Portrait of an LBX

By Evan

Yesterday as we made a rough 90 km cold, rainy push from the charming — if dilapidated — old town of Chayang (茶陽鎮) south through some amply steep mountains, the last we ought to see for probably a month, something I’ve read recently popped into my head. For background, I believe I mentioned in a post some months ago the importance of geography to politics and culture after we had crossed the desolate wasteland of the North China Plain (華北平原，古稱中原). The great flatland surrounding the Yellow River, the “cradle of Chinese civilization (中華文化的搖籃),” has apparently always been extremely susceptible to sweeping political or cultural changes since the entire area is flat enough to allow for rapid horseback transit within its boundaries. As such, the language, ethnic makeup, and culture of the areas within the plain are largely identical. While that makes trade and communication vastly more expedient, it also allows for easy conquest by armies of whatever marauding warlord happens to be strong at the time and subsequent assimilation into whatever said warlord’s imperial imagination can conjure.

I can’t speak to what China looked like a hundred years ago, but I do know that the North Plain now has been the victim of several quite overwhelming imperial edicts (詔) over the previous decades, the Great Leap Forward and Scientific Development to name the two that come most to mind most quickly. Since there’s literally nowhere to hide from such movements on an open plain close to imperial power (China’s capitals have by and large been in the plain for the last two thousand plus years), the whole place is, as we found it, a dusty, polluted Mad Max-like dystopia (with Chinese characteristics, of course). It was thus with great relief that we arrived at the northern boundary of South China’s sprawling mountain ranges (take a look at this map) after our stay in Shanghai, even if it meant slower progress. (more…)

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Two years ago when I visited Anxi (安溪縣) with my mother as a day trip from nearby Xiamen, I was impressed by its giant “City of Tea (茶都),” which I remembered afterward as resembling a hastily assembled Vatican with the merchandising of tea as its religion. Afterward through the years that I spent in Beijing and Shanghai, whenever I went to a tea market — which I often did — it was usually exclusively in search of the type of tea that I had discovered on my first trip to Anxi, tieguanyin (鐵觀音, Iron Avalokitesvara, or Iron Goddess of Mercy, a type of oolong tea produced in Anxi, article 1 & article 2). Not only was the tieguanyin I kept at all times in my freezer always produced in Anxi, but every one of the hundreds of merchants selling it for between 100 and 1000+ yuan ($15 – $150) per half kilo (I usually bought in the 200 yuan range) was a native of said mountainous county in Southern Fujian. A year or so ago Andy also began his appreciation for the hot, green beverage, and so when plotting our route, it was only natural to plot a course through one of chief production centers of one of China’s greatest gifts to the world. By way of a metaphor, Anxi is more or less to the world of Chinese teas what Napa Valley is to US wine production. Yes, it’s kind of a big deal. 

An Anxi woman crops her tea trees with extended shears. Photo by Andy

As we neared Anxi in neighboring Datian County (大田縣), signs for tea workshops (茶廠) began to appear regularly on the sides of the road, although most producers with whom we stopped to speak told us they had tea only immediately after production and had long ago sold the entire batch. One old man informed me that due to the profitability of tieguanyin production, its cultivation had spread to Anxi’s neighboring provinces of Datian, Yongchun (永春縣), and Dehua (德化縣), and further that Datian’s tea was superior to Anxi’s since “our tea industry has only recently been developed, and their trees are old (我們的茶業最近幾年才開發起來的，而安溪那邊的茶樹都老了).” Not only that, but some producers from Anxi even travel to Datian to buy tea and then sell it with an Anxi label slapped on the packaging, he told me. The veracity of his claim is of course up in the air, but from the long row of tea producers all lined up in a row with giant mechanical tea cookers out front and the brand new “International Tea Trade Center” across the street, it was clear the industry was growing. (more…)

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By Evan

A smiling Xu Bin stands next to his fourth-generation gyroplane, by Andy

I first became acquainted with the legend of the LBX who built his own flying machine about two years ago when a friend sent me a link to this viral video on Youku. I was blown away at the time but hadn’t given any thought to the feat — or any of the other LBX-built flying jalopies popping up on the internet — until Andy and I got a chance tip from our Free More News interviewer, Lu Junting. Responding to my personal interest in aviation, she told us she had followed for a story — and more importantly knew how to contact — the nongcun Leonardo of web fame: Xu Bin (徐斌). Armed with his general location, Quzhou city in southwestern Zhejiang province, and his cell phone number, we made plans to stop in on our way west to Jiangxi.

A few days before arrival in Quzhou, I called and arranged a meeting. Xu sounded understandably confused on the phone — “You’re three foreigners… riding bikes… around China… and you want to talk to me…?” — but in the end all was arranged. Once our injured teammate/photographer Andy had bused into town to rejoin us, we set our meeting on the night of Christmas Eve.

As promised, he was waiting for us in the new economic zone way outside the city center, looking even more confused than he had sounded on the phone to see three scraggly bearded foreigners piling out of a cab to see him. All the same, he transferred us into his little Toyota sedan parked in the courtyard of his family’s hotel next door and drove us to a fish restaurant he knew around the corner. Once in, the 35 year old Bin, about 5′4″ and weighing maybe 120 pounds soaking wet, finally asked what we were up to. He betrayed a glimmer of disappointment upon learning that we were not in fact foreign aviation experts, the same disappointment he expressed later to find out that we Americans haven’t quite achieved Jetson’s-like frequency of personal aircraft ownership. (more…)

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After a 50km ride through the freezing wind this morning, we stopped and spent our afternoon in the town of Dingshan under Yixing City in Jiangsu province. The town is known is the home of China's ceramics, china as it's popularly known, and also for its handmade clay teapots and other tea accessories. We did some asking around and found our way to some of the masters of the art. The pots they make can take two or three weeks to complete, although they are capable of pumping out several basic ones in a day if an order comes in. The most carefully crafted pots sell for thousands of dollars, while more basic ones sell in stores all over town for as little as 50 yuan, or seven dollars. Here, a third-year apprentice working in his uncle's studio hammers gold wire into characters and designs etched into the side of a teapot. It was incredibly refreshing to meet people who enjoy what they are doing and take pride in their work, and we had a wonderful time listening to their stories. Evan will post a full update on the day later, as he had a much better time understanding the local accent.

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By Evan

In my last post I was unduly harsh on Kaifeng, mostly because we had just passed through its several rings of slums and horrid hyper development that surround cities of its size like asteroid belts and entered into a litter-strewn, gaudy downtown area. However, as is proven to me time and time again, first impressions really don’t mean that much if you take the time to do some digging.

Now I should back up a second. We had been discussing stopping in Kaifeng since day one when we rode a stretch on the Beijing-Kaifeng highway to leave the capital. We had all heard about the possible presence of Chinese Jews in Kaifeng, and Alexis, himself sharing ancestry with Sandy Koufax, wanted to go seek them out. Once we realized Kaifeng was a perfect rest mini-destination out of our trajectory through Shandong, it was decided we should go on a good old-fashioned Jew quest.

Having already spent one day in Kaifeng repairing the bikes and updating pictures and blogs in a cafe, we decided to spend a day haphazardly looking for Jews, who we were pretty sure would be a) impossible to find or if found, b) pretty apathetic about the whole affair. As we were eating breakfast in the old part of town next to our hotel, I asked the same question we had asked a few times already with blank faced responses: “Do you know where to find Kaifeng Jews?” An old woman heard me and after racking her brain for a second said, “Yes, there’s a Jew living in huijia hutong near here.” That afternoon we began our quest by walking over to the alley of the suspected Jew. The alleys we wound through on the walk over were old and tight, and just seeped history from their dirty, stone walls. We began asking every old person we could find, and finally one old woman huddled around a Mahjong game exclaimed, “I know who you’re looking for. Follow me!” We hurriedly clipped along behind her to a game of Chinese chess, where the woman pulled aside a man in his 50’s, to whom we asked, “Do you know where we can find Jews in Kaifeng?” “I am a Jew,” replied the man, who identified himself as Mr. Li. After Alexis began barraging him with questions, Mr. Li told us he had been in a car accident and didn’t remember much – his immobile right hand at this point became apparent – but he put Alexis in touch with his nephew, and a meeting was arranged for 5pm. (more…)

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**This is by far the longest post I’ve written, and considering that everybody complains about my long posts, I don’t expect anybody to read it. Basically we left Mt. Tai, toured a baijiu factory, spent 2 days at a state owned coal mine getting hammered all the time, and have now arrived in Qufu, birthplace of Confucius, from which place we hope to spring to Henan tomorrow at long last. If you are up for a long read, however, I think there’s some quality stuff below. More pictures coming as soon as we can get to it.**

Having spent a decent rest day in Tai’an under the shadow of Mt. Tai, China’s most sacred mountain, and having consumed the majority of our meals in the old Hui (Chinese Muslim) quarter as usual, we struck out south with two destinations: a Chinese sorghum liquor company and 40 km further down the road the family of my friend and our lodging for the night. Leaving from the old mosque after lunch and watching some really disgusting lamb entrail washing, we arrived at the Taishan Shengliyuan sorghum liquor (baijiu) company just south of town. We asked a group of about 30 unemployed men waiting on the side of the street for work how to get there, and they responded, “just down there” with the smell of baijiu on their breaths that we immediately smelled also emanating from within the baijiu compound. After a little while of talking to people in the sales department, I finally got to a manager who agreed to let us tour the production facility down the street.
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Before I get into the post, I need to thank the patron saint of bike chains, as the franken-fix I imposed on my poor chain the other night has actually not given me any problems through 170 km. I still wish I had known earlier not to push the chain pins all the way out, but c’est la vie.

Moving on, people who have been on bike rides with me in the past know that I have a nasty habit of planning bike routes without taking topography into consideration. Having learned my lesson finally, we checked Google Earth for our planned routes before setting out from Beijing and found that there was only one mountain range between Beijing and Shanghai, right in the middle of Shandong, which we, as sane individuals aware of our poor physical condition, decided to avoid. Nevertheless, we completely forgot about the mountains when we went to Qingdao, and our only route west to Henan was straight smack through them.
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Little Liu Picking Persimmons by Andy

We met Little Liu in Chujiawangwu (褚家王吴村) village of Weifang (潍坊市) prefecture in Shandong (山东省), visiting the country home of his aunt and uncle with his pregnant wife for a few days during the national holiday to get away from it all.

Young and stylish, Little Liu’s tight black pants and fashionable coiffure immediately stood out in contrast against the drab peasant stylings of his relatives. After brief conversation, he disclosed that he, 22, had married his wife of 23 only 6 months prior, and had had to pay some money (not clear if it was a fine or a bribe) to violate the Planned Birth Policy minimum marriage age of 23 for men. In case you didn’t follow that logic, I’ll repeat for the disbelievers: he paid extra money in order to get married even younger than average.  It is also possible that he fibbed about the timing of marriage as related to pregnancy, since Little Liu, as we found out, is all about image.

First I should back up a little. Little Liu made excellent company, especially as compared to his eccentric uncle. Like most 22 year olds, he likes going to dance clubs, drinking with buddies, getting into fights, chain smoking, and buying nice electronics. Recently an inhabitant of Weifang city (one of the area’s biggest urban areas), he grew up out on the farm with his family doing the peasant thing. During our walk around the village, it was Little Liu who explained all the crops to us and climbed the persimmon trees to pick fresh ones for us to eat. Clearly not just a city slicker, Little Liu also took charge of pouring our tea back at the homestead, in addition to explaining the subtle formalities  of tea drinking in Shandong, such as pointing the spout toward himself when not in use and filling glasses only 3/4 full. (more…)

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I had imagined that riding through coastal Shandong would be nice — beautiful even. For two days, however, we had some pretty depressing scenery. We’ve been forced to travel on provincial roads (省道) a good bit recently both as a result of our location in Shandong and our rush to get to Qingdao by Friday night to meet a friend. Generally we prefer the inter-village roads (乡间道), which are a tossup in terms of road quality but usually winners in terms of traffic flow and scenery as they usually run through fields between villages and small towns.

On Tuesday we woke a bit early but stayed in our room until noon editing pictures and writing new posts. We were already tired from a couple days of fairly hard riding and considered staying another night but realized that there was no way we would make it to Qingdao in time if we did. So we begrudgingly set out from our hotel in an awful oil-field town at around 1:30 in the afternoon to see what sort of distance we could put under us before we started settled down to celebrate Evan’s birthday. The answer to the distance question was 68km, which was pretty good for our start time and energy level — but we had to go through some awful stuff to get there.

Apparently Shandong is oil country, which none of us knew. The town where we were staying, called Chunliang (纯梁), sprung up around some nearby oil fields. If you’ve spent some time in China, you know that bad enough things result when small towns are actually planned. When they spring up around an oil field there is simply no hope. Rhetorically, Alexis asked, “So, where do you think will be the first place we get to that isn’t dusty?” as we began moving out of town. We had no clear answer to give.

Chunliang has a nice enough sounding name in Chinese (translating roughly to “simple bridge”), but we often find ourselves asking where they could possibly come up with the names for these places, because the towns themselves often bear no resemblance to their idyllic monikers. Chunliang is a one-street town with a single traffic light, but being on a provincial road, massive trucks move through the town like a herd of elephants — overweight elephants that far exceed the speed limit and don’t know how to stop blowing their horns. “Dusty” cannot begin to describe eastern China, and Chunliang is of course no exception. The dust permeates everything and is constantly kicked up by the cargo trucks blowing through town to make the traffic light. Trash, like in most small towns in China and probably any developing country, simply accumulates where it is dropped, i.e. everywhere. Like the dust, it floats through the air with the passing of trucks. The town’s buildings consist of rows of two-floor shops on either side of the main drag, too few of which are restaurants.
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What a difference 39 km can make! After the police hijinks in Wen’an we made southward into deep Hebei determined to stay on the country side of things. The dirty hotel room we found in Liugezhuang (留各庄) for 30 yuan (~$4) was across a dirty courtyard from the hotel’s banquet facility / restaurant (mind you, the best restaurant / banquet facility in town, which isn’t saying much), where during our dinner a terribly drunk middle aged LBX man (they don’t need an excuse to be drunk, but on this particular night there was a wedding party going on) barged in to drink with us. In between strange nonsensical outbursts, he repeatedly told us, “I’m a policeman!; I go for training to Beijing all the time!; My family has connections and are in power!; This is my son! (as his son burst in); My son is in power with the government! This is my son! (he was afraid we might forget)” and so on. Basically you should imagine being in backwoods, Massachusetts and being told by a flamboyant drunken asshole, “I’m a Kennedy! I got put in power because of my family! My son has political pull and a hefty paycheck because of our family connections!”  After his son dragged him away embarrassed, and we left the restaurant, we were again forced into drunken conversation with two more elder male members of the family, primarily surnamed Gao, one the head of a local insulation enterprise (more on that later) and the other a government official. They both regaled us with stories of how successful or powerful the other was (a favorite face-giving game) before insisting we meet them at noon for lunch the next day in the courtyard. My point is that in Wen’an the police are terrorizing unsuspecting locals because of connections to us, and in the other they’re sitting us down over beers letting us know how great they are. (more…)

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