Jour 147 (15/02/10)

Luxi(芦溪)-Hukeng(湖坑)

Province du Fujian(福建省)

- 38km -

Aujourd’hui, nous allons mieux. Il est temps de partir. Nous quittons donc l’hôtel, entourés par les trois filles du patron, qui se battent pour poser en photo avec nous.

Comme hier, aucun restaurant n’est ouvert. Nous nous contentons donc de quelques pains achetés dans cette pâtisserie occidentale à la chinoise, et repartons. La première demi-heure de notre parcours est semée d’embûches: boue, trous, flaques, cailloux, mais nous avons tout de même la chance de tomber par la suite sur une petite route asphaltée. Seulement, les dieux des montagnes du Fujian, n’entendant pas nous laisser rouler sous des conditions aussi idéales, ont décidé de convoquer la pluie et de dresser devant nous des pentes abruptes. Encore une fois, c’est le parcours du combattant, d’autant que nous nous perdons plusieurs fois, à cause de la signalétique quasi-inexistante.

A peine sortis de Luxi, un nouveau tulou...

Sur cette vieille maison: "Vive le grandiose Parti Communiste Chinois" et "Vive l'union des peuples du monde" (exactement ce qui est écrit à l'entrée du siège du gouvernement chinois à Pékin)

Nous passons devant plusieurs tulou aménagés en sites touristiques et donc remplis de curieux descendant de leurs cars et se déplaçant tel des moutons ne parvenant pas à se débarrasser de leur instinct grégaire, pour dépenser leurs économies dans des billets d’entrées, des plats peu authentiques et des gadgets attrape-gogos.

Petit bourg

En milieu d’après-midi, après avoir dévalé des kilomètres de routes embouteillées par les cars de touristes, nous arrivons dans le village de Hukeng. Evan et moi allons sonder chacun de notre côté le prix des hôtels. Evan ne tombe que sur des établissement pleins. Heureusement, j’en trouve un bon, avec des lits tout neufs. Seulement, le patron joue les comiques en me proposant le lit à 60 yuan, soit 180 yuan la chambre. “这已经很便宜！” (« C’est déjà assez bon marché! »), précise-t-il. “不行！一共60还差不多！” (« Non! 60 en tout, c’est plus acceptable! »). Et ce n’est que lorsque nous sommes à deux doigts de partir, qu’il finit par accepter.

Ce genre de situation est chose courante en Chine, mais cela m’étonne toujours de voir que les Chinois, pourtant si attachés au principe consistant à « garder la face », puissent proposer un prix extravagant en précisant que c’est une affaire, avant de finalement céder et de diminuer le prix par trois. Et tout cela avec le sourire! genre: « Oui, j’ai essayé de t’enculer en te mentant comme un arracheur de dents, mais étant donné que je t’aime bien, je te fais un prix moins élevé! On est amis? ». C’est comme si un gars essayait de me poignarder, que je l’esquivais de justesse en lui donnant un coup dans les burnes, et qu’il se retourne à la fin en disant: « Bon alors… Sans rancune? ».

C’est d’autant plus marrant que lorsque nous revenons à l’hôtel après avoir trouver, non sans mal, de bonnes nouilles dans un petit boui-boui qui proposait par ailleurs un plat de bite de bœuf (牛鞭) pour 120~150 yuan, le patron nous invite à boire du thé avec ses fils, en nous disant: “我想，你们可以跟我儿子聊聊天，成好朋友。你们来住我这算是缘分。我们中国人很相信缘分，所以我给你们最低价。要是别人，我就不会租那么便宜。” (« Je pense que vous pouvez discuter avec mes fils et devenir de bons amis. Le fait que vous veniez ici chez moi, c’est le yuanfen(₁). Nous-autres Chinois croyons beaucoup au yuanfen, c’est pour ça que je vous ai fait le meilleur prix. Si ce n’était pas vous, je ne louerais pas à un aussi bas prix. »). Ils sont marrants ces Chinois. Ils essaient toujours de nous enfoncer une poutre dans le cul avec le sourire. C’est pour cela qu’à chaque niveau, que ce soit chez les petits marchands ou les grands dirigeants, il est toujours difficile de discuter sans se faire avoir, car les lbx (les lbx sont partout!) mentent comme ils respirent.

Ce lbx-ci s’appelle Li (李). Il est Hakka (客家人) (₃) et possède un appartement dans un tulou(₂). Ce dernier étant en ruines, il a décidé de s’en servir de débarras et de venir s’installer ici pour ouvrir cet établissement. Avant, Li tenait un magasin de fringues dans son bourg. Aujourd’hui, c’est son fils aîné qui s’en occupe. Ses deux autres fils, fraîchement diplômés, vivent aujourd’hui à Fuzhou (福州), chef-lieu de la province. En nous voyant revenir du supermarché avec des bouteilles d’eau, le père Li nous dit: “你们不应该买矿泉水。我们这里的自来水很干净，很好喝。是山泉水，直接从山顶留下来，比矿泉水要好喝！” (« Vous n’auriez pas dû acheter de l’eau minérale. Notre eau du robinet est très propre et très bonne. C’est de l’eau de source, elle coule directement des sommets montagneux, et c’est meilleure que de l’eau minérale! »). L’eau de source est meilleure que de l’eau minérale? Mais l’eau minérale, c’est pas de l’eau de source?

Nous discutons ensuite avec ses deux fils, autour du service à thé et d’un sac de cacahouètes. Le deuxième fils, diplômé des beaux-arts, fait de la peinture à l’huile à l’occidentale. Comme le lui fait remarqué Evan, la peinture chinoise est renommée. Pourquoi, alors, ne s’y intéresse-t-il pas? Deux raisons. Premièrement, la peinture chinoise est déjà trop courante, peu originale, et le secteur est saturé. Deuxièmement, la véritable peinture chinoise, l’authentique, n’existe plus. Avec un sourire gêné, il nous dit: “因为… 以前… 怎么说呢… 反正因为政府嘛！ 现在日本和台湾都保留下来了传统的文化。大陆不行！” (« Parce que… Avant… Comment dire… Bref, c’est le gouvernement! Aujourd’hui, le Japon et Taïwan préservent bien la culture traditionnelle. En Chine Populaire, ça va pas! »). Un aveu intéressant, d’autant que plus tard, dans la conversation, il nous dit que sa mère, plus jeune, a été garde rouge (红卫兵). Lorsque Evan lui demande si elle ne regrette pas, il répond: “那时候没有办法。上面说什么，下面就必须要去做！” (« A cette époque, il n’y avait pas de choix. Quand les supérieurs disaient quelques chose, les autres devaient obéir! »). La conversation commence à devenir intéressante, mais des pétards incessants retentissant dans les rues (il faut toujours qu’il y en ait quand on en veut pas!), et notre fatigue se faisant ressentir, nous préférons écourter cette pause-thé et monter nous reposer, en espérant arriver demain dans la province du Guangzhou.

(₁): Le terme ‘yuanfen’ (缘分) est souvent utilisé par les Chinois pour dire qu’une rencontre était programmée par une sorte de force céleste. En français, on peut traduire le mot ‘yuanfen’ par ‘destin’.

(₂): Petit oubli de ma part dans les précédents posts: tous les tulous ont été construits, et sont aujourd’hui habités, par des Hakkas.

(₃): Les Hakkas forment un groupe non reconnu comme minorité ethnique par la RPC, qui ont leur propre dialecte, et dont les ancêtres, originaires du Henan, du Shanxi, ou encore du Hebei, sont venus s’installer, entre les IIIe et XIIIe siècles, dans une zone située à la rencontre des provinces du Guangdong, du Fujian, du Jiangxi et du Guangxi. Certains ont ensuite migré vers Taïwan.

Jour 148 (16/02/10)

Hukeng(湖坑)-Chayang(茶阳)

Province du Guangdong(广东省)

- 45km -

Lorsque nous nous levons tôt aujourd’hui, il pleut! Nous allons donc prendre tranquillement un petit déjeuner dans l’un des seuls petits boui-boui encore ouverts, puis retournons dans notre chambre. Mais tant qu’il pleut, nous ne tenons pas à partir. Et ce n’est qu’en fin de matinée que, sous un ciel très voilé, nous décidons de mettre les voiles.

Encore une fois, nous passons plusieurs heures à rouler dans les vallées, entre montagnes et cours d’eau, sous la constante menace de la pluie. Nous croisons encore de nombreux cars touristiques sur lesquels sont marquées des stupidités du genre: “永定 ↔ 土楼” (« Yonding ↔ tulou »). Or, des tulou, il y en a un peu partout et qu’il ne s’agit pas d’un nom de lieu. C’est un peu comme si l’on voyait en France un car « Paris ↔ mer ».

Sur le mur: "Tous ensemble, luttons pour la création d'un grand pays socialiste moderne!"

Pagode blanche au milieu de nulle part

En Chine, n'importe qui peut avoir son permis de conduire...

En fin d’après-midi, nous arrivons dans un bourg inattendu, qui comprend un important quartier rempli de vieilles constructions. Une série de vieux immeubles s’alignent dans des ruelles, sans que les habitants ne se rendent compte de ce petit trésor.

Vieille lbx du bourg de Chayang

Vieille église de Chayang

Rue de Chayang

Après avoir trouvé un bon petit hôtel, nous sortons encore vers un boui-boui, où nous rencontrons la fille des patrons, âgée d’une petite vingtaine d’années, qui travaille dans une grande ville et est revenu voir ses parents pour le Nouvel An chinois. Lorsque Evan demande à cette Vicky (certaines chinoises aiment se donner des noms anglais, même quand elles ne parlent pas la langue) pourquoi ce bourg s’appelle Chayang (cha – 茶 - signifiant ‘thé’ et yang – 阳 - signifiant ‘soleil’), celle-ci répond: “每个地方都得起个名字嘛” (« Il faut bien donner un nom à chaque endroit! »). Et quant au vieux quartier:

• (Evan) “这里有很多很古老的建筑。人家为什么不维修呢？” (« Ici, il y a beaucoup de vieilles constructions. Pourquoi les gens ne les rénovent pas? »)

• “我们这里是古镇，维修的话就没有原来那个味道了。要保留下来原来的样子。” (« Ici, c’est un vieux village. Si on rénove, il n’y aura plus l’atmosphère d’antan. Il faut conserver l’aspect d’origine. »)

Il faut dire qu’en Chine, « rénover » signifie souvent « raser+reconstruire ». On peut donc comprendre sa réaction…

Ancien "Bureau Populaire des Télécommunications du Comté de Dabu" (où se trouve Chayang)

Particularité de Chayang: les entrées des maisons sont décorées de lanternes rouges avec le caractère du nom de famille des habitants

Probablement un ancien bâtiment administratif, au dessus duquel, l'imperturbable slogan: "Vive le Président Mao"

C’est plus ou moins sur ces bonnes paroles que nous rentrons nous reposer. Nous ne sommes aujourd’hui pas parvenus à traverser la frontière du Fujian vers le Guangzhou. Il ne nous reste qu’une trentaine de kilomètres. Ça devrait se faire demain.

Jour 149 (17/02/10)

Chayang(茶阳)-Meizhou/Meixian(梅州/梅县)

Province du Guangdong(广东省)

- 96km -

Après nous être levés à 7h, nous repartons vers les montagnes sur la départementale. Ce matin, les gouttes sont rares. Le parcours n’est pas désagréable, mais il serait mieux encore si l’on roulait plus vite, car depuis hier, Evan a une nette tendance à traîner. Lorsque vers midi j’arrive prêt d’un petit bourg, il est à plus de 10 minutes derrière moi, ce que ni Andy (rapide malgré son genou), ni moi, ne comprenons, d’autant que le ciel commence à se couvrir. Nous trouvons assez facilement un petit resto, mais y restons plus d’une heure et demie à cause de la pluie qui s’est nettement intensifiée depuis. Bien que les gouttes continuent à tomber, nous décidons de repartir, malgré, encore une fois, les réticences d’Evan, qui a horreur de se tremper. Mais finalement, les kilomètres défilent sans trop de difficulté, d’autant qu’il commence à faire bon. Nous roulons tellement vite qu’Andy et moi passons la frontière sans même nous en apercevoir.

Même dans le Guangdong, il nous faut pédaler dans les montagnes

Cours d'eau le long de la route

Notre premier tulou blanc

Contrairement à Evan, les canards, eux, se foutent éperdument de la pluie

Sympa, la baraque!

C'est toujours dans les petits bleds qu'on trouve les slogans les plus insolites. Ici: "Combattre le révisionnisme et protéger le marxisme-léninisme"

En fin d’après-midi, notre mission est parfaitement accomplie: nous sommes arrivés dans la petite ville de Meizhou (梅州), qui n’a aucun charme, mais où nous prévoyons de faire une pause d’une journée internet. Après une demi-heure de recherche, nous trouvons une vieille très sympa qui nous loue une chambre pour trois à seulement 100 yuan, avec Wifi! Elle précise en nous disant: “我这里不能接受外国人。所以如果有人 – 应该不会有什么问题 – 可是如果有人问的话你们就说我们认识就行。” (« Ici, je ne peux pas recevoir d’étrangers. Donc si quelqu’un – il ne devrait pas y avoir de problème – mais si quelqu’un vous pose des questions, vous n’aurez qu’à dire qu’on se connait. »). La douche, elle, est assez marrante: la pression n’étant pas assez puissante pour faire monter l’eau jusqu’à la pomme lorsqu’elle est suspendue, nous sommes obligés de nous laver assis par terre. Nous terminons notre soirée tranquilles, en nous matant un film. Demain, repos.

Vagabond à l'entrée de Meizhou

*See all the great pictures Andy’s been taking in Fujian here

At the time of my last update, we had just finished exploring the ancient city of Tangyin back in Jiangxi. Since then much has happened (while at the same time not as much as we’d like due to the infernal rain).

Fujian has been the only province to care enough to put up a more glorified marker at its border than just a small blue sign

The last day of Jiangxi and first two days of Fujian were a veritable comedy of errors in navigation and planning (Andy and Alexis found it less funny than I did). Having had our appetite for ancient towns whetted by Tangyin, we decided to target another such town just over the border in Fujian only 170 km from Nanfeng, where we took our last rest in Jiangxi.  So we set out to make the trip in two days, except that on day 1 we missed a turn and ended up tacking an extra 30 or so km to our day’s ride through steep mountains and narrow dirt roads. Having at last rejoined the correct route, around 4pm, we were treated to an awe inspiring surprise. The provincial road snaked around and up a terrifically high mountain, so high that we could tell the switchbacks would continue well after we could crest the highest point then visible. Alexis disappeared out in front of us as he is wont to do, and Andy and I pressed in lowest gear slowly for an hour at least, before finally at the top of the slope we crossed the border into Fujian. After the obligatory picture next to the entrance stone (incidentally, to this point Fujian is the only province to mark its frontier with more than a small, simple “Now entering xyz province” sign). After the border marker, the first thing I saw in the new province was an old, thin man wearing a Mao hat in the middle of a terraced field with two water buffaloes. As he looked up, his smile stretched as wide as the look of wonderment in his eyes, and he waved emphatically at the three foreigners creeping steadily upward in the dusklight. If there is a value in omens, then our prospects in Fujian seemed most auspicious indeed.

At the halfway point up a giant climb looking back over where we had just been

We spent the following two days pushing through some of the most insanely steep mountains we’ve encountered so far, trying to make up time lost from day 1 as quickly as possible to hit our ancient town target of Yangyuan and still find a decent place to celebrate our accompanying Frenchman’s 30th birthday in something resembling style. The reward for the quadricep abuse was the satisfaction of having passed over a geographical obstacle that in centuries past was a dividing line between peoples and cultures. Just a hundred years ago, before the highways that we traveled had been constructed, that mountain range that separates Jiangxi and Fujian must have seemed practically impenetrable, the trip across being limited to only invading soldiers (this was actually one of the earliest bases of the Red Army owing to its isolation) and brave traders. It was for that reason that the local dialects between the Nanfeng and Lixin, our first night stop, which as the crow flies are separated by less than 70 km, are mutually incomprehensible. Nowadays the domestic integration of the area is being sured up even further by the construction of a new railway line, the massive concrete girders and deep tunnels of which (one tunnel we saw claimed to be nearly 10 km long) ran in parallel to our route.

At the end of day 2, out of sheer exhaustion, we called it quits in a little hotel 15 km short of Yangyuan, expecting to wrap up our goal the following day. Of course, my assumptions about auspicious omens generally prove to be at best erroneous in the short term and at worst tend to doom us to very dumb fates. Thankfully we had the wherewithal that morning to ask one of the LBXes who surrounded us at breakfast for the rough coordinates of Yuangyuan. “There’s no Yangyuan anywhere around here. The only Yangyuan ancient town I’ve ever heard of is in Zhenghe County.” Zhenghe county, where the hell is that, I wondered as I scrambled to scan the map. You have to be kidding me; we just can’t be that stupid! But of course, Andy’s iPhone confirmed that we can; Yangyuan, instead of being 15 km away, was in fact 300 km away, a distance we’d need at least 5 days to cover considering our sad muscles could hardly pedal anymore. It turned out that Andy had improperly plotted its position on the google map we had used to plan our next move, and I had subsequently not bothered to check his work before charting a route. “And it’s going to rain today,” warned an old man whose remaining teeth were crooked and yellow — only seconds before the first little drops fell from the sky. The only sensible plan, of course, was to scrap the ancient village and drop south to the nearest reasonably sized city for a rest day and internet, but the most “reasonable” route would have had us doing 80 km in a very roundabout route through territory we had covered the day before. Since that was unacceptable, we chose to cut much more directly through the inter-village roads marked on the map, despite the unanimous warnings of the road’s difficulty from the old folks who had by now completely encircled us.

I'll never know the story of the man who lives in this tent

Being hard-headed, we took the country roads despite their protests as the rain started to pick up. At first it was a narrow, flat concrete line that ran through glorious mountain-bookended fields of green like the yellow brick road. Not too bad. Eventually the concrete gave way to a slick road of red mud and fist sized gravel. “Well, if this is as bad as it gets, I don’t know what those LBXes were talking about,” Andy tried his best to jinx us. “You’re probably right. I mean I’ve heard of a dirt road running uphill,” I added just in case fate hadn’t heard Andy. And just like clockwork, around the bend the slippery mud road rose suddenly skyward from the fields at such an angle that the rear wheels couldn’t maintain traction on the wet rocks. Then the rain came harder. What followed was a long, arduous uphill push on foot followed by lots of muddy meandering around villages that under other circumstances would have been enchanting. At one point, at the top of a hill, a very thin old man who could barely speak Mandarin invited us into his blue plastic lean-to next to a pile of freshly cut lumber for tea. The other two having already started downhill, I had to with much chagrin decline his offer. I will always wonder what his life story could have been, and how much enlightenment he could have offered us if only it hadn’t been for the confounded rain.

What followed was a very wet, dirty, and miserable 70 km to our day’s target of Jiangle County Seat (将乐县城), though thankfully the last 50 km were on a 2 lane asphalt country highway. Our second day in Jiangle, January 21, was left to celebrate the momentous occasion of the thirtieth anniversary of the entry into this world of our beloved frog, Alexis.

Old clay brick shack on the side of the road on the way into Jiangle

At this point, I need to give a description of the phenomenon of these county seat towns, since we’ve found ourselves staying in so many, and since they are such an interesting phenomenon. Every county in China, over 1400 in total, is governed from a central seat, which is invariably also the largest place in the county in terms of commerce and population. They are the middling little brothers of prefecture-level cities, and thus they tend to suffer from middle-child syndrome, being neither a giant economic draw nor really being pure countryside. Jiangle’s advantage over at least most such places we encountered up north is that, (not its recent development, I assure you) is its rich endowment of nature. From the bridge over the river that divides the town in two, if you can imagine that the sad, gray buildings on the periphery were replaced by some of the beautiful old wooden houses we saw on the way into town, the huge green mountains capped in mist with the snaking river at their feet come off as a living traditional Chinese landscape painting (山水画).

Back to Alexis’s birthday, we left the city center’s only cafe around 7 to return our computers to the room before the commencement of dinner and beers. Since it was cold and raining, we hired a motorcycle cab with covered rear 4 seat carriage for the round trip across the river to our hotel in the cheap part of town. While waiting for Alexis to put our affairs upstairs, I started asking our driver about his life. The short, mustachioed, glum looking man, told me he had previously worked for an SOE in the town which had several years prior contracted and layed off most of its old employees. Since he didn’t want to leave his family, wife, and young son alone to scamper off to a giant city to look for work, he opted for a tried-and-tested means of making a living in Jiangle: to invest 6000 yuan in a motorcycle cab and join the hundreds of others already buzzing around town. The driving, he told me, made him enough to get by on, but involved 10-12 hours a day of driving around the same small streets day in and day out. Outside of the boredom I couldn’t begin to imagine, the major concern about his present occupation is the local law enforcement, who have the legal right to fine the illegal motorcycle cabs whenever they feel like it. How could it be illegal, I asked, considering that you couldn’t walk more than 5 steps in any direction around here without being cut off by a motorcycle cab. It turns out that they’re all illegal, but the cops turn a blind eye on it most of the time, cracking down at random intervals. The fine of 2000 yuan he had received a year ago was more than he could make in an entire month. Why not just get a license to drive a real cab, I asked? “I can’t afford to pay for the training and license! You have to have money and connections to get into that!” So he drives his little illegal moto-cab every day in fear, dreading the day that the fine would be more than he could afford, at which point he’d have to start from absolute scratch. I asked if he was registered urban or peasant, whereby ye would be allocated some land to farm. “Urban. How I wish we were registered as peasants — then at least we could grow crops in case things got bad. As it is, if I can’t find a way to make money, then my family won’t be able to eat.” He has been one of many out in these medium sized urban islands to tell me that peasant registration is really a blessing.

Eventually Alexis came back, and our man completed a 20 minute period of servitude to us for 10 yuan. After that, it was time for hot pot, beer, and foolishness, the best way we could celebrate Alexis’s 30th revolution around the sun and his departure from the 20’s, probably his last completely care-free decade. Once we had gotten good and drunk, we hit the streets looking for some sort of action, but the only part of town that was still alive around 11:30 pm was the row of restaurants and tea parlors that at night were packed with Mahjong players. We picked one at random and let ourselves into a room where 4 young chain smoking men were tossing 10 yuan notes at the winner of every dramatic round of the automated machine. They were shuffling tiles and making plays at absolute lightning speed, much faster than we could possibly understand. Eventually the quiet, pudgy young man working the cashier offered to open up an automatic machine for us and teach us the Guangdong rules of Mahjong, which are “the most exciting” and thus the local favorite. Owing to our inebriation, we learned slowly, but likewise owing to our inebriation, we were enjoying ourselves thoroughly, as were the young Chinese guys who began giving over-the-shoulder coaching to their most uncommon guests.

Around 12:30 everybody had bet themselves out, and it was time to go home. The responsible man of the establishment, 25 year old Li Xiaobo, saw us out the door and invited us to return the following day to his restaurant for a meal on the house. At this point explained that he and all his friends are Hakkas, and that Jiangle is a majority Hakka county. Finally we’ve gotten into Hakka territory! Taking our leave from Li and his group of young friends, we went to the town’s only bar, saw that it was full of shady old men sitting around tables getting drunk, and decided to head home. We’ll call the birthday a success.

The next day, it was noon before we stirred from slumber heads feeling a few sizes too small and 3pm before I had the energy to remove myself from bed. I called Xiaobo and arranged to show up at his family restaurant at 6:30. Despite feeling generally bedraggled and sapped from the previous night, we were looking forward to hanging out with the clique of young Hakkas. Xiaobo, a short, wiry guy with a very southern accent and fleeting traces of introversion, turned out to be the classic hospitable LBX host. He had been born in Changting county (长汀县) down toward the south of the province but had followed his mother to her home in Jiangle following the divorce of his parents. At the age of 18, Xiaobo had left home and spent years drifting from job to job around a slew of China’s major boomtowns: Guangzhou, Shenzhen, Dongguan, Xiamen, Fuzhou, etc. Most recently he had been a barkeep in Fuzhou, where he had acquired a taste for top shelf whiskey which he and his coworkers used to sneak out of the establishment. Two years ago, he realized he was sick of his vagrant life “on the outside (在外面),” where he had no support system whatsoever and had to spend a large portion of his meager income on rent and food. Fed up, he returned home to help his mother and aunt open a restaurant, on the narrow profit margin of which they are able to “scrape together a bowl of rice to eat (混碗饭吃).” His hero is Bruce Lee, whose Chinese name is only one syllable different from his own. Xiaobo had a girlfriend back in Changting he had dated for a year and was planning to marry as soon as he had enough money to start something on his own. He confessed much later after a good bit of drinking he’d love to play the field the way he knew we do in our country, but being neither good looking nor rich, he’d most likely just settle for the one girl his whole life.

Once we arrived, Xiaobo ran into the kitchen and instructed his chef, the young, fat Master Xiao who had taught us Guangdong Mahjong the night before, to make us a multi-course delicious dinner of Hakka delicacies: local fish, bamboo shoots, pink mushroom soup (it was the first pink food I’ve ever eaten that was salty), salted duck, fried rice cakes, and other vegetables. Despite the fact that it was all absolutely scrumptious and on the house, Xiaobo apologized over and over in traditional Chinese self-deprecating fashion for the poor quality of the “crude dishes (土菜).” Having already eaten himself, Xiaobo occupied himself between conversation by filling, refilling, and re-refilling pitchers of warmed local rice wine, a sweet drink of 8% alcohol. As we filled up on food and started feeling light-headed from the rice wine, we were joined by more and more company, including two other chefs and Xiaobo’s uncle Zhu, a 40 year old driver for local government officials with a big, energetic smile and a dense, vapid personality.

The restaurant business suited Xiaobo, he told us, since there was never a shortage of good food and good booze, and since he could spend his nights in the front room playing mahjong with his friends, who were mostly chefs in neighboring restaurants. “People in Fujian love to eat so much, there’s no way a restaurant will ever go under,” he told us, pointing out that every three or so storefronts in the city was an eatery of some sort, something we had already noticed. The restaurant’s name was Piaopiaoran (飘飘然), which means “euphoria,” a name Xiaobo had come up with one night during a drunken euphoria, not a very infrequent occurrence for the 25 year old, who starts most of his days with a cigarette just before lunch hour in the restaurant.

After we had eaten, they started toasting us with the sweet rice wine with gusto, to the point that Alexis’s grabbed his stomach and told me, “I’m dead!” I had to excuse the Frenchman from a few rounds on account of his stomach, at which time uncle Zhu, who had been trying for half an hour to interest us in his experiences selling Amway, perked up. “I’m in a new business, selling Chinese medicine, for a company that works just like Amway,” he told us as he produced a small dropper bottle of orange liquid which he claimed was derived from Tibetan herbs. He then proceeded to put a drop on the back of Alexis’s neck, which had him screaming “PUTAIN!” at the top of his lungs from the sharp burning pain. For a reason I still don’t understand, Andy then volunteered his left knee, the cause his his month absence from our journey, as the next subject of the vial of god-knows-what. Uncle Zhu held his finger on Andy’s knee for over five minutes, during which time Andy made no yelp, but his knee still bears a huge red chemical burn on the spot. After that, Uncle Zhu over and over clumsily dropped hints at wanting to do business with us overseas.

At one point Uncle Zhu, the unintentional comedian of the group, noticed that the island of Taiwan is absent from our USA-China Friendship Cycling Team cards and called it a “shame (遗憾),” since, in his own words which mimicked the official line, “Taiwan is an integral part of China (台湾就是中国领土不可分割的一部分).” This started a heated but still amicable debate among all of us. First I asked, why do you care so much about the return of Taiwan to the mainland? “Because Taiwan is China’s, and that’s that (因为台湾就是中国的).” Xiaobo and Uncle Zhu told us they had been told over and over since their youth that Taiwan belongs to China, and that it is unacceptable that it wouldn’t belong to them. But what effect would it have on your personal life if Taiwan is returned? “Our lives won’t change at all,” Xiaobo allowed, “but the people of Taiwan are Chinese and should be ruled by China.” They couldn’t explain why only Taiwan and not Singapore, vast tracts of Malaysia, many neighborhoods of Los Angeles, and more or less anywhere else in the world full of “Chinese” people should be returned other than it was their education, and for some mysterious reason they couldn’t explain, China must have Taiwan. But if the Taiwanese don’t want to return to China, and you force them, how is that different from forcing yourself on a girl who doesn’t want you, I asked? “Over 60% of Taiwan want to return to China, but America has prevented their return for years,” said Uncle Zhu, quickly corroborated by Xiaobo. Alexis and I told them we had been to Taiwan personally and could attest that an overwhelming majority of Taiwanese had no desire whatsoever to be governed by the mainland. “But our television reports here tell us all the time that it’s well over 60% of their population!” they repeated, but finally they admitted that not having been there personally, they couldn’t claim to know more than we. That said, I remain amazed at the willingness of the people of this country to believe everything they’re told on the centrally controlled television networks.

Thankfully we easily transitioned out of politics and back to life subjects at about the same time that Xiaobo transitioned us from the rice wine of which our bellies were about to burst to beer. Members of Xiaobo’s solid group of chef friends came in and out to talk with us between games of Mahjong elsewhere after their shifts had ended. By the end, we were playing Chinese drinking games with the table, which eventually turned into us teaching them how to play Kings, our old college favorite for getting screwed up in a hurry. I don’t know how many pitchers of rice wine and cases of beer we went through, but by 2am (yes, 7.5 hours after we arrived), everybody was good and soused, and we again trudged back across the bridge to our humble abode, after promising to stay in touch with our new friends. I hope his mom and aunt didn’t chew him out for over-generosity with the stupid Taiwan-denying foreigners the next day though.

Despite loving his carefree life of drinking, smoking, eating, and Mahjong in Jiangle, he admitted that eventually he’d need to try his hand at something in the outside world again. “Everybody wants to live a little better,” he said, “and I’ll never make enough money for a really comfortable life in this place.” Of course, I completely understand the urge to explore the outside world to find adventures and fortune, especially considering that’s just what I’ve been doing for the last 4 years. He’s definitely got energy and the all-important understanding of interpersonal relationships; so I could easily imagine him starting a company somewhere and becoming a fat boss in some big city with tons of girls on the side one day. At the same time, though, I could just as easily imagine him spending the rest of his life in Jiangle running a little restaurant, smoking, drinking, and losing money on Mahjong with his buds.

I am relieved to find this sort of laid-back, fun-loving urban community still in existence. Maybe owing to their middle-child status, or in spite of it, county cities are some of the only remaining vestiges of old urban culture still around, since they don’t really tend to attract too much investment or migration. Don’t get me wrong — the way the place has developed is still pretty ugly, and there are clearly plenty of problems, but the life here is a million times more laid back than that of the poor immigrants in Shanghai or Beijing.

After the second (unexpected) night of heavy drinking, yesterday we woke up feeling completely wrecked (there’s really nothing worse than cheap Chinese beer). As the rain has neither slowed nor given any indication of fatiguing, as of today we have now stayed here 5 days, and it looks like we will continue staying for at least another day. We’re all getting anxious to leave, but sometimes it’s good for the spirit to test one’s patience. At least that’s what I tell myself to make the wait more bearable. Hopefully in the coming days we’ll be spending time with some of the tea farmers that make central Fujian famous. Until next time, that’s all, and goodnight.

中文！！

****首先在此聲明由於有些中國人最近建議我也用中文寫博客，我今天決定嘗試粗略地翻譯上文。我想肯定沒有時間每次都這樣用中文注解或翻譯，可是這次由於連日下雨不能出行，我就勉強翻譯一下。另外聲明這個翻譯並未通過中國人校對，所以請各位中國讀者原諒語言錯誤，也歡迎各位提供指教！

離開江西初到福建那一天就是領航錯誤一個連一個（我是我們隊伍中的領航人）。因為我們對剛去過的棠陰古鎮還真滿意，我們在福建省的頭一個目標本來是要到福建省北部一個古鎮，名叫楊源鎮，離我們所在的南豐縣城只有170公里路。剛出走那天我們錯過了一個應該拐彎的路口，導致了我們在山間小泥路多走了30公里，而當天下午4點就面臨了摩天高度的山陵，至其頂需以單車最小的擋往上徐徐地蠕動。一個小時後終於到了上面福建省的界碑（而是我們第一次見到省際界的標志不只是小小“某省界”的藍色金屬標牌）過完了界碑見到的第一個人就是於梯田裡中年農民領著兩頭水牛（一母一嬰）對我們大大微笑憤憤招手，我在心中就說這個福建省的第一個預兆好吉祥！

接下來兩天我們騎過了旅程中遇到過最艱難的山丘路，因為我們想盡快到目的地楊源，而後找到一個能夠好好過我們隨行法國佬的生日。雖然這段路很艱苦，可是既過了就感覺到了能夠以自行車渡過以前作為文化之間巨大障礙的山脈很神奇。就像我們第一天所到的建寧縣里心鎮距早上出發地南豐縣只有70公里，可是飲食與語言連我們番人也可見不同。另外看到了挨著公路在建的新鐵路干線感到了同時又遺憾（因為鐵路就是消滅文化的工具之一）又為當地居民高興（因為他們確會視鐵路為發財的機會）。

第二天晚上因為Andy的腿再騎就崩潰所以在（我們認為）離楊源15公里的朱口鎮小旅館裡投宿。可預料的是我稱前天界碑與農民為良兆有些過早，因為我們在朱口吃早餐時包圍著我們的老頭（這種小地方的居民基本上只有年紀大的或者小嬰兒，身體無恙的年輕人大多都在外面打工）告訴我們這附近並沒有什麼叫楊源的地方，而我們所找的古鎮就在西邊300公里遠的政和縣！糟糕了，我們真的太傻了！又一個牙齒又黃又少的老漢子警告“今天要下雨了！”隨後細雨確下起來了，而我們隊伍尚無決策！Alexis指責我導航很差之後我們共同決定不走昨天已經走過的省道而借更直接到將樂縣城（最近適合歡度生日的地方）的小鄉間泥巴路。

雖然圍觀的老人皆諫說那些路又容易迷路又很難走，我們性急頑固的小伙子只是不聽。可是走了幾十華里，輪下由平平的水泥路變成了陡陡上坡的泥巴路，而下雨弄濕了途上小石頭，我們只得下車向上推行。這樣上下走了起伏著的多彎山路，過了好幾個小村莊，突然到了一座山的頂峰上的一個傍著一大堆剛砍過的木頭的藍色塑料帳篷。住在裡邊的耄耋之年的老農民邀請我們與他喝茶聊天，可是我的兩個隊友在我的前面沒已經下了坡路，我就只好拒絕他的邀請，我會一生歎息沒有能夠聽得他的故事。最後走了60多公里路終於到了目的地：將樂縣城。第二天我們就要慶祝我們親愛的青蛙（法國人）的生日。

我在此應當先解釋一下我對縣城這種地方的感覺，因為我們已去過好幾個，而它們挺有意思。縣城居市級城市與鄉鎮中間，因此可說它們帶些“中間孩子（不是老大而不是最小）”的象徵，就是說他們的確很城鎮化，可是他們有沒有大城市應有的經濟吸引力。即便很城鎮化，有的縣城，就像將樂，由於良好自然條件，還具有一定的魅力。站在隔縣城為兩岸間的石橋上向北邊戴“霧冠”的山峰望著就可以想象起古時來此的山水畫家一定會得到靈感，可是當今醜陋建築群大概破壞了靈感的動機。

第二天我們晚上決定離開縣城裡唯一咖啡廳而回旅館把東西放下以便酒後不丟失，可是看到了外面下雨就乘了縣城處處皆是的三輪摩托車。在Alexis把東西放房間裡時，我與滿臉皺紋的中年司機談起話。這個聲音很低的男人說前幾年他的國營企業雇主收縮了好多，就將不少職員解雇。後來由於當地崗位極少，這個不願意拋棄老婆與剛出生不久的女孩就投資6000元人民幣買輛三輪車天天混著賺錢。賺的錢夠養活其小家，可是他每天都害怕警察會給這個從事違法營業的司機罰重款。“可是，如果違法的話，這裡怎麼全都是跟你一樣的三輪車拉客呢，”我問他。“他們有權利隨時罰，可是平時他們不管，只是偶爾會給我們找麻煩。去年我還被罰2000元！”後來我問他為什麼不開正當出租車，他又好可憐地回答：“我哪有錢培訓？開那種車前需要好多錢哪！”這個非農戶口的男人最後抱怨身份不為農民，因為“農民如果賺不到錢還有地可以種，可是我要是沒收入，全家人就沒飯吃！”

最終我們用了那個司機的20多分鍾可是只給了他10元費用。他至少不是我們遇到最可憐的人。後來我們為了慶祝生日而到了一家火鍋點狂飲啤酒。三人大醉後便上街尋找熱鬧的地方，可是這種偏僻小城最熱鬧的地帶就是白天為餐廳茶館而晚上變成棋牌室的一條街。我們隨機選擇了一家，而裡邊的年輕客家人熱情地歡迎我們旁觀他們的玩法。看了一會兒，其中一個話少肥多的年輕廚師邀請我們開一台機子而願意教我們當地所愛的廣東式麻將。我們玩了一個多小時還沒完全把握規則，可是旁邊那桌小伙子一直在賭注一張又一張10元鈔票。到了12：30多，我們的朋友說要解散，可是25歲店主請我們第二天回去在他家餐廳裡吃飯。答應好了我們自己也蜿蜒著走過橋回旅館。老法過第三十次環太陽的慶祝就算成功。

不幸現在咖啡廳要下班了，沒法寫下去，接下來當地客家人請我們吃了一頓非常好吃的飯喝當地釀造的米酒，直到凌晨2點大家都大醉才各回家。明天若天氣轉好我們就往福建中部種茶重地穿梭，希望下次寫博客的時候就可以報更多與老百姓的經驗。晚安！