ÿþ<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.0 Transitional//EN"> <HTML><HEAD><TITLE></TITLE> <META http-equiv=Content-Type content="text/html; charset=unicode"> <META content="MSHTML 6.00.6000.16809" name=GENERATOR></HEAD> <BODY> <CENTER> <DIV style="WIDTH: 500px; TEXT-ALIGN: justify"> <P align=center><FONT face="Times New Roman" size=5><FONT face=Arial><B>A visit to Qiaohou</B></FONT> <P><P align=center> <FONT face="Times New Roman" size=3>Stuart Kelly, Kunming 1997</FONT></P> <P style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align=center> <FONT face="Times New Roman" size=3>First Published as "Thank you, Chinese Laobaixing" <P style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"align=center> in </p><P align=center>Wang Jing-cun, (1999), Inspiration, World Publishing Corporation, Beijing, (pp194  200) </FONT></P> <A href="http://www.stuartkelly.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/papers/qiaohoutransl.htm"><SPAN style="BACKGROUND-COLOR: #ffcccc"> <P align=center><FONT face="Times New Roman" size=3>click here to read Wang Jing-cun's Chinese translation </FONT></P></SPAN></A> <P align=justify><FONT face="Times New Roman" size=2>One of my most memorable experiences in China was to have spent the Spring Festival at the home of my friend s parents in Qiaohou, Yunnan Province. <BR><BR>The Chinese Spring Festival is a delightful occasion with no parallel that I know of. To Friends who have never experienced the festival, I describe it as Christmas, New Year, Easter, a villager fête and bonfire night all rolled into one. To be invited to join in the celebrations with a Chinese family is indeed a privilege and a memory to be cherished for a lifetime. <BR><BR>A year earlier, while living in Dali Prefecture, a similar invitation was regretfully cancelled owing to family illness. However, I promised my friend, He Hong, that I would return from Tangshan the following year, and this I gladly did. At last, in January 1995, I returned to Xiaguan on the night bus from Kunming. He Hong s husband, Yang Guojun, met me. We returned to their home in the Medical College and arrived at Qiaohou the next evening.<BR><BR>Qiaohou is a remote mountain village and its population is almost entirely Bai ethnic minority. The Bai people have a well-deserved reputation for their friendship and hospitality. As I quickly discovered, the people of Qiaohou are no exception to this, and certainly lived up to their reputation. I was wined and dined in style.<BR><BR>As a lone European, I was something of a curiosity. I was told that the only other foreigner to have visited the village was a Russian engineer, who worked for a while at the local factory many years before. For many, especially the children, mine was the first long nose they d ever seen. During the day, we would explore the village and surrounding countryside. Invariably, we would buy fireworks and it was not unusual to find hordes of children following behind. In the evening, we roasted potatoes over a charcoal fire and of course, we drank Dali beer.<BR><BR>Often some of the older villagers would sit and talk with me. They seemed especially keen to meet the foreign visitor. One wonderful old nai-nai invited me into her home for a cup of tea and a chat. Conversation was not easy with my limited Chinese but I think she enjoyed my company. I certainly enjoyed hers.<BR><BR>One day a large crowd of us squeezed into the back of a fleet of lorries from the salt factory. We set off for a company outing to Shibaoshan. Now, an old truck negotiating bumpy mountain roads is not the most comfortable mode of transport, but would there be the same enjoyment, thrill and camaraderie in the luxurious upholstery of a Rolls Royce? I doubt it.<BR><BR>Some months earlier, He Hong told me she was a little worried that I wouldn t like her parents home because they had no bathroom and no toilet. She was relieved though very surprised to hear me talk of my early childhood in 1950 s Britain: no bathroom, just an old zinc tub that lived on the backyard wall, and an outside lavatory across the yard. In fact, she had no need to worry at all. Indeed, in one respect, Qiaohou was superior to my childhood home. The factory had a shower room with lots of lovely hot water and they let me use it.<BR><BR>Meanwhile the  God *, who was never reluctant to boast about his Japanese car and American salary, told me that he hated Qiaohou. He didn t like poor people, he said. I asked myself,  What kind of god is this? Is he real? <BR><BR>Admittedly, the people of Qiaohou were probably the poorest people I have ever met. Their living conditions would not be tolerated by citizens of wealthier countries nor even by rich Chinese in the bigger cities. But, I have never met people who could or would treat me with greater kindness and generosity. The two weeks that I spent in Qiaohou were at he same time uplifting and yet very humbling. The people of Qiaohou have reinforced my belief that those who lack material wealth and comforts have only themselves to offer. This they do freely and in abundance.<BR><BR>Thank you, people of Qiaohou!<BR><BR>Thank you, Chinese  Laobaixing </FONT></P> <P align=center><FONT face="Times New Roman" size=2>*In the original manuscript this was the monk but Jing-cun changed it. He felt that  God would be more appropriate for his Chinese readership.</FONT></P></DIV></FONT></CENTER></BODY></HTML>