I got a meal of tofu and rice with some veg and lots of chillies for about the eight day in a row then headed to Basha. Basha is a strange village. The people are of Miao ethnicity and still live as the rest of the Miao people would have lived hundreds of years ago despite being just a few miles up the hill from the grotty and thoroughly modern town of Congjiang; it is like a scene out of a Jackie Chan movie. The men wear baggy ¾ length trousers with traditional green and black shoes and loose navy collarless shirts. They have embroidered tassels that hang down their backs and carry knives everywhere they go. Basha is the only place in China where guns are legalised. In the government’s attempt to preserve historical culture, the men are permitted to carry muskets for hunting small mammals that they find in the forest. Their heads are shaved leaving just a little tut at the top. They shave their heads with big curvy meat cleavers with no water or cream. The children, boys and girls have long hair that doesn't get cut until they become young adults. The women wear brightly coloured Miao clothing even when in the rice fields (not just for the cameras). The Basha believe that trees are gods and worship their ancestors using trees as a medium.
Although it's really nice that there are still villages in China that haven;t become homogenised, one of the reasons this one hasn't modernised is because they are a bit suspicious (and indifferent) of outsiders. At times I felt a bit uncomfortable wandering around their village. the women often made themselves busy as I passed so not to make eye contact. When I did make eye contact with people as I made my way around their winding muddy paths the onus was on me to say hello. This is often the case in China but usually people's faces light up when you say 'Ni hao' and they reply back with real enthusiasm. In Basha I'd get a reluctant and unenthusiastic response, from some older people, they'd just stare at me gormlessly. I felt like I was under surveillance. Sometimes I'd turn around and see a head quickly pop back in the doorway to hide. When things like that happen, you become aware of the sound of the air even if there is no breeze, you become aware of just how loud your footsteps are and the rustling of your clothes as you move. I felt more in tune with the myriads of ducks, chickens and dogs that would roam around freely than with the people. The Basha are by no means hostile, but at times it felt eerie and I was glad to leave the village and wander aimlessly around the surrounding countryside even in the drizzle just to pass the time. The landscape is top class even in poor weather. There are rice terraces in the lower parts of the valley, while the upper part is forested with the wooden houses condensed into tight clusters at the top. I followed a muddy path around several valleys. For a tribe that believe trees are gods they do seem to participate in a substantial amount of commercial logging. I guess even in the remote, archaic communities, nothing is more holy than money. Occasionally I'd think I was alone in the forest then I'd hear a local gather up some phlegm from the depths of their lungs. China banned spitting in the run up to the Beijing Olympics and even though this failed to eradicate the habit, spitting is not as common as I'd anticipated. My Irish friend Willie visited China some years ago and told me that the Chinese just permanently howk up greeners, any time, any place. True, I've seen some people spitting on the floors of restaurants and in public transport but it's not the norm. In Northern Guangxi and Guizhou I've often seen people who spit more or less constantly. It doesn't bother me. Although I'm no longer smoking the cheapest (and therefore coarsest) cigarettes available, I do find myself howking as well from time to time. My ones are pitiful. There is a skill to howking. I;d compare my one to a quiet pussy cat miao in comparison to a lions roar from the locals. I've always wanted to make the world a greener place but this isn't how I envisioned it.
The highlight of my day in Basha was meeting a middle aged French woman who shared her coffee with me. We sat on the bench outside her hotel for a couple of hour's, sipped coffee, chain smoked and chatted whilst the dog permanently scratched it's ticks. She too felt the atmosphere in Basha was not as warm as in the rest of China and enjoyed her walk through the countryside more than being in the village, despite the rustic charms that Basha clearly has in abundance.
Although it's really nice that there are still villages in China that haven;t become homogenised, one of the reasons this one hasn't modernised is because they are a bit suspicious (and indifferent) of outsiders. At times I felt a bit uncomfortable wandering around their village. the women often made themselves busy as I passed so not to make eye contact. When I did make eye contact with people as I made my way around their winding muddy paths the onus was on me to say hello. This is often the case in China but usually people's faces light up when you say 'Ni hao' and they reply back with real enthusiasm. In Basha I'd get a reluctant and unenthusiastic response, from some older people, they'd just stare at me gormlessly. I felt like I was under surveillance. Sometimes I'd turn around and see a head quickly pop back in the doorway to hide. When things like that happen, you become aware of the sound of the air even if there is no breeze, you become aware of just how loud your footsteps are and the rustling of your clothes as you move. I felt more in tune with the myriads of ducks, chickens and dogs that would roam around freely than with the people. The Basha are by no means hostile, but at times it felt eerie and I was glad to leave the village and wander aimlessly around the surrounding countryside even in the drizzle just to pass the time. The landscape is top class even in poor weather. There are rice terraces in the lower parts of the valley, while the upper part is forested with the wooden houses condensed into tight clusters at the top. I followed a muddy path around several valleys. For a tribe that believe trees are gods they do seem to participate in a substantial amount of commercial logging. I guess even in the remote, archaic communities, nothing is more holy than money. Occasionally I'd think I was alone in the forest then I'd hear a local gather up some phlegm from the depths of their lungs. China banned spitting in the run up to the Beijing Olympics and even though this failed to eradicate the habit, spitting is not as common as I'd anticipated. My Irish friend Willie visited China some years ago and told me that the Chinese just permanently howk up greeners, any time, any place. True, I've seen some people spitting on the floors of restaurants and in public transport but it's not the norm. In Northern Guangxi and Guizhou I've often seen people who spit more or less constantly. It doesn't bother me. Although I'm no longer smoking the cheapest (and therefore coarsest) cigarettes available, I do find myself howking as well from time to time. My ones are pitiful. There is a skill to howking. I;d compare my one to a quiet pussy cat miao in comparison to a lions roar from the locals. I've always wanted to make the world a greener place but this isn't how I envisioned it.
The highlight of my day in Basha was meeting a middle aged French woman who shared her coffee with me. We sat on the bench outside her hotel for a couple of hour's, sipped coffee, chain smoked and chatted whilst the dog permanently scratched it's ticks. She too felt the atmosphere in Basha was not as warm as in the rest of China and enjoyed her walk through the countryside more than being in the village, despite the rustic charms that Basha clearly has in abundance.
Basha men thinking they're hard
Basha girls doing some sewing. Apparently old women spend years putting elaborate stitching on their funeral dresses.
Chillies left out to dry.
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