… we probably all know this already … rich Chinese are rich. Richer than rich foreigners. And they are willing to spend their money on shopping.

In Yangshuo’s main tourist street, the West Street (after all, the Americans also have China towns …), I negotiate the price with a nice saleswoman for a beautiful hand-painted bottle. She comes my way a lot and offers a fair deal. Ignorantly, I repeat the sum – to be sure that I understood rightly – and immediately she shssss me with her finger over her mouth. She whispers to me that this was the foreigner price (a nice foreigner who knew the language, she adds dearly), the Chinese tourists paid much more.

In fact, I see in the next few minutes, how the Chinese unquestioningly spend up to two times this amount for the same product.

What does a concerned father who has a 17 year old son do, who grew up in a village where the young people result to alcohol-, tobacco and violence out of boredom? He sends him to the army …

Apparently, one of the village youth recently even became a murderer and is now sitting behind bars. Huade , the driver and long time friend of the Outside Inn, wants to spare his only child such fate. He should go far away and only come back once he is strong and independent enough to resist the temptations of puberty.

But it’s not that easy to join the army. Difficult tests have to be passed – or else the strings of the right connections pulled. Once you’re inside, you must stay for two years. 24 hard – extremely hard – months.

After the two years are over, you have the choice to remain where you are (e.g. as a trainer of new recruits) or to try and find a job. Depending on the training chosen in the army, this is not always easy. However, the government helps generously with a financial boost or an entry to a university.

A Chinese friend of ours tells how a former classmate of hers came from the military and could not even walk normally. “He strolled around like a rigid penguin,” she grins. Once a week, the young soldiers are allowed to take time off to make telephone calls to the outside world (for that they receive a monthly allowance; once used up, the calls are stopped). Holiday does not exist. He sees neither his family or his friends during the two years. Every day from early morning until late evening, they have to train and study resolutely. Nevertheless, no one offered him work after his release, because his knowledge was limited to the army. Our friend praises the change of character of her soldier friend. She says he used to hang around aimlessly and drink a lot. Now, he is ambitious and focussed. Another graduate was more fortunate. As a military cook, he had enjoyed a useful education, which was also recognized and appreciated on the outside.

Huade’s son will leave before the weekend to the big city by the sea – a good 11 hour bus ride away– and start his new life. The farewell wants to be celebrated. Around three hundred guests are invited. We too.

At 12 clock, with a little late delay, something quite common in China, we arrive at Huade’s house. He lives only 100 meters from the hotel, next to the main street of our village. In front of the three-story house is a paved forecourt and immediately next to that the grave of an ancestor. It is very overgrown with grass, yet the grave stone is still visible at closer inspection.

A dozen round wooden tables have been set up for the occasion – some on the front square, some in the house – and around each one of them, ten small stools. Outside, a board has been placed on two stands, a makeshift table on which three men zealously cut whole chickens and stately river fish into bite-size pieces. Behind them simmers a fragrant soup of bones, cartilage and dried sour plums in a large wok on the fire. On each table is a stove, either run with gas or for the indoor ones, with electric (“induction system”) and on them sit round, silver pans with soup; the Hot Pot. Meat, fish, vegetables and herbs are added continuously and then fished out with chopsticks. Huade’s wife Xiao Mo has specially prepared a vegetarian hot pot for us.

We stand around awkwardly, not knowing where and when to sit down until Huade’s well-respected father (his family is highly regarded in the village) approaches us. He shakes our hands again and again, shows us an irresistible smile, and says that no one should sit down and begin eating until Michael had settled. After all, so he exclaims, he is the “boss”. We are speechless. What an honour! His words mean even more to us, as we had a bad fall out with one family in the village this past summer.

Half the guests are classmates of Huade’s son. Until yesterday he was still in school like a “normal” boy.

We are led into a small, adjacent room (Huade’s bedroom?), where we start to fish out the veggies from our hot pot pan. All the male guests finish quickly so they don’t lose valuable time: after all, their main interest lies in gambling and not eating. Hardly the tables are cleared, the game continues and fat notes move from one to the next player. The tempers rise over the coming hours, the faces become redder – alcohol is flowing in large quantities.

We briefly glimpse Huade’s son. He has shot up in the past few years and is wearing a cap today to hide the freshly shaved hair. What is striking about him are his gentle eyes, his loving face. He looks a bit like the famous Hollywood star Will Smith, except that in his case it will be more like Men in Green instead of Men in Black and his eyes might not reflect such sweet innocence in a couple of years…

Just before our departure we hand Huade the obligatory red envelope with a few notes in it. In China, a party is usually financed by the donations of the guests. “Are you sad to see your son go?” we ask. No, his reply comes promptly, he was glad to know that his son is going away from the bad influence and to have a prosperous path ahead.

In the evening, the farewell party is still in full swing. Huade and his friends drown the probably despite all not so easy farewell in alcohol and enjoy a few last sorrow free hours together. Who knows what the future will bring.

“Let us stand together and resist!” The villagers of a neighboring district pat themselves on each other’s shoulders, make cheers with a loud “ganbei” and empty the rice wine glass in one gulp. Gan bei means something like “dry the glass”.

The local government had decided to flood their village and to turn the picturesque area into a pretty lake. The new tourist playground had been artificially designed, complete with pedal and rowing boats, photographers, cafes and street vendors. Each of the villagers was offered a not entirely unattractive package: a generous severance per square meter of land and the promise to a resettlement in a newly established residential area.

But the people do not want to move away. They are not willing to have their roots transplanted. They meet rather democratically and decide to mutually and gratefully refuse the offer. That the government’s decision was not a suggestion, but rather a decision bothers them very little.

Lo and behold, they are being heard. The issue is discussed and debated. Negotiations are ongoing but the message of the village is clear. We do not go away. And they win.

The project is shot down after several months, the file “tourist lake” closed and everything goes back to normal.

You sit in a warm room and look forward to the tasty food that simmers in your spacious kitchen and every few minutes sends an alluring fragrance in your direction?

We have all long known that not everybody has it as good as us. That there are people whose first and only priority is daily survival.

Sometimes we donate money to a huge organization and bring our worn-out clothes to charities. But headlines about how much of this money has been lost in administration, have confused us.

That makes today’s meeting with Veerle from Holland and her husband Aku even more significant. They have lived for quite some time in Yangshuo and we have enjoyed every get together very much.

Aku belongs to the people of the Yi minority who live on the high mountain slopes of Yunnan. The barren land on 3000 – 4500 meters above sea level has little to offer: buckwheat, potatoes, cabbage, squash and rape seed is about all that grows. The only source of income is the sale of cattle. Many parents cannot afford the schooling of their children and send them into the mountains with the sheep from the tender age of seven.

There are no roads or electricity. The more than an hour long route to school down to the valley is too treacherous for the little ones. Older people die of common colds, because medical care is too far away.

The Chinese government helps many people in need, but often it is only just enough to scratch the surface and take a few PR shots. Time for self-help.

Aku and Veerle have decided to lend their people a hand and give them a good new start. They collect clothes, shoes, books, school supplies, sports equipment, building materials, seeds, money … and knowledge and will soon go back to Aku’s homeland to help locally. From human to human.

If you feel like helping Veerle and Aku in their quest and giving the Yi children a better future, you can do so by making a donation:

Veerle Ackerstaff (The Netherlands)
Account number: 54.39.08.887
IBAN: NL79ABNA0543908887
BIC (SWIFT): ABNANL2A

Please state with your transfer that you are making a donation.

For more information about the Yi and the project “We for Yi”, call Veerle on 0086-15577428123 or email her dos@teflchina.com.cn.

In China, as indeed in many other countries, prices are adjusted to the buyer. Should you be from out of town, the cost will rise. The further away, the higher the price. More and more we miss shopping without first being checked out, weighed up and then fibbed at.

A recent example at the photographer’s: “We would like to have passport photos done for us four. Please.” The lady looks at us a long time. The wheels turn almost visibly in her brain. “That will be 40 Yuan per set.” Last time, we paid Y 20 for the same. “We live here, we know that the photos don’t cost more than 20 Yuan,” we reply bored. The bargaining game has long ago ceased to interest us. “No, impossible!” The saleswoman stages a play, which she surely repeats several times every day. “Impossible!” She waves her right hand in front of her face, as if she needed cool air in order not to faint from price shock. Our patience for such scenes has long left. Quickly, I call Wendy, ask her for the “real” cost (as we know that she also gets her photos from here), she reassures me that they pay 20. I please her to speak briefly with the sales woman, just to be sure that there isn’t a misunderstanding.

The two talk seconds on the phone. Then the good woman starts to act as if she had the eureka moment of the year. Slyly she says: “Yes, of course, it is 40 Yuan for the very good quality photos (pointing at some sample pictures in a folder), poor quality ones (again pointing at the folder, in fact, at the identical pictures) are Y 20. “Now she smiles and flashes her white teeth. We pay for the sets, pose in front of the camera and then wait for the prints. And would you believe it: a Yangshuo local walks in, requests the same passport photos and hands over 15 Yuan without discussion!

The street vendor selling fried tofu is a bit more clever… she isn’t cheating with money, as she has long ago figured out that foreigners watch closely how many notes are handed over when a Chinese purchases the goods. No, she just gives half portions to the long noses for the same price!

I once read somewhere that in ancient China, physicians were paid, as long as they managed to preserve the health of the people. If someone became ill, the payment ceased. The traditional Chinese medicine is based on this principle. Holding the balance of body and soul will ascertain ones health.

In the modern era, however, China seems to have removed itself quite far from this wisdom. I would even make a wild guess that the nation has moved up to being among the world leaders of medicine users. If you have a cold or you are in any other way feeling under the weather, you go to a pharmacy or hospital for a two-hour, intravenous treatment (often a mixture of glucose or antibiotics). Each doctor’s consultation will leave you guaranteed with a big plastic bag full of pills and powders (traditional and conventional medicine). Precaution to keep fit and healthy is a concept that, although not forgotten, has been displaced by modern time pressure and stress, and put off to tomorrow…

So I had to chuckle today when I studied the slogan on one of Yangshuo’s clinics more closely (they have recently added an English translation): “protect health”, so after all, the hospital is still there to protect the health of people and only secondary to treat and cure their illnesses. That’s a very reassuring sight!