Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Living in a National Relic—Đường Lâm, Vietnam


                                                           by Jim Goodman

    Like its modernizing Southeast Asian neighbors, Vietnam faces the problem of how to preserve its traditional culture against the onslaught of globalization.  Traditional culture, especially one rooted in ancient times like Vietnamese culture, is what gives a people its separate ethnic identity.  Economic development, greater mobility and ever improving communications pose challenges to customs and practices long associated with simpler times and less complicated lives.  To preserve traditions and the national heritage is to maintain a country’s distinct identity in the maelstrom of faster and faster globalization. 
traditional architecture in Đường Lâm
    Since the introduction of the reform era at the end of the 80s, the Vietnamese have simultaneously improved their lives and revived aspects of their traditional culture that had long been dormant or even suppressed.  They celebrate their festivals again, renovate their temples and communal houses, produce exquisite handicrafts in the specialty villages and patronize traditional music, dance and theater.  The government has in recent years abetted this revival by providing funds for renovating historic temples and buildings, sponsoring arts and crafts and subsidizing a few festivals. 
    There’s a limit, though, to how much any government can do to preserve traditions, customs, culture or even architecture.  Vietnam has its share of World Heritage sites, from natural ones like Hà Long Bay and Phong Nha caves to historical ones like the Chăm ruins of Mỹ Sơn, Huế Citadel and the old port of Hội An.  Intangible Heritage traditions like Huế court music and cà tru singing have also won recognition.  But not everything of cultural value can make it to the World Heritage list.  
temple to Phùng Hưng
     So the government has its own list and has gone about declaring as national relics innumerable old buildings, temples and communal houses.  These receive subsidies for renovation and are supposed to follow strict rules imposed by the Bureau of Cultural Heritage.  In addition, the government declared Hanoi’s Old Quarter a national relic, while it still harbored several traditional tube-houses and old communal houses.  In 2005 the Ministry of Culture and Information recognized Đường Lâm commune, 45 km west of Hanoi, in Sơn Tây district, 5 km past the town, as a national relic, the first ancient village to be thus designated.
    Certainly Đường Lâm deserved the award.  Comprising nine villages, it lies just north of Ba Vì Mountain, famous in Vietnamese mythology, bounded by rolling hills and streams to its south and flanked by sprawling fields of rice and sugar cane.  Archaeologists have unearthed artifacts here over 2000 years old and the village layouts have remained virtually unchanged for centuries.  Many of the houses are up to 400 years old, made of local laterite brick, which also covers some of the connecting lanes.  Đường Lâm hosts a greater percentage of traditional Vietnamese house compounds than any other old village in the Red River Delta, which is one big reason it garnered the Ministry’s recognition.
Ngê Quyền
    Đường Lâm also has a special resonance for Vietnamese because it was the birthplace of two of the country’s ancient national heroes—Phùng Hưng from the 8th century and Ngô Quyền from the 10th century.  In mid-8th century Tang China, then ruling Vietnam as its province of Giaochi, the An Lushan rebellion shook the empire to its foundations and left its authority weakened everywhere, especially faraway areas like Vietnam. 
    Into this power vacuum stepped Phùng Hưng, from a rich and influential family related to Vietnam’s ancient kings, before the Chinese conquest.  He raised an army and marched on the capital, defeated the Chinese garrison and effectively ruled the country in a fair and benevolent way for the next several years.  After his death the local people deified him.  The Tang Dynasty eventually recovered in the early 9th century and reasserted its control over the Vietnamese, but never again to the exploitative extent it had done previously.  The Vietnamese had witnessed the fading of Chinese power and the assertiveness of a domestic hero and from then on pressed the Chinese for greater autonomy and recognition as a separate people.  
dragons on the pagoda, Chùa Mía
     The Tang Dynasty collapsed in 907 and it was not until 960 that the Song Dynasty, the next relatively durable one, took control.  The Vietnamese began preparing for their opportunity.  Revolts broke out during the dynastic struggles in China, culminating in the seizure of the Chinese administrative capital in 938 by another Đường Lâm-born hero--Ngô Quyền.  When the Chinese sent a naval invasion against Ngô Quyền he anticipated their move and had stakes planted in the Bạch Đằng River, the main water route to the Red River Delta heartland.  When the Chinese vessels appeared he sent his forces, in smaller boats and with full knowledge of the location of the stakes, to engage and slow down the enemy.  When the tide fell the Chinese found their ships impaled and the Vietnamese then burnt and destroyed them.  With this victory the Vietnamese regained their independence.
    The communal house and temple honoring Phùng Hưng lie in the southwest quarter of Đường Lâm.  Huge, leafy old trees stand in the rather large courtyard.  The building is a modest, one-story structure with tiled roof.  A statue of the hero sits in the rear sanctuary.  The temple to Ngô Quyền is just a few minutes further on, slightly smaller, with his tomb nearby on the bank of the stream. A sculpture of him also sits in the rear sanctuary, dressed in yellow and red silk and wearing a huge golden crown.
Quan Âm Thị Kính
  At the northern end of Đường Lâm is Chùa Mía, one of the most attractive Buddhist temple compounds in the north.  Already several centuries old when it was rebuilt and expanded in 1632, it features a twelve-tier pagoda in the courtyard, with dragons crawling up its four sides and what looks like trisuls in between.  The shape resembles a stalk of sugar cane, and in fact the temple’s name translates as Sugarcane Pagoda.  A giant old banyan towers beside it.  In the rear sanctuary stands a collection of painted clay sculptures depicting scenes from Buddhist mythology, including an exquisite rendition of Quan Âm Thị Kính, heroine of a popular traditional chèo drama.
    The heart of Đường Lâm is Mông Phụ village, home to an impressive, classical-style đình, or communal house, originally built in the Lê Dynasty.  A pair of white gates, topped by sculpted lions, marks the entrance to a spacious courtyard, with two smaller flanking buildings and the đình itself, with its very wide, tiled roof and its upturned corners festooned with sculptures of the four mythical animals—dragon, phoenix, lion and turtle.  Resting on a slightly elevated platform, its massive roof is supported by thick wooden pillars, while carved dragons embellish the posts, brackets and tympani in the interior. 
    The central altar honors the tutelary god Tản Viên, the mythological Ba Vì Mountain god.  It is here that the village elders meet on issues of common concern to the villagers, like planning for the annual festival honoring both Tản Viên and Phùng Hưng.  Smaller đìnhs exist in other villages within the commune, as does a Confucian temple and a Catholic church, making Đường Lâm a microcosm of most of Vietnam’s traditional belief systems.
Đình Mông Phụ
    Mông Phụ village is the largest in the commune and comprises most of the preserved national relic area.  Whether on foot or on motorbike it makes for fascinating exploration, a real picture of traditional village life.  The houses are generally single story, in a compound enclosed by a wall, with a garden, well, and usually with a small building comprising a kitchen and storeroom and a larger building with the bedroom and family ancestral altar. 
    The main construction material is laterite brick.  The adjacent hills are full of laterite pebbles, rendering the land unfit for agriculture, but the stone is easy to mine and make into bricks, plastered with mud from the local ponds. One sees piles of it resting against compound walls on a tour through the village.  Laterite bricks are one of Đường Lâm’s important products, sent to other villages, along with carpentry, knitted wear and molasses.  The commune has also produced many scholars over the centuries and Đưừng Lâm teachers have found employment across the Delta.
    When the government notified Đường Lâm residents that their commune was now a national relic, they felt quite flattered, pleased to have official recognition of their cultural importance and confident the award, and the increase in tourism, would bring them benefits.  However, they had not reckoned with the new rules and restrictions they would have to deal with as a result.  Renovation and restoration of public buildings and temples proceeded at once, but the Ministry chose only eight private houses to finance renovation.  As for the remainder of the families, under the Heritage Law now in effect for them, they were not permitted to change, expand or even repair their houses without government authorization and supervision, virtually impossible to procure.  Their dilemma is identical to that of families in Hanoi’s Old Quarter still living in houses that have been classified as national relics. 
typical Đường Lâm house of laterite brick
    So, as a result of being recognized as a national relic, most Đường Lâm residents found themselves living under increasingly uncomfortable constrictions.  Money from the ticket booths erected in the wake of the award only seemed to go to public buildings or the handful of private homes, whose owners then benefitted from home-stay tourist customers.  Most villagers did not benefit at all from the award.  On the contrary, their lives got steadily worse.  The population increases every year, babies grow up and require more living space, but villagers are not permitted to add a story or even an extra room to their houses.  As a result, small children sleep with their parents, big children sleep on the ground, for space is too limited for many beds.  When it rains hard enough the roof may leak and the mats on the ground get damp, endangering the sleepers’ health.
    In many of these preserved traditional houses three generations share a room of just ten square meters and half of them sleep on the ground.  For craft workers the single room house is also their workshop and all the tools and materials have to be cleared away to make space for sleeping at night.  With not enough space for a proper kitchen, the families do their cooking at the doorway.  Wandering visitors, marveling at the authentic traditional rural architecture, are largely unaware of the hardships of everyday life in these preserved old houses, for they rarely venture inside the compound walls or examine the cramped living quarters.
    The villagers are certainly aware of their decline in living standards.  Two years ago 78 Đường Lâm villagers from 60 houses signed a petition asking the government to take back the national relic award.  When nothing developed the villagers this year, this time over a hundred residents, signed a new petition and sent it to the People’s Committee of both Sơn Tây town and Hanoi, as well as the Bureau of Cultural Heritage, again requesting the government to take back the award.  Then they could be free to build new houses or extend the ones they have according to their own requirements.
 Đường Lâm house compound
   The request was unprecedented.  No one representing a national relic had ever tried to have the recognition canceled.  Đường Lâm had not applied for the status of national relic; the government had selected the commune and then imposed the usual regulations for such sites.  To agree to take back the award was something the government found impossible to do.  It would entail a tremendous loss of prestige and call into question the whole notion of preserving anything traditional, if it got in the way of improving people’s lives.  If the government has the responsibility of preserving the national heritage, it also is supposed to be taking measures to raise the people’s standard of living. 
    At first, Hanoi and Sơn Tây officials claimed the petitioners represented only a minority of Đường Lâm’s households.  They claimed that, having gotten recognition as an official cultural relic, Đường Lâm was now a “national asset” and its residents had to follow the Heritage Law and preserve the commune’s status quo, because that was in the national interest.  In the end, though, the government softened its stand and the two sides reached a compromise. 
Mông Phụ resident
    The area included in the national relic site includes both the villages and the adjacent fields, ponds and farms; basically, the commune and its immediate environment.  But the preserved area, subject to the regulations of the Heritage Law, comprises Mông Phụ village and temples and đìnhs outside Mông Phụ.  Residents here must continue to follow those regulations.  But families may now construct a new house, multi-story if they want, on land within the commune’s territory but outside the existing settled area.  Admission prices at the entry gates (̣which actually do not stand at every possible entrance to the commune) will go up from 20,000 đồng to 40,000 đồng (just under $2).  The additional money will be used to repair or renovate an additional set of old houses in the preserved area, beyond the original selection of the most ancient eight.
    In coming years then, Đường Lâm will become less congested as members of the extended family start moving to new houses on the commune’s outskirts.    Within a generation cement houses of three and four stories will surround the relic area.  But the people remaining there will have more living space per capita and enjoy a somewhat easier life.  With the Heritage Law still in force Đường Lâm will continue to draw visitors, foreign and domestic, in search of cultural authenticity.   The foreigners will gain insight into traditional rural Vietnamese culture.  The Vietnamese will appreciate Đường Lâm as the kind of place their grandparents grew up in, while young couples looking for a traditional setting will keep coming here for wedding photos.  The villagers will be happier because life will get more comfortable and the government will be pleased that it found a way to reconcile preserving the heritage of the past with satisfying the people’s desire for a better life in the present.  And that’s certainly in the national interest.
           
public well
                                                                     * * * 
   

         

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

The Terraces of Baishuitai—Divine Prototypes


                                                      by Jim Goodman


first view coming from Shangrila
    The southwest Chinese province of Yunnan can boast of a greater geographical variety than anywhere else in the country.  Ecological zones range from the tropics of Xishuangbanna in the south to the slopes of the snow-clad mountains in the northwest and everything in between except a true desert and a seaside.  Even so, it has a few rain-shadow areas that all but qualify as a desert, with hills and cliffs carved by erosion into various fascinating shapes, as well as Fuxian Lake, the northern part of which has a beach just like southernmost China.  Other physical attractions of the province include mountains, rock formations, waterfalls, lakes, gorges, caves, geysers and hot springs that, of course, a traveler also finds in other parts of the country.
Milefo rock
    The sole phenomenon that is unique to China in Yunnan, and exists nowhere else in the world except for a spot in Turkey, is Yunnan’s Baishuitai, a set of natural white stone terraces in Shangrila County, in the northwest part of the province.  The county is known for its Tibetan villages, temples and architecture, but around Baishuitai the people are Naxi, the same minority nationality living across the Jinshajiang  (the Upper Yangzi River) in Lijiang County.
    Though it’s possible to walk there from Daju, in Lijiang County, in about two days, most journeys begin from Shangrila, from where a bus makes the 5-6 hours journey to Sanba, the largest of the Naxi villages. The road runs southeast, passing out of the Tibetan area after an hour or so and entering an area of heavily forested hills and scattered Yi villages. Haba Snow Mountain is barely visible from the pass over the last ridge before the descent to Sanba. Baishuitai (Chinese for White Water Platform) is first espied after winding down the hill several kilometers, looking like a great white blob of a rock, roughly 150 meters wide, lying on the slope of a hill a few hundred meters above the road. About one kilometer before this hill is the first of the villages, with Sanba five kilometers further on.
Baiushuitai terraces
    A closer inspection of Baishuitai reveals that the rock is full of terraces, pools and a shallow but constant flow of water. The local Naxis claim that the terraces were built by their gods as replicas of the rice terraces in Heaven. The Naxis thus learned to make terraced fields themselves for their own rice, wheat, corn and barley. The basic white color, as well as the terrace formations, are due to the deposits left by the waters of the spring above them, which punches through the soil at a cluster of holes above the rock, just below the forest line. As the water flowed over the slope it left behind carbonate of lime, which gradually built up and created little walled basins that trapped the water. Everything on the ground is swathed in lime, even plants and the trunks of bushes and trees.
Baishuitai terraces
    Although from a distance the creamy white base color stands out, particularly against the dark green of the forests, on closer inspection it is rather the streaks and runnels and the differences of hues over various sections of the rock that catch the eye. At the top the water flows into a large pond with inkblot-shaped islands.
    Then it spills out over a spacious flat section while the flow on the upper right section passes through several shallow turquoise pools with gray and white walls. This latter water flows down the entire right side of the rock, where the terraces are usually a pale shade of green. On the left side of the rock they are bluer, with streaks of yellow.
Sanba Valley from the edge of Baishuitai
    From the flat top one can see the whole valley, even past Sanba, to villages perched on the hills on the other side of the Jinshajiang. Terraced farms surround the settlements, some of which cling to the slopes, others lying on the top of small hills. Looking down on the rock itself one sees lines of mauve, green, purple and ocher wiggling across the surface. Except for the pools the ever-flowing water is only a couple of centimeters deep.
    It's very easy to walk across Baishuitai. Never is the surface of the rock so smooth as to be slippery, for time has left little encrustations everywhere. Besides the pleasure of being able to walk anywhere on the rock and examine its subtle colors, there is the added sensual awareness of the gentle sound of flowing water. Sometimes it falls 2-3 meters over a terrace wall into a waiting pool. The largest of these bulging rocks even has a name—Milefo, after the fat-bellied Chinese god of wealth.
dongba dance for Saimamie in Shangrila
    Naxis have captured this endless source of running water by digging a trench at the foot of the rock and channelling the water to other villages. A small stone shrine stands at the end, similar to those found around Lugu Lake. No Chinese or Tibetan-style temples exist here, for Baishuitai's Naxis, utterly isolated from outside religious influences, have retained the aboriginal faith. The dongbas still play an active role and old rituals abandoned elsewhere continue to be performed in the Sanba area.
    The most famous aspect of Naxi culture was its dongba tradition.  The dongba was the village ritual specialist, carrying out his duties with the aid of pictographic manuscripts.  These contained the instructions for several dozen complex rites dealing with a wide variety of spiritual problems, as well as Naxi history, mythology, folk tales, medical advice and other subjects.  Naxi tradition ascribes the creation of both the pictographic script and the rituals to a Naxi resident of the Sanba area named Dongba Shilo.  He is supposed to have lived in a cave near Baishuitai, where he meditated and conceived his system. 
Sanba Naxi woman in Shangrila
    Living in a cave for spiritual edification was also an ancient tradition of the Naxi people.  Until 1949 devotees would live in a hole in the ground near Wufeng Temple, near the summit of a mountain just south of Lijiang, for three years, three months, three weeks, three days and three hours before emerging.  Fed by the faithful, but otherwise engaged in meditation or sleep, success in this endeavor was supposed to enable them to fly. 
    No written evidence exists as to whether anyone actually achieved this, and the claim is not made for Dongba Shilo.  His chosen cave was actually more of a sub-surface grotto, accessible through a hole in the ceiling.  Until recent times dongbas from other Naxi-inhabited areas would visit this spot, lower themselves inside and take away one of the rocks, believing them sacred.  The dongba tradition was pretty much suppressed in the Lijiang Plain after 1949, but survived in outlying areas like Sanba.  Active dongbas from here perform at Shangrila’s Horse Races Festival and continue doing the traditional rites in their communities.  But no more pictographic manuscripts are left to guide them, for they were all destroyed by Tibetan marauders even before 1949.
         Sanba Naxi troupe at the Horse Races in Shangrila
    While the Baishuitai phenomenon is the primary reason to visit the area, the local Naxi are also worth getting to know.  Physically, the people strongly resemble the Naxi of Lijiang, especially in contrast with the predominant Tibetan and Han faces in Shangrila. Their dialect differs enough in vocabulary, though, that they have difficulty understanding the Lijiang dialect. The women wear a different kind of cape—a rectangular woven cloth, one meter by two meters, of wool or cotton, in no particular style or color. They also wear a sheepskin of about the same size and at festivals the boys wear white tunics and trousers, the women long black coats and sheepskins, braiding their hair with coloured yarn like Tibetan girls. The villagers are poor but self-sufficient for all their necessities. They are not often visited but are polite and reciprocate any interest in them. And they are the contemporary bearers of the original Naxi tradition.


natural models for Naxi terraces
                                                                      * * *

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Calling on the Wa in China


                                                        by Jim Goodman

    The easiest place to meet China’s fascinating Wa minority is the southwestern Yunnan county of Menglian, just west of Xishuangbanna.  The county capital itself, pleasantly sited astride the Bin River, hosts its regular open market every five days.  Wa villagers, mostly women, from hills in all directions stream into town with baskets of mountain herbs and vegetables to sell, joining their hill neighbors the Lahu and Aini, as well as local Dai and Han.  If they haven’t rented one of the stalls in the official market square they simply set up shop under a shady tree somewhere between the river and the market square, or anywhere along a street, if it’s not raining.  They still prefer their traditional hand-woven wraparound, striped cotton skirt, heavy on the red and black, along with chunky silver jewelry, shoulder bags studded with Job’s tear seeds, and peaked cotton caps held down by multiple strands of silver.  Aini and Lahu women also don colorful traditional outfits and ornaments for market day.
Wa woman,Menglian County
 
Wa in Menglian on market day
     For eye-catching jewelry, though, it’s hard to beat the Wa earplugs, intricately designed silver crowns on tubes about 3 cm in diameter, inserted through enlarged holes in the ear lobes.  It takes over a month to gradually expand the original hole by inserting another toothpick-sized bamboo splinter every two or three days.  Women also wear inscribed silver disc-pendants, strings of beads, several bangles each wrist, and wide bead belts.  Long-stemmed silver pipes, which women of all ages seem to favor, serve as ornaments when not in use, as they are then tucked in the cap or belt.
   
Wa jewelry in Menglian
Wa smoker in Gengma
    Townships to the north and west, mostly Wa-inhabited, can be reached by regular mini-vans out of Menglian town.  The Wa traditionally live in houses of bamboo and wood, on stilts, with roofs of thatch and an adjoining open balcony.  Women often hook up their looms on this balcony, especially in the dry season, and are oblivious to the stranger’s fascination with the process of weaving.
    Menglian’s Wa are quick to welcome the rare foreigner who wanders into their villages.  I could hardly walk a hundred paces without hearing friendly greetings, sometimes even in English, nor be more than five minutes into my exploration without someone inviting me inside for tea.  In one village my excursion coincided with a wedding.
Ximeng County Wa girl
    Between the harvest and Lunar New Year is the Wa wedding season.  In a large village marriages occur almost daily and, buoyed by the joy of the occasion, the people are especially hospitable.  No grand ceremony or dance takes place, just a bit of divination with the thighbones of the sacrificial chicken.  But as Wa youth choose their own partners, Wa custom is not to allow a negative prognosis to overrule affairs of the heart.  They just slay another chicken (or more, if need be!) until the thighbone reading is favorable.  Following this comes a grand celebratory feast, with lots of pork and rice-liquor.  And the stranger is the guest of honor, with whom everybody wants to share a personal, bottoms-up toast.
    The first words I learn to say in Wa were nyu bre—drink liquor.  Now, inspired by the alcohol, I asked my hosts for more words and phrases, jotted them down, and soon had enough to try speaking with the nearest unmarried Wa girl in her own language.  “How are you?  Are you enjoying yourself today?  What’s your name?  Don’t be shy.  I love you.”  My hosts, and the girl as well, found this uproariously amusing.  When shortly afterwards it was time to return to Menglian, half the village came out to see me off.
     Yes, a foreigner wanders alone freely and safely through remote Wa villages nowadays.  Two or three generations ago, travelers needed armed escorts.  The villages were very large, stockaded settlements, fortified all around, with a single entry passage via a tunnel through thick thorn bushes, which ended at a heavy gate.  The Wa were notorious head-hunters until the mid-1950’s, when the government finally launched a campaign to eradicate the practice.
    Spring was the prime head-hunting season, for the Wa believed the head contained the human soul-force needed to provide spiritual protection for the rice crop about to be planted.  One or two fresh skulls were required every year or two, mounted on tall poles on the village perimeter, replaced and buried when their soul-force was considered depleted.  Wa warriors generally took heads from relatively distant villages, so that the soul-force within the skull would not wander off, trying to find its way back home.  Non-Wa strangers were thus also vulnerable, and in general steered clear of the Wa-inhabited areas.
old village in Awashan
    Life wasn’t much more secure for the Wa themselves, as the system inherently generated blood feuds among villages.  Hence, villages were huge, containing sometimes over 300 households, for it was safer to live in big, defensible settlements.  The whole area, loosely called Awashan, or the Wa Hills, was so insecure for so long in its history that the border between Burma and China was not fully demarcated until the 1960’s.
    Most of Yunnans’ 350,000+ Wa live in one or another mountain range along the Burmese border in Pu’er and Lincang Prefectures.  In Ximeng and Cangyuan they are the majority ethnic group, far outnumbering the Dai and Han.  How long they have resided in Yunnan is unknown, for the Wa have no written history.  But cliff paintings of typically Wa activities like hunting, festival dances and buffalo sacrifices, which contemporary Wa claim to be the work of their ancestors, adorn a cliff face at Ai Hua, near Menglai township in Cangyuan County.  They are said to be 2000 years old.
    Not all Wa in the old days were headhunters.  Outsiders used to classify them as Wild Wa and Tame Wa, both in China and Burma.  The former were the true warrior societies, who took heads regularly and were much feared by people in the plains.  The Tame Wa either purchased heads from Wild Wa warriors or substituted wild animal or buffalo skulls instead.
    A turning point in Wa history came with the British annexation of Upper Burma in 1881.  British expeditions into the hills close to China were taken to establish administrative control and pacify as much of the area as could render ordinary commerce possible.  The proportion of Tame Wa began to grow, especially in those areas close to major routes.  Christian missionaries, mainly Baptist, penetrated the Wild Wa domain in Ximeng and Lancang Counties in the first decades of the 20th century, as I was to discover exploring the Wa area around Ankang district, in Lancang County.
Ai Hua rock paintings
   Ankang proper is disappointing:  all buildings concrete, nobody in Wa clothing and the only sign of a typically Wa connection with nature was a huge moth mounted on the door of an apartment.  Everyone there was Christian.  One of the villagers invited me to see their church, in a slightly more picturesque village halfway down the mountain. It was a simple, long wooden building on stilts, with virtually no interior decorations, other than a picture of Jesus, remarkably similar to those one might find in Tennessee or Kentucky.  I arrived just before their late afternoon services. 
    Perhaps as many as half the adults in the village started streaming into the church.  I was not the first foreigner they had ever met, just the first non-missionary.  The village was converted about 80 years ago and had resident foreign missionaries until 1949.  Besides a new religion, they also introduced Ankang’s Wa to another Western tradition—shaking hands upon making acquaintance.
    As soon as villagers saw me in the church they came up to shake my hand.  This was interrupted by the services, but resumed afterwards, continuing until the moment our tractor-trailer left at dusk.  The services themselves were short, comprising a brief sermon by one of the men, followed by the singing of two hymns.  As many men as women attended, the latter mostly dressed in Wa costume, here mainly black garments and big turbans.  Both used hymnals with the lyrics translated into Wa, using a Romanized script devised by missionaries in Burma during its colonial days.
Christian Wa services
    Christian Wa had already been the tamest of the Tame Wa before the Chinese government in 1956 established authority in the last of the Wild Wa areas and decided it was time to tame them as well.  The last recorded headhunting incident occurred in 1958, motivated by a feud and not a desire to protect the rice crop.  It was resolved in the traditional Wa way—by compensation rather than incarceration.  But the system, even the belief that sponsored it, was dead, and as a result Wa villages dismantled their fortifications.
    In some villages in southern Gengma and western Cangyuan counties, the Wa became Buddhist.  Getting off the bus at Ban Hong, 45 km northwest of Cangyuan town, I discovered monks walking around, and young Wa novices in yellow robes playing in the courtyard of a temple in the Wa style, with two roofs like Dai village temples, but covered in thatch.  Near the center of the village stood a small shed housing the sacred village pillar, modeled on those in Buddhist Dai villages in the plains.
Buddhist Wa temple in Ban Hong district
    Stopping at the village temple to chat with the head monk, I was importuned to have lunch.  As one might expect, it was a vegetarian meal, served with tea and not rice-beer, consumed inside the temple proper.  When the monks learned I lived in Thailand they nodded, yes, a Buddhist country.  Their own quarters were in a single-roofed adjoining building.  The Wa of western Cangyuan and southern Gengma Counties became Buddhist after the eradication of headhunting.  Dai monks then campaigned in the hills and quickly converted scores of villages.
    In the hills east of Gengma, as well as east of Cangyuan and south along the border to Menglian County, Wa villages gave up head-hunting, but retained other aspects of their culture and animist religion. Wa traditions, minus the bloodthirsty ones, still animate the lives of a good portion of the Wa population.  Many of the old festivals survive, or in some cases were revived.  But no general rule exists on such a phenomenon.  What survived in one area lapsed in another.  What was revived in one county was ignored in the next.  Only in recent years, influenced by the revivalism affecting most Yunnan ethnic minorities, have the Wa begun relating more to each other, seeking common cultural denominators among the Wa sub-groups or, in the case of the traditional and exuberant Hair Dance, adopting new ones.  Other affinities will be found in the domestic lifestyle and village architecture.
    From various vantage points on the road from Mengsheng south to Cangyuan one can easily see traditional Wa villages on slopes of the nearest hills, their antiquity evident by their great size—like rural metropolises.  Very few modern buildings mar the otherwise uniform pattern of peaked, thatched roofs that reach nearly to the ground.  A niche-like opening cut into the thatch enables one to ascend the small staircase in front and enter.  Interiors are dark, with a central hearth.  Houses in the western part of Wa-inhabited areas do not have the adjoining balcony, though some have a crude raised porch in the yard.
Wa woman in Zuodou
    Looking for a typical traditional Wa village near Xuelin, in northwestern Lancang County, I was advised to go to Zuodou, 17 km by winding road, but only half that by a short-cut, w-like trail.  Zuodou lies high in the hills.  Its few modern buildings—school and administrative offices—stand on flat land beside the road, several Wa homes to their side.  But walk past these and the old and (relatively) new parts of Zuodou sprawl across the hilly terrain.  Perhaps 300 or more households make up Zuodou: houses close together, elevated slightly, with steeply-sided roofs, a few in corrugated iron or asbestos, all the rest in thatch.  Villagers grow rice, maize and vegetables on dry terraces, supplementing this by hunting with crossbows and long-barreled rifles, trapping, and the gathering of wild edibles and medicinal plants. 
    Cotton is another local crop, used for spinning thread to weave their wraparound skirts and the cloth for their jackets and turbans.  In the dry season women are often at work in cloth production, by spinning, dyeing or winding thread and by weaving on simple back-strap looms that can be hooked up anywhere.  Unlike Xuelin, where modern styles are the rule, Zuodou women mostly prefer their traditional clothes.  Whether walking around in the thatched neighborhoods or sitting outside at the loom, they give Zuodou an almost timeless atmosphere.   
    I arrived with a Chinese friend on what I expected to be an ordinary winter morning. Instead, with the first invitation to come inside and have a drink, I became acquainted with a Wa custom I didn’t know existed, as well as the proper way to quaff rice-beer.  My host family was in the process of celebrating the castration of their buffalo that morning.
    The Wa here castrate the buffalo when it has reached 14 years of age, though on no particular day in the lunar calendar.  The deed is done to render the animal gentler and easier to handle, as its prime reproductive days are over.  Yet it’s an important occasion, for the family that carries it out then must invite the heads of all families in the same clan to a feast featuring several pork dishes and an abundance of rice-beer.
older woman in Zuodou
    The castration took place shortly after sunrise.  As the other guests arrived and the women prepared the food, the men gathered around the hearth inside the house and commenced drinking rice-beer.  Now this is not a particularly potent drink but the men began drinking quite early this day and by the mid-morning meal a degree of intoxication was affecting every one of them.  Some were singing old Wa songs, but independently of each other, while those next to them paid no attention and just upped the volume of their conversations.
    Meanwhile, as fresh guests we were given a few preliminary, pre-dinner drinks and then, after the meal, most of the beer in the single communal mug was served to us, as if they wanted us to catch up to their level of inebriation.  The rice-beer is stored in a large ceramic pot and the host ladles it into a large bamboo mug, without handles, and, holding the mug with both hands, gives it to the guest.  Taking it with both hands, the guest drinks a little bit of the brew then, again, always, with two hands, passes it back to the host.  He takes it, with both hands, has a small drink and gives it back to the guest.  This custom is designed for the guest to show respect to the host.  After receiving the mug again the guest may drink the rest of the contents, or just a portion and offer the mug to another guest.
    This is a slow but steady way to get drunk.  The cacophony of the party hardly abated the next hour or more while our host served us mug after mug.  We toasted everyone and everything that came to mind and finally persuaded them to cease serving us beer so that I could photograph them.  So we finally made it outside, took portraits, wrote down their address to post them the results, and departed for other quarters of Zuodou.  And while I have my photos, as well as a couple of nice Wa shoulder bags, my favorite souvenir of the Wa Hills will be my memory of the Wa way of drinking.

Wa village, Cangyuan County
                                                                      * * *

Sunday, September 1, 2013

Xishuangbanna: the Tropics of Yunnan

    
 by Jim Goodman

     For most of its history Xishuangbanna existed as an autonomous state on the remote southern periphery of China, run by the same Dai family since the 12th century. Lying in the tropical zone, on the northern rim of Southeast Asia, with flora and fauna not only unlike the rest of China, but even unique in Yunnan province, it has had close ethnic and cultural relations with its neighbors in Myanmar, Thailand and Laos.

     The valleys are home to the Dai nationality, while several ethnic minorities inhabit the hills. Xishuangbanna: the Tropics of Yunnan narrates the history and development of the Dai people, their culture, society and religion, from ancient times through the period of incorporation into the Chinese state. It also covers the characteristics of the lifestyle, culture and celebrations of the peoples of the mountains, as well as the economic and political changes of recent times and their effects on both hill and plain. The book contains over 280 photographs.
Link to LULU

Thursday, August 29, 2013

SHAN STATE GETAWAY


                                                        by Jim Goodman

    Visitors to Mandalay arrange their itineraries around visits to Myanmar’s former royal cities.  They tour the temples and historic ruins of Inwa, Amarapura, Sagaing and Mandalay itself, the last of the nation’s royal capitals before the British terminated the institution.  Yet not far away, around six hours by car to the northeast, lies another former royal capital, Shan not Burmese, known as Hsipaw by its Shan inhabitants and Thibaw by the Burmese.  It was once an autonomous state of its own, ruled by its own saopha, one of many such little princely realms that were eventually consolidated into the single political unit now known as Shan State.
Hsipaw lies on the banks of the Dokhtawaddy River
    Hsipaw has been drawing an increasing number of visitors in the past few years.  They come to enjoy a very different kind of royal city adventure than the one experienced around Mandalay.  The town is not very big, nor plagued by any traffic noise, and easy enough to explore on foot.  It lies along a picturesque river, bounded by hills on all sides, and close to a typically old-fashioned rural environment.  Though ancient monuments and important temples are among its features, most travelers spend little time checking them out and are more interested in tours by boat to Shan villages to visit traditional stilted houses and observe Shan farmers in the fields.  Second choice is usually a trek to a Palaung village, passing by a particularly striking waterfall.  Rather than a succession of temples and urban neighborhoods, Hsipaw’s guests opt instead for the pleasures of rural outings.
    The town itself feels like a true farmers’ city.  Other than an old cinema, there are no entertainment venues and the streets are nearly empty by nine p.m.  Farmers fill the morning market along the Dokhtawaddy River long before dawn, while activity in the town’s central market starts tapering off by eight a.m.  Bullock carts ramble through the streets as often as cars.  No one appears to be in any kind of hurry.  And all the women seem to carry their goods on their heads.
a common sight on the streets of Hsipaw
    Yet for all its relaxed atmosphere and relative isolation from the main currents of commerce and communication in the country, Hsipaw has in the past played important roles in Myanmar’s long history.  As the Shan state nearest to the new Burmese state of Bagan, it was the first ally the Bagan king sought when facing war with the Pyu and Kayan.  Paw Pan, the younger brother of Hsipaw’s ruling saopha, led the first-ever Shan delegation to a Burmese state.  Impressed with the treaty terms offered by Bagan, Paw Pan’s favorable report persuaded the saopha to dispatch troops, elephants and cavalry to Bagan, turning the tide against the Pyu and Kayan. 
    Some years later a succession struggle broke out in Hsipaw and Paw Pan usurped the throne without securing the customary approval of the Mong Mao saopha.  The latter’s son subsequently led an army against Hsipaw and Paw Pan capitulated at once.  The victor then had Paw Pan, his family, followers, horses and elephants all massacred together at a site called Tong Suat.  A temple and shrine then went up over the spot, now about two kilometers northwest of the town, and Paw Pan was declared Hsipaw’s official guardian spirit.  Whether Paw Pan was informed of his ultimate post-mortem role before he was killed is not known.
    Centuries later, with the rise to power of Bayinnaung, Burma once again had a strong and ambitious king.  After uniting the vassal states along the Ayeyarwadi River, Bayinnaung then launched a campaign against Siam.  The state of Hsipaw supplied the elephants and the cavalry for the invasion force.  In 1569 Ayutthya fell and among the treasures seized in the conquest were a number of ancient Khmer bronzes, which Thai armies had looted from Angkor when they sacked that city in 1431.  When he returned to his own capital Bayinnaung passed through Hsipaw.  In a farewell ceremony at Bagyo Paya, the king donated three of the bronzes to his Shan ally, which the saopha had installed in a separate shrine still standing in the pagoda’s courtyard.
Bagyo Paya temple
    Bagyo Paya, just 8 km southwest of Hsipaw, is the most important Shan pagoda in the northern Shan States.  Its annual festival, staged the week running up through the full moon of the Burmese month of Tabaung (Feb-Mar) attracts masses of Shan and Palaung pilgrims, with Buddhist Jataka stories staged every night.  Local people claim the site has been sacred for 2000 years and that the original chedi, complete with its own umbrella, is encased within the large and ornate one visible today.  Over the centuries devotees have added more elaborate elements to the building, culminating in the 1995 restoration, which re-gilded the spires and added intricate glass decorations to the supporting columns.  The top of the sagawa tree beside the pagoda bends over towards the spire, paying obeisance, say the Shan, to the relics housed within,
    Despite its antiquity, though, its beautiful modern embellishments tend to impinge upon its historical atmosphere.  But for authentic ruins and relics of Hsipaw’s past glory, one needs to go outside the northern end of the town, turning west past the shrine to Paw Pan, to the quiet and evocative site known locally as Little Bagan.  This is an area around the 150 year-old stilted wooden monastery of Mahananda Kantha, comprising several groups of even older chedis, some whitewashed, some plain brick, that date back to the time Hsipaw was located here, 4 km northwest of the town center today.
stupas in "Little Bagan"
    In the 1860’s King Mindon, Burma’s penultimate monarch, adopted the Hsipaw saopah’s son and raised him in the Mandalay palace.  In 1876, when it was time for him to return to Hsipaw and take on duties as the new saopha, this foster son asked King Mindon for permission to rebuild Hsipaw next to the Dokhtawaddy River, with a grid copying that of Mandalay, with its regular blocks and right-angle turns and intersections.  The king granted it and Hsipaw’s residents relocated the entire city from Little Bagan to the land along the river, laying it out just like Mandalay.  The saopha even had a temple built on a hillock approaching the city that included a standing Buddha image with its arm extended, pointing towards the town center, replicating the image on Mandalay Hill that points to the old royal palace.  He also renovated and expanded the grounds of the town’s main Buddhist temple, the Mahamatyamuni Paya, modeled on the Mahamuni Paya of Mandalay.
pillar at Mahamatyamuni Temple
    The saopha did not, however, copy the Mandalay Palace, but instead lived in a grand, Shan-style mansion outside the town.  When he died his ashes were interred in an elegant mausoleum on a hill just southwest of the town.  It still stands, though weeds and shrubs seem about to take it over.  Bombs destroyed his old palace in World War II and its replacement, just north of the town, looks more like a modest English country house, all but bereft of indigenous architectural motifs.  British influence was paramount by then, for just over a decade after Hsipaw’s relocation the British came to occupy Upper Burma. 
    Until they left after 1948, the British brought the accoutrements of colonialism to Hsipaw, elements which have now become absorbed into the town’s contemporary character.  Thus, Hsipaw, like so many other Burmese towns and cities, also has a clock tower, symbolizing the British attempt to make their subjects aware of the passage of time, when prior to their arrival it did not matter so much.  Besides the magnificent Mahamatyamuni Temple the town has several other Buddhist pagodas, both within the town, on its outskirts, and on the hills around it.  But now it also has a big mosque, Hindu temples, Christian churches and a Chinese Mahayana temple, all of which still serve the religions of the communities brought in by imperialism. 
colonial era buildings
Hsipaw's clock tower
    Besides adding a bit of variety to Hsipaw’s architecture, this outsider legacy of colonialism means visitors can enjoy different kinds of food during their stay—Shan, Chinese, Indian and Burmese.   Shan cuisine resembles that found in northern Thailand, with its sundry noodle dishes, grilled items and fish or meat steamed in leaves.  A Burmese meal revolves around a selected curry, served with rice, soup, and several side dishes of vegetables that are steamed, grilled, boiled, raw, or pickled.  Even washed down with a big bottle of good Myanmar beer the set meal costs less than three dollars.
    As a typical small city in a very underdeveloped country, Hsipaw also boasts the unusual attraction of old-fashioned small factories that provide a few more interesting distractions for those coming from the advanced countries of the West (and for that matter most of Southeast Asia).  Visitors can watch the production of noodles, popcorn, sandals and cheroots.  With boat trips and day-treks available, hilltop temples with great views of the city and its surroundings constantly beckoning, fine-looking buildings, good food and a friendly local population, it’s no wonder that nearly every visitor to Hsipaw adds another day or two to the original amount of time intended to explore this fascinating Shan destination.
the ruins of "Little Bagan" on Hsipaw's original site

                                                                       * * *

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Chiang Mai’s Younger Brother


                                                  by Jim Goodman


War Jong Kham
    To travel from Chiang Mai north all the way to Kengtung one crosses an international political boundary, but certainly not a cultural one.  Around 400 km from Chiang Mai, Kengtung (also spelt Kyaintong or Chieng Tung) looks and feels like a Lanna town.  And in fact, historically speaking, Kengtung has had a longer and more intimate relationship—political, cultural and social—with Chiang Mai than with the Burmese or other Shan states.  Its residents are mostly Tai Khoen, whose dialect is close to that spoken in Chiang Mai, whose written literature uses the same Lanna alphabet, and whose monks belong to the same orders as those in the wats of Chiang Mai and vicinity.
    As in Chiang Mai and other Lanna towns, monks with their begging bowls make their early morning rounds on the city streets.  But they don’t have much traffic to dodge, for Kengtung is never crowded.  The big central market, where over 80% of the city’s commercial transactions take place, is the only busy place in town.  The produce for sale, tribal handicrafts on display, handicrafts products, presence of colorful mountain people, food and snack stalls and the language of the crowd all resemble and evoke markets in Chiang Mai like the riverside Wararot.
    While the houses, temples and religious monuments in general reflect the indigenous Tai Khoen style, similar to that in Lanna, other buildings attest to events and influences not part of Lanna history.  Kengtung was the last princely state incorporated into the British administrative system after seizing northern Burma.  Several colonial-style mansions and offices still exist in the city, along with a whitewashed mosque, with an attractive three-tiered minaret, dating from the same period. 
Stilted houses are common in Kengtung
Burmese-style Pointing Buddha in Kengtung
    The modern Burmese imprint is also visible in the form of a new, giant standing Buddha with his right arm stretched out and pointing to the center of the city, mimicking that on Mandalay Hill.  In addition, a new and attractive Burmese-style temple, with ornate fringed roof awnings, called Mangala Kyaung, was recently erected next to the small but pretty Naung Kham Lake in the town’s northeast.
    Credit for the 1267 foundation of the city goes to Mengrai, who conquered the Lua on the 1200 meter-high plain, set up Kengtung and left his nephew as ruling prince.  Mengrai himself returned south to Chiang Rai, founded five years earlier, and eventually, in 1296, transferred his capital to the new city of Chiang Mai.  For the three centuries or so of its independent status, Lanna’s fortunes and boundaries would vary.  When its power was waxing it occupied and directly administered Kengtung.  When it waned, the latter broke away and defended its autonomy.
    Throughout its heyday, Lanna maintained close cultural and commercial ties with Kengtung.  Chiang Mai people referred to it as their city’s “younger brother,” even though it was founded earlier than their own. The ruling house set up in Kengtung by Mengrai outlasted his own dynasty and persisted into the 20th century.  Kengtung princes sent gifts to the Chiang Mai court on the occasion of state funerals or the accession of new monarchs and the Lanna king reciprocated.  Other than that between the ruling families, ties between the two cities continued to be close the two centuries the Burmese took over the region.  But Kengtung did suffer a loss of much of its artisan class when the Burmese forced them in 1701 to move into the new administrative center they were making out of Chiang Saen.
street in central Kengtung
    By the end of the century resurgent Thai forces had driven the Burmese out of Lanna, but the latter continued to use Kengtung as a launching post for attacks on the Thai.  From their base in Chiang Mai the Thai armies, under King Kawila, responded with counter-attacks.  The war seesawed a few years before the exhausted Burmese gave up and even left Kengtung.  Its legacy was a wide swath of devastation and depopulation stretching between the two cities.  Even the victor, King Kawila, had to celebrate his triumph in a relatively empty capital.
    To re-establish Chiang Mai as a worthy capital again King Kawila turned to historical precedents in the region and began a campaign to go capture and resettle people.  In 1808 he marched his army into Kengtung, rounded up several thousand local Tai Khoen and removed them to Chiang Mai.  In later years he returned and persuaded the Kengtung prince to leave as well, along with the city’s best lacquer ware specialists, silversmiths and wood carvers.  He settled them just outside Chiang Mai Gate, south of the walled city.
    Kengtung never fully recovered from this second population transfer and it could no longer maintain its reputation for quality craftwork.  Chiang Mai benefited, of course, but by 1828 was offering a new relationship with Kengtung--“brother cities,” with increasing trade ties.  Unfortunately, Chiang Mai was a tributary state of Siam by then, and the regime in Bangkok had other thoughts about Kengtung.  Great Britain had already defeated Burma and annexed the lower part of the country.  Siam believed Kengtung was strategically important for the defense of northern Siam, the old Kingdom of Lanna, both against a possible Burmese threat and a more plausible future British one. 
    In what became known as the Kengtung Wars (1849-1854), three times Thai armies attempted to seize the city.  And three times, due less to valiant resistance than to bad roads, bad weather and bad planning, they had to turn back.  Eventually the British took the city, but did not use it as a base for campaigns against Siam.  When they finally left relations should have returned to their historic norms.  But northeast Burma was then plagued by decades of warfare and instability.  Ex-Guomindang forces, various Shan nationalist groups, opium warlord gangs, Wa soldiers from the Burmese Communist Party and troops from the Burmese regular army crisscrossed the area and marched through the city.
colonial era building
 
    Gunfire ceased punctuating the after-dark silence around Kengtung 15-20 years ago and tourists began trickling in.  Though that number is still well short of a torrent, the way has become easier in recent years.  Decent new buses leave twice a day, 9:00 and 12:30, from Tachilek.  What used to take ten hours in a cramped station wagon over an incredibly rutted dirt road now needs less than half that, counting checkpoint stops.  The Myanmar government built a new paved road to shorten the time and in spite of several years use it remains remarkably free of pits and potholes.
    Don’t expect any nightlife there, though.  The floating disco on the big lake Naung Tung has closed down.  Townsfolk go to bed early and except for the few restaurants and small shops still open, the streets, too, are dark, the only light being that reflected from the shops.  Even in business hours shops are never very busy, though they may have three or four clerks ready for anyone stopping to look at anything.
    Kengtung’s chief attractions are its elegant old temples.  The finest is Wat Jong Kham, originally built in the 13th century, redone and renovated often since.  Besides the gilded chedi in the courtyard, with precious stones and golden balls attached to the tip of its spire, the temple also features a set of old Buddha images behind the main altar and frescoes all over the interior walls.  In gold paint on a dark brown background, these vignettes depict both religious scenes from Buddhist mythology as well as secular ones like riding buffalo carts or dining on khantoke tables.
fresco inside Wat Jong Kham
   Buddha images, Wat Jong Kham
    Nearby Wat In, named for the god Indra, also features similar frescoes, as well as an even larger collection of old Buddha images, no two exactly alike.  The book depository in the compound seems to have been influenced by colonial architecture and the temple itself, excluding the statues, dates from the 19th century.
    Except for the murals, Kengtung wats resemble those in Lanna, a reminder of the historical and cultural connections between Chiang Mai and its younger brother Kengtung.   So do the stilted wooden houses in the city’s suburbs.  Only when you leave the city to return to Thailand and go through the passport checks and the Tachilek border crossing does it dawn on you that, in fact, though you have been visiting a Lanna-type city, it was in an entirely different country.
chedi in a Kengtung pond
                                                                    • • •