away from prying eyes, boys would now ask girls for rice, and the girls would accept or reject their advances. Now the older women (mothers and grandmothers) danced and beat the drum. The other tourists left. We were glad that we were here to witness the changing of the guard, so to speak. At 5:45, everything wound down. People were packing up and leaving the festival grounds. We weren't ready to go. It had been an amazing day. We had witnessed such an interesting cultural tradition. The pageantry was so impressive. As we walked through the village on our way back to the van, we saw people congregating in front of one another's houses, eating noodles, while still in their festival clothing. We wished we could crash their party, prolong the day's experience. But, we had to go. So did the festival participants who no longer live in the village. We saw several ladies in their delicate costumes riding a scooter toward the road. We met Wang Jun and Mr. Zhou at the van at 5:55. We headed back to Kaili for dinner. The roads were very mountainous and curvy. As we took a left hand turn, my left arm rest popped off and I toppled over into Craig's lap. I held it up and said "Sorry!" and Mr. Zhou started laughing hysterically. Craig teased me about breaking the van. We were all high on the adrenaline of the festival, and we couldn't stop giggling. It took about an hour and a half to get back to Kaili. Wang Jun had to meet up with a colleague who was guiding an Italian group. So we stopped at the restaurant where they were having dinner. But upon inspecting it, Wang Jun said that it was too small and wasn't deserving of the great feast he was planning for our final night together. So, after a brief chat with his colleague, we stopped at a different restaurant. When we entered the restuarant, we saw a huge bronze bust of Chairman Mao. There was a trough of water flowing through the restaurant. In it were small fish, turtles, and an extremely creepy giant salamander. You needed to cross the trough via footbridge to get to the restroom. It was weird, in a good way. Wang Jun disappeared outside and came back a few minutes later bearing a bottle of Great Wall dry red wine, saying that it was all for me. (For our farewell dinner in April, he had bought the same wine, but a typo on the label had said Greta Wall). He ordered 2 bottles of beer for himself, and 2 for Craig. Mr. Zhou, ever the responsible driver, abstained from partaking. Wang Jun ordered so many dishes that we actually needed to move to a bigger table in order to fit everything! We enjoyed trout, frog, cauliflower with bacon, pork belly fat, fresh water river snails, beef, and delicate sugared cornbread that resembled a coral reef. It was an amazing feast; the perfect way to celebrate our last night together after an amazing trip. Every time Craig took a sip of beer, Wang Jun immediately replenished his glass. Mr. Zhou filled my wine, and I ended up drinking the entire bottle myself! Mr. Zhou started giggling hysterically, recalling me holding up the broken van armrest "like a chicken leg." He recreated the scene, and then Wang Jun did the same, holding up an empty beer bottle. If we had been punchy prior to the alcohol, we were downright silly now! We shared so many laughs that the restaurant owner even came over to share a toast. When the last of my wine had been poured, I held up my empty wine bottle like a chicken leg and Mr. Zhou once again started to laugh and snapped a photo with his phone. We would need to leave early in the morning, so we decided to call it a night. There was an inch of beer left in the bottle. Before Wang Jun could think to give it to Craig, I got up and poured it into Wang Jun's glass. He said he was laughing so hard that he his stomach hurt and earlier he had spit out his beer foam. When we got to the van, Mr. Zhou hopped into my seat and held up the armrest. It was so funny! Did we really have to leave these guys tomorrow? We went back to the hotel and Craig packed for the trip home while I sent e-mail. Craig made us tea and we went to bed at around 11 o'clock. |
 Flying Tiger P-40 on the roadside in Taijiang  Previous bull fight champion is paraded around the ring  Reporter and cameraman from CCTV-7 national news  Two male water buffalo square off  Restaurant proprietors want photos of themselves with these American chili eaters  All generations of women dress up for the occasion  Young girl dressed up for the festival  The young women dance in a large group to impress the boys  14-16 year old women dance in their finery to attract suitors  The young women look gorgeous and elegant  Young women adjust one another's clothing and jewelry  An eligible bachelorette poses with her younger family members  The married women claim the dance floor as the party draws to a close  We celebrate a final dinner with Wang Jun and Mr. Zhou  Mr. Zhou keeps my Great Wall wine flowing!  My armrest falls off on the mountainous roads. I hold it up and apologize to Mr. Zhou for breaking his van. He starts to laugh hysterically, saying it looks like I'm holding up a chicken leg. The incident is recounted and reenacted at dinner and in the parking lot.  |
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