Nuclear attack?

Wait, we’re talking about China. Make that, “Normally the main streets of Anhai look like one of those movie scenes where the approach of advancing Communist or Nationalist troops–depending on who made the movie–has been announced and everyone is trying to flee the city by car, motorcycle, scooter, bicycle, or ox cart.”

The scenes in the video below, though, were shot on Chinese New Year’s Eve, when it’s relatively calm–mostly people on foot, bicycles, motorscooters, and those Anhai ‘Mad Max’ Taxis that have since been outlawed and replaced with the Universal Studios tourmobiles.

This also helps illustrate the “ugly public areas” of Anhai, as opposed to the relative luxury the locals live in behind their gated courtyards, as described in Explaining Anhai.

And here is the video:

I didn’t notice this picture so much before, but for some reason am really captivated by it now.

I think that’s because it’s a family picture for me, not a still-life, taken in the courtyard of the extended family’s old “traditional” home, where my late Father-in-Law grew up as a child, where my Wife and her siblings grew up until a couple years after the Cultural Revolution, where all the extended family still reunites for funeral and memorial rites for the ancestors.

Somehow for me, all that gets compacted into a picture my Nephew took on this day of a motorcycle one of the cousins arrived on (the one I think looks like the Chinese John Mellenkamp), in front of some flowers tended by one of the great aunts.

Our first visit included no police action, but was still somewhat interesting. We went just a day or two before the Chinese New Year festival kicked off, and my Wife expected it would be mostly deserted, since everyone should be off making festival preparations.

Again, things have changed considerably since her childhood, as we found the park fairly crowded, with lots “Northerners,” the migrant workers from inland who’ve come to Anhai for jobs in its factories, restaurants, KTV palaces, and so on (see “Northerners: The Other ‘Lao Wai‘”). We realized they probably didn’t have the time or money to head back to their home provinces to ring in the New Year.

Here are a few pictures from the day.

The whole time we were there, the man on the right, visiting the park with his wife and son, took his eyes off us only once–here when I aimed the camera in his direction as a “reality check”:

You can’t tell it very well from this photo, but these fellows were passing the afternoon at the pool table:

Random camera angle:

Our youngest daughter climbing her way to the top (in the background on the left, that’s a bumper car arena):

My Wife helps my youngest Daughter onto what we dubbed “The Slalom Toy of Death” after our other Daughter took a spill off it:

Different parts of the country have different takes on the lanterns–traditionally paper lanterns with candle burning inside that people carry about that night, though you can now buy plastic ones running on batteries for the kids, which come complete with annoying sound bytes that play when you turn them on.

But in Xiamen, the place to go for the best in Lantern Festival lights is Zhongshan Park. There they have a display of lanterns and other large creations of light and flowers that would put many a Rose Bowl parade float to shame.

Here are some pictures we snapped that evening:

Chao An’s is an interesting story. Or stories, I should say, for I found some variation between what the locals told me and what I read summarized in a Xiamen area guide book.

First, here’s what the locals told me:

During the Song Dynasty–no, earlier than that, someone said; no, definitely later, countered another–a man who became Emperor belonged to what the locals whom I was with know only as the “Mo Ni” Buddhist sect. But for some reason, rather than, say, appointing other members of this Mo Ni sect to Imperial Posts, he decided that the sect had become too powerful and needed to be stamped out, and so it became open season wherever this sect was centered–maybe near Xi’An?, someone suggested–on members of the Mo Ni sect.

They were nearly successful, but a small remnant mangaged to escape, and they came to take refuge at this Chao An Temple near Anhai in Fujian Province. And now, it turns out, this particular temple is the last in the world associated with the Mo Ni sect.

In his book Amoy Magic, however, Dr. Bill Brown, who has been living and teaching at Xiamen University since 1988, offers this account of the “Anhai Manichaean Temple,” one of the “last bastions of Manichaeism, ‘The Religion of Light’–an esoteric combination of Gnositicism, Zoroastrianism and Christianity”. In Dr. Brown’s version of the tale:

Emperor Taizu, who ruled from 1368-1398, banned the Religion of Light because “ming” ( ), the Chinese word for “light,” also happened to be the name of the Ming Dynasty, and…the emperor decreed that only he could use the name. Thus was the world’s very last stronghold of Mani’s light extinguished, though locals continue even today to worship the Manichaeist deity in the Cao’an ‘Thatched Nunnery’ (which some take to be the popular Goddess of Mercy). This temple also boasts the last Manichaeist carving in China–of two angels holding lotus flowers and a cross (a combination of Greek, Persian and Chinese mythology).

It appears that the Persian’s followers made their way into China in the late seventh century, at the same time as their arch rivals, the Moslems and the Nestorian Christians. The Manichaean Temple was built in 1339, after villagers had spent 26 years carving statues of Mani all over the cliffs of Huabiao mountain…. [T]he statues are unlike any others in China.

In any case, there have been some changes here since my Wife’s childhood. She remembers the land surrounding the temple grounds being a “forest” where you could wander through the trees, but now the forest has been razed to create more farmland, and to make some space for parking and a line of tables selling trinkets and snacks along part of the path up to the temple buildings.

Some additional temple buildings have also been going up; it’s not longer just the small temple half carved into a rock where you can burn your incense and koutou to the Buddha.

But it was in this small temple building where my Wife decided to have a go at the “prayer sticks.” You pray, and then toss these sticks to the ground three times seeking an answer to your question. Each stick has a “top” and a “bottom” side–heads or tails, we’ll call it.

If you get a “heads-heads” response, the Buddha is laughing at your for your silly mortal request. If you get a “tails-tails” answer, it’s an emphatic “no.” If you get a “heads-tails” combination response, it means yes, and that’s of course what everyone is hoping for. But you have to pray and toss the sticks three times per request–and the Buddha’s answer is essentially based on a “best out of three” approach–meaning that you have to get the “heads-tails” combination on at least two of your attempts. And if you go three-for-three on a “Yes” answer, well, there’s no question of the Buddha’s intent.

My Wife asked two prayer questions this way at the temple.

The first was whether she should “step out” now from being just a stay-at-home Mom, which she’s done since we were first expecting our first child, and return to work, perhaps in our own self-employed venture.

The Buddha answered “Yes” three times.

I’m not sure why on earth the next question occured to her, but she asked the Buddha whether our oldest daughter should attend kindergarten whole days in the fall (as opposed to half days).

Again, the Buddha gave a three-for-three “Yes” response.

The odds of getting two three-for-three “Yes” answers in a row is, well, you figure it out.

She was on quite a roll, and I kicked myself later for not thinking to ask her if I should bet a seven-point spread favoring the Steelers in the Super Bowl the next day.

We ended up with a butterfly and a bird–allegedly a phoenix–but only the bird survived the trip back to Anhai. The butterfly sadly met its demise when someone sat on it on the way home.

My Wife’s Elder Sister’s Son (i.e. the Nephew) is a blaze of energy; we get worn out sometimes just watching him, or even hearing him chattering away in the next room.

I was therefore a little concerned when I saw him grab my Wife’s Younger Brother’s camera one day, but since his Uncle didn’t seem to concerned, I decided to let it slide too.

Later, I was looking at the pictures he took and found nice portraits of light switches, a pair of shoes and other “useless” subjects (including a 50-photo series of the TV when his favorite cartoon was on; looked like a reverse-engineered crude storyboard).

Yawn.

But then I found the next “series” he took: numerous photos of his cousins: my Wife’s Younger Sister’s 5-year-old daughter, and my 4- and 2-year-old daughters, and I knew the boy was on to something.

There are some wonderful playful expressions there that we parents–and even some hired photographers back in Seattle-have never captured, and so I’m posting some of my favorites here–and I thought you should know that the photographer is a 7-year-old “big cousin” here in Anhai.

My 5-Year-Old Niece:

My 4-Year-Old Daughter:

My 2-Year-Old Daughter:

When people come to visit, they come into the main sitting room, and after some beseeching and protesting over who will sit in the most comfortable seats (“Please sit here.” “Oh no, you go ahead.” “No, really, it’s for you, I was already sitting comfortably on this tiny stool that’s missing a leg.” “Oh, if you insist, but I really don’t need the comfy chair.”), someone starts to make tea and someone else pulls out the bags and jars of snacks, and the visit begins.

The topics are various; some plain small talk; some seemingly serious exchanges, but as much as I can, I’ve been finding out what people “do,” as this provides the clearest snapshot of what’s going on in China these days.

A few sample visits:

A fellow who made his first fortune selling construction equipment then became the exclusive agent for the Province for a certain brand of motorcycle, one that has now partnered with Honda to create lawnmowers dropped in. The Family knows his Sister better, but he heard we were in town and came by to see if we had any insights into how to get his sons into American Universities. He brought me a tea set branded with his motorcycle company’s logo. Apart from being a multi-millionaire even in U.S. dollars, his house–genuinely a small palace, as I understand it–has Anhai’s only functioning elevator, going from his downstairs up to all four or five floors of his house.

One of my Wife’s Younger Brother’s Classmates, a gal, works in the Provincial tax bureau office (as a co-worker of one of my former students, it turns out). I asked her how the tax system works in China, and it sounds fairly similar to the system in the U.S.: real property is taxed; sales on good are taxed (though when you buy something in China, the store owner is responsible for factoring the tax into the price they charge; there’s no additional sales tax added when you “check out”; and income is taxed, although starting January 1st of this year, the minimum monthly income subject to tax rose from 800 RMB to 1600 RMB. If you make less than 1600 RMB a month, you pay no income tax.

My Wife’s childhood friend who visited previously returned with her husband and their 7-year-old son. They were married a couple weeks before our ceremony in 1997 and therefore–because it’s the local custom–could not attend our wedding & banquet. It’s considered bad luck to attend someone else’s wedding a month before or after your own. She’s now an elementary school math teacher; he designs “control panels for children’s toys” (motorized cars, I think), which are then manufactured in Taiwan.

A trio of female relatives on my Mother-In-Law’s side of the family dropped by. One of them makes her living by traveling to Guangdong Province and bringing back large loads of stone tile that’s considered to be better than most produced here and selling it to the richer locals who are building their dream mansions.

A neighbor whose small family produces children’s school supplies came and invited us to visit their factory again (we went first in 1997). Last time, they were producing solely for the Chinese market. Now, however, they have contracts with a number of foreign buyers, and have even launched their own in-house export division.

My Father-In-Law’s two sisters visited with the daughter and granddaughter of one of them. My Wife got the hint from her Mother that she wanted us to leave the room for awhile. We figured out later that it’s because she wanted to break the news that my Wife’s Elder Sister divorced recently. This still isn’t easy kind of news to break in towns like this, where “face” is to preserved at nearly all cost.

A fellow who was a co-worker of my In-Laws in the same government-run food distribution work unit came by. He’s a bit younger than them, not of the same generation, which makes his visit an even more polite gesture, and for some reason makes me think he’s one of the truest, most honest souls I’ve met in China.

Another of my Wife’s Younger Brother’s former classmates dropped by. He’s gone into business as an agent for a company that sells clothing, primarily name-brand suits and shoes. They’re mostly Chinese brands, but some of these are apparently starting to gain some equity in the market. During this Spring Festival season, he has so far done over $80,000 U.S. dollars’ worth of business in his little storefront in nearby Qingyang. And yes, I double checked to make sure. That’s over $80K in U.S. dollars’ worth of business in less than a month.

This is clear: If you have something to sell that’s in demand with the locals here in the Jinjiang region of Fujian Province, you’re going to make a handsome profit. (Believe me, we’re brainstorming and researching already.) Many of these people have far more disposable income than the typical U.S. middle income family, and many have made their fortunes with small factories that have been _creating_ products destined largely for the U.S. middle income market. “Your Christmas Purchase Dollars at Work,” we might say of many of their homes and cars.

Big Uncle and his wife live in a small two-level building on a busy small street. Their living quarters are upstairs; downstairs, with large doors that open to expose the entire room, is essentially his workshop and place of business. Big Uncle is one of Anhai’s last traditional hand-made lantern makers.

People order the lanterns from him for a variety of occasions, but he says his best business these years are for ones ordered as gifts for people who have just built or remodeled their homes. (Since we finished a major home remodel ourselves before starting this trip, we took the liberty of ordering a pair for ourselves.)

Big Uncle truly makes these by hand.

First he buys poles of dry bamboo of various sizes, then splits and cuts the wood into strips of various uniform sizes, and half as thick as a popsicle stick. Next, he buys long rolls of very thin but sturdy wire and cuts them into pieces about two inches long each. He then bends the bamboo strips into shape and ties them together with the wire pieces.

Once the “skeleton” of the lantern is done, including any metal or wooden handles to be attached, he wraps a porous, small fishnet-weave fabric around it. (Unfortunately, I didn’t see how he ties it off or seals it, as he was just building “skeletons” while we were there.) Finally, he paints the covering fabric by hand and adds finishing touches like decorative fringes and hangs them to dry all over his shop. A pair of large lanterns sells for about 90 RMB (around $12 U.S. dollars).

This has been his lifelong trade, but not without its sorrows.

One, he’s sad that his only son (he also has two daughters) chose not to follow him into this craft, as he had followed his father.

Second, he still remembers clearly the interruption to his work brought by the Cultural Revolution.

One day in 1966, he described to us, a group of local Red Guards burst into his shop and began to break and tear and dump all his lanterns, materials and tools, threatening him with dire consequences if he ever started again.

The invasion, and the decade prohibiting his work (too “tied to the traditional past”) left a lasting impression on Big Uncle, whose only real view of politics and social development is based on whatever has been passing in front of his shop’s open doorway lately.

After the Cultural Revolution ended, he waited a couple years before starting to make lanterns after being told he could again, just because he wanted to make sure it wasn’t a trick.

Even now, 30 years later, he’s wary. A T.V. crew was in town a couple years ago making a documentary about Anhai’s local Arts and Crafts styles and asked him to be featured, since his work is considered to be among the best.

He declined, telling them he was too busy to take time for an interview, but he confided to us that he was really more worried about how the story might be used against him if things ever “changed back” and the Red Guards returned. (Ironically, both my Father-In-Law and Mother-In-Law were Red Guards, but from opposing factions. More on that Romeo & Juliet tale in another post.)

The entire time we were there, he continued making a stack of small lantern frames, pausing occasionally to pour us small cups of tea or light another cigarette, just as I imagine he’s done with visitors most every day, 1966-78 not included, since starting to make lanterns half a century ago.

L to R, Big Uncle (offering me a smoke), his Wife, my Wife’s Younger Sister and her Daughter, and my Wife’s Elder Sister’s Son:

Big Uncle at work:

Big Uncle at work:

A stack of small lantern frames:

The paint pots:

Drying lanterns and tools:

Close-up of some finished large lanterns:

I was worried that my Daughters would be too overwhelmed by the throng, but they did OK. We explained to them what this meant and what that meant as much as we could, and they either didn’t seem to notice, or chose not to acknowledge, that we were a main attraction for a lot of people.

So here they are, pictures from our visit to Longshan Temple in Anhai, Fujian Province, on Chinese New Year’s Day (January 29, 2006 on the Western Calendar).