My aunt grew up amongst the deformed-gumdrop-looking karst formations in the Guangxi province of China, just north of Vietnam.  She was raised with strong ties to family and village farming, and her life was uniquely set against the Dr. Seuss level scenery that has now been recognized by UNESCO World Heritage and printed onto the 20 yuan banknote.

 

 

Guilin: Oil Tea And Odd Geology

Born to a Yao* father and Han mother, my aunt’s childhood was a pure one. Fast forward 30 years, and life out here had greatly deteriorated from factory pollution, mass tourism, and intrusion of interstate speedways.

Come what may, I had my mind set on visiting Guilin and Yao lifestyles with a native. Before I could believe it, Chinese Independence Week had arrived. My grandfather of 84 years, my aunt, uncle, cousin of 3 years, and I were beelining straight for the Guangxi province at very many kilometers per hour.

With every intention to check it out for ourselves while avoiding the horrific crowds of this national holiday, below is the account of what happened.

Disclaimer: I never actually made it to Guilin city, choosing instead to stay with my family and far away from urban hubs.

 

 

Day 602

02 October 2019

中山 (Zhōng Shān) → 恭城 (Gōng Chéng)

I never thought that this was the year I’d be able to adventure around with a grandparent, let alone all of my grandparents.

I grew up getting to see my grandparents once every few years, for a few days at a time. 2019 was my first chance to properly hang out with them. This past February, my mothers’s parents took me on a brief cruise to Southeast Asia. This October excursion with family from my father’s side was just as much of a sudden surprise as the cruise.

Armed with a box full of jujubes, pomelo, mooncakes, and milk formula for toddlers, the five of us left before noon, didn’t stop for lunch, and didn’t reach our hotel until dark.

My 84-year-old Yeye can sure grind through a road trip. I was worried about Yeye’s legs cramping, and how bad eating out would be for his blood pressure. Everyone was constantly telling him what to eat more or less of, how much to hydrate, how much TV to watch. He must’ve thought we were endlessly fussy.

Using my teeth, I cracked open sunflower seeds for my cousin to munch on, until the sea salt coating made my lips swell.

Come dusk, and the speedway was flanked on both sides with silhouettes of geological weirdness rising from the earth.

 

 

Day 603

03 October 2019

恭城 → 龙岗大队凉水井村 → 夏立社村 → 恭城

We paid a visit my aunt’s sister. Our car was the only vehicle winding its way up this small mountain, through persimmon groves and bamboo forest. It was a nice glimpse of how remote life could be, complete with a stove fueled by full-length tree branches (mini side branches still intact) that fired up our lunch.

For dessert, we broke into the largest mooncake I’d ever laid my greedy-inner-fat-kid eyes on. Another aunt of mine had sent it over last month for the Mid-Autumn festival. I had been not-so-discreetly eyeing it for days, and had dropped hints to all adult family members. Full of nuts, seeds, and barbecue pork, it was gloriously greasy and truly unforgettable.

My aunt’s sister’s husband showed me his stash of medicinal plants.  He was an avid practitioner of traditional Yao medicine, keeping his children and friends out of the hospital. From a young age, he had the patience and passion for following his elders into the forest to collect and prepare these herbal remedies. A single whiff from any of the sacks from the disarray in front of us was enough for him to identify the medicine, tell you how fresh it was, and describe what uses it had.

In other news, I also held a baby pig-rat.

 

 

Getting body-slammed by a naked baby cousin when trying to nap on a river raft was the excitement of that October afternoon. More for him and less for me.

We had switched villages to see more family. They resided in a three-story house and had a constant flux of people, dogs, and chickens of all ages coming in and out of its doorways. Sunset from the top floor was a beautiful panorama of karsts. The sun was a distant red dot, angrily burning its way beyond the mountain tops.

Over dinner, my uncle had the epiphany that he ought to participate in this year’s rice husking. Our hosts didn’t take him seriously. As we said our goodbyes, my uncle vowed to be back bright and early in two days, the day of the harvest.

 

 

Day 604

04/10/19

全家洲 (Quán Jiā Zhōu) → 兴平 (Xīng Píng)→ 恭城

Climate change was stifling. The whole region was full of dust and an ugly haze. It hadn’t rained in months.

I got up close and personal with the karsts today. My uncle and I were walking one of his most beloved trails of China. Once a major backpacker bucket list item, the whole path was now abandoned and overgrown with weeds. Local foods, chatting with villagers, and my uncle’s constant babble kept me positive.

To get from the endpoint of our hike back to my aunt waiting with the car, we had to wave down a motorcycle and haggle a fair price. Counting the driver, we were three squished on one seat. We wove through four kilometers of standstill, tourism traffic.

On the way home, my aunt told me how the filthy streams I saw in the villages used to be clear. She and her cousins used to play in it and drink directly from it.

The farmers don’t grow the crops they used to. The way food is cultivated has lot its original wholesomeness. The various fruit trees are gone.

These days it was just persimmon cultivation. It didn’t bring profit. And anyone who had seen how much pesticide goes on the fruits, didn’t dare eat any themselves.

My aunt recalled that when she and her cousins used to get home from school, her grandma would have a steamy pot of naturally grown sweet potatoes waiting for them. Food came from the backyard farm. It was fresh, and needed very little fertilizer, if any at all.

Now everyone bought produce at the markets. The old feeling had vanished.

A few decades ago, there wasn’t any of this commercialization of their traditional oil tea. None of this “beer fish” local delicacy either. Everyone just drank oil tea with meals in the privacy of their homes, together with family, and that was that. That’s how life should be. Time together.

 

 

Day 605

05 October 2019

恭城 → 夏立社村

Reaping a few fistfuls of rice stalks was powerfully symbolic. In one swift slice, I felt immeasurably more connected to this land, the people of China, and the Mao-era pride and work ethic my parents and grandparents were raised on.

We had shown up very tardy to the paddy. My aunt’s family had kindly left us a small patch of unharvested plants for our fun.

Stooped low, wielding a sickle, and harvesting rice under a beating sun was once one of my aunt’s childhood chores. She helped me correct my reaping grip. Up close, the plants full of life as dozens of insects ran up and down. The cut bunches were rotated over the belt of a  threshing machine to separate the grain from the chaff. I half murdered the machine because I obliviously just tossed an armful of stalks in, and greatly distressing the gears and all those around me.

For some persimmon trees in the area, it was spray day. The sickly yellow pesticide, stewing in a massive vat, made my stomach churn. I have since washed all fruits and vegetables with much more care.

After a splendid lunch and a bowl of salty, bitter oil tea, it was time to part ways. Our gracious host pressed a heavy sack of his rice from a previous harvest into my uncle’s hands.

 

 

Day 606

06 October 2019

恭城 → 中山

Long drive home.

 

 

*The 瑶 (Yáo) people are one of the main ethnic groups living in the Guangxi province, now largely assimilated into Han Chinese culture.