bupa bopi

The Mosuo

Webmaster_1 — Thu, 15 Mar 2018 03:07:12 +0000

In a world where despite immense diversity, same patterns prevail, one is always looking for a distinctive system, able to stand on its own, oblivious to what is considered “normal”.

Considering the certainty of motherhood, it is remarkable that both patriarchy and patrilineality has been the predominating model for the vast majority of societies.

In Tierra del Fuego there is a legend among the Yagan indigenous population depicting women holding the initial power over men. Only women practiced activities normally associated with the male role. However, the men grew tired of being exploited by the women and one day- killed them all. Only newborn girls were left alive; as they matured, the men imposed the belief that their only purpose in life was to serve them. They believed it, and so did their daughters, and the daughters of their daughters.

Inequality leads to rebellion. The “equivalent” of something in a gender may not necessarily mean the same thing in the other. This is the case of “matriarchy” versus “patriarchy”. All matriarchal societies that have existed, and the few that persist today, do not base absolute power on the woman, oppressing the man, as alleged by this legend of the indigenous of Tierra del Fuego (which justifies the later imposition of men). Instead, the power of the woman is still limited to the house and clan, while man is still bequeathed with politics and business. Although each has their own scope, decisions are based on the mutual dialogue between men and women.

In Southern China there is a matrilineal community living on the shores of the Lugu, an alpine lake located just under 2,700 meters altitude, between the provinces of Yunnan and Sichuan. They are the Mosuo.

According to documents from the Han dynasty, their ancestors were tribes who migrated from Tibet in the fourth century. Being highland dwellers, they decided to stay at altitude, close to their gods. Until recently, access to the lake was a hard and dangerous endeavour, which helped its inhabitants to keep their traditions relatively intact.

At first, the Mosuo had a feudal system, with nobility that controlled the rural population. One theory states that the nobility was governed by a patriarchal system; in order not to have their authority threatened, they imposed matrilineality on the peasantry. Theory or not- patriarchy, nobility and the feudal system have fallen; the current social organization among the Mosuo is matrilineality.

The family structure of the Mosuo is organized around clans that are named after the retired matriarch or mother of the clan. It’s this first generation of the house, aged between 60 and 80 years, who dedicate themselves to the worship of their ancestors. The matriarch, dabu, belongs to the second generation and is usually aged between 40 and 60, although they may be younger. Elected by the clan, they are in charge of organizing the work of the members of the family, managing the house and the family possessions, and taking charge of the social affairs of the clan. With no personal privileges and an immense weight on her shoulders, she is the most competent woman of the family. The brother of the matriarch is elected as the clan representative outside the house, dealing with external affairs and communication with neighbours. The third and fourth generations are the young adults and children. Newborns are considered to be the reincarnations of their ancestors and are taken care with dedication and respect: in Mosuo society those who are vulnerable, are not.

Mosuo families have a much stronger internal cohesion than those of patrilineal traditions. The sense of nurturing and protection arises naturally, regardless of age or gender; the most defenceless, old or young, are wrapped in an expression of selfless love and care. This family cohesion naturally exceeds the walls of the house and friends are valued as part of the family. There are no rivalries and groups of men and women always seek an occasion to meet and share each other’s company. The women talk and sing while they work and the men smoke and talk over a game of cards or mahjong.

The houses are rectangular with rooms that overlook a courtyard where children and domestic animals run freely, while the busiest people in the house (mostly the matriarch and the women) carry on with their daily chores. The most important room in the house is the living room; at its centre a brazier burns with everlasting fire. This symbolizes the heart of the house; a heart cared for by the eldest of the clan. The doorframe is smaller than the others with a double function: this forces visitors to lower their head in sign of respect as they walk in, and (to some extent) the intrusion of animals. A tall stranger unaccustomed to this may, unintentionally- hit forehead with knee. The living room is used as a kitchen as well as an altar to the gods and ancestors. Here, ceremonies are held and visitors are received. It also functions as the bedroom for the whole family. The adult women each own a private room where they receive their axia, their lovers.

In the Mosuo society people practice the zouhun, the “walking marriage”, which means freedom to choose a lover. It should not be considered promiscuity but serial monogamy, since especially from middle age, Mosuo women tend to seek long-term relationships. In the Mosuo language a lover is called azhu sese, meaning “the friend who comes and goes.” Courtship takes place during daily activities or at dances, where women remain delicate and allow the men to seduce them. Matriarch authority is left at home, in order not to tarnish the virility of the suitor.

Unique in the world, this type of matchmaking has two versions. One is secret and usually brief: a man sneaks in and out of the woman’s bedroom with nocturnality and premeditation, while the rest of the inhabitants of the house is asleep. The other is open and stable, where the man can be seen by the family and even attend some ceremonies of the clan. This usually happens once the lovers have offspring and they’ve received the matriarch’s approval. In any case, he’s titled “father of the child” rather than “partner”.

Lack of marriage ensures wealth is equally distributed and administered by the matriarch. Traditionally, official marriage was seen as a threat to a family’s integrity. However, today Han influence has standardized official marriages, especially among younger generations.

During the Cultural Revolution, the Communists saw this habit of walking marriage as an aberration. In the beginning they offered men land to cultivate if they formed their own family outside the mother’s home, but given the lack of interest, they decided to impose marriage. It was common to see three generations of the same family passing through the vicarage at the same time. But in reality this imposition was a blunder for the Mosuo, since it destroyed the family unit they had once been used to. People felt a discomfort that came with pressure, and tensions soon sparked between men and women. Like everywhere else in China, reality is imbued with a contradiction that is actually a dualism; while they tried to abolish arranged marriages in the rest of China, they arranged them within the Mosuo.

According to Mathieu, love is generally sacrificed for a “good” marriage, or marriage is sacrificed for sexual freedom. The Mosuo however, have everything: sexual freedom, romantic love, financial security, and continuity in the bloodline. Relations between lovers are simplified, as they are based only on attraction and love. Jealousy, though it may exist, is not something to be proud of, so they tend to hide it in public. Violence is not welcomed in this community either. For them, love is to yield to desires, a noble sentiment that should not be denatured with manifestations of jealousy or violence.

Both sons and daughters are valid, although there is general pride in the birth of a girl, as they are more likely to bring offspring to the family and be a matriarch in the future. Families who have only sons and practice zouhun, will need offspring and seek to adopt one of the lovers of the men as dabu. After a trial period, she can be accepted as part of the family. However, in these cases the patrilineal pattern coexists with the matrilineal- until they reach the needed number of female members to bring the matrilineal structure back into balance. On the other hand- if they only have female offspring they will attempt to integrate men into the family, whether by marriage or adoption.

But although genealogy is matrilineal, the status of men and women is the same. The matriarch of the house manages property, though it belongs to all family members. Since there are no divisions and they all work on it, it grows while life goes on, with no new generation forced to start from scratch. If there were too many in a single home, a daughter separates from the mother, who will help her build a new house, offering at times; land, animals or tools.

The matriarch is, above all, a link. All members view their relationship based on the mother who is respected and honoured. This respect extends to all women in general, for their potential to be mothers. For men- to be in the hands of woman is to be in better hands. Man has power within the mother’s family, he is the father figure of his nieces and nephews, grandfather of the children of his nieces … The mother’s brothers are uncles and fathers, the brothers of the grandmother are grandparents, mother’s sisters are the same as the mother, the children of maternal aunts are brothers. This creates a great network one can rely on to overcome any obstacle. If there was a problem at public level, the village chief, usually a man, is responsible to solve it mediating between neighbours before things get worse.

Mosuo men work in commerce and sometimes at the most arduous household chores when they are at home. They were formerly in charge of the trade caravans commuting to different places around China. This created a habit, placing women responsible for the majority of work both in the house and at the field, while men tend to relax, smoking in the sun, playing cards with their mates at the courtyard. Sometimes even a simple task (such as fetching firewood) can take a dragging by the heels from the matriarch.

The growth of a domestic tourism curious of the originality of itself, represented by ethnic minorities in China, especially with the combination of its scenic beauty and peculiar customs, projects an improvement in communications. Better roads and airports will bring progress to the living standards of the locals, and artificiality to their customs. This implies a threat to the friendly life of the Mosuo and the strength of the family institution, fuelled by its disdain for violence and the accumulation of money.

The other institution in Mosuo society is religion. As the peaceful coexistence of patrilineal and matrilineal structures among them, there are several religions that coexist. Each represents an equal importance at rituals: two branches of Tibetan Buddhism, Gelugpa (the best known and most widespread) and Bön, a former Tibetan indigenous religion previous to Buddhism, with animistic elements and more macabre customs. They also have their own ethnic religion, officiated by the daba, a shaman who maintains the historical tradition of the Mosuo and officiates at rituals; such as naming the newborn, the coming of age, funerals, etc. This religion is very close to the Dongba, the religion of the Naxi, but more primitive. Echoing their animist tradition, the Mosuo also worship elements of nature, great creator of all, where the large represents the feminine and small the masculine. They have two goddesses in the region who protect them, the mountain goddess and goddess of love, Gemu, and the mother goddess, Shinami, which is the lake.

The most important stages of life for a Mosuo are three: birth, coming of age, and death. As they are unaware of the first or the last, coming of age is the most significant. It begins at twelve years of age and from this ceremony on the child can put on adult ethnic costumes for events and ceremonies. The ceremony is held in the living room of the house and family members, close friends and even the father of the child may take part in it. The matriarch officiates, putting a bag of rice on the floor and a zhubiaorou; a pig from which they removed the entrails and bones, stuffing it with onions, garlic, ginger, salt and spices before sewing it close and letting it sit (sometimes up to ten years) in a cool dry place, amazingly ignored by rats. The young protagonist stands on them bare footed, looking for an adult life in prosperity that this gesture hopefully predicts. Each guest dresses the child with one of the elements of the traditional costume that she has made, sized slightly bigger to last longer. In the girl’s case, a white skirt which challenges the dust of the road comes with a traditional belt (at times used to tuck in the excess of fabric) as well as a headdress made of yak wool and silk, that finishes in a long tail, rivalling for attention with the braid it dangles next to. Once the child leaves the parapet of prosperity, he or she is on the path to adulthood and the assumption of responsibilities.

Funerals are held for three days; when possible the family will invite Buddhist monks to recite scriptures, as well as a daba, who, chanting as if sending them off in a lullaby, shows the deceased the way to the ancestors’ dwelling. During the three days, the entire community is invited to dine twice daily; in such a bustle, women of the family are so consumed with hosting, that often only mourn the dead when the ceremony requires it. Wailing and crying has a limit, as any excess would cause heavy rain on the way to the realm of the ancestors.

During the ceremony, elements that belonged to the deceased are arranged on an altar in the living room. The body is set, curled up in a cubbyhole built into the wall, designed specifically for this purpose. The gap can be seen perfectly defined on the living room wall, however, it’s only accessible from the back. After the three days, the body is cremated and the ashes are placed into the common grave of the clan, following the order of their seats around the hearth fire; the women to the right, the men to the left, the older generations above, the most recent at the bottom.

Matriarchal societies focus on the role of the mother, not necessarily being tied to adult women, but exercised by any person who offers a child or infant the care they need to grow- even for limited time and space. This sense of nurturing is spread throughout the community and exercised by all its members, regardless of age or gender. Everyone is valued; they learn it at an early age and apply this belief in all their relationships throughout life. This, for me, is the essence of a matriarchal society, a place where we are all mothers.

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Laru Festival

Webmaster_1 — Thu, 15 Mar 2018 02:50:32 +0000

People of heights

Tibetans are a people of heights, with a territory that spreads over the Tibetan plateau, also covering the provinces of Yunnan, Sichuan, Gansu and Qinghai. It is there, where the land begins to rise, where inhabits this proud and hardened people.

To the southeast of Qinghai Province is Tongren County, Regong (Golden Valley) for Tibetans. In exchange for 30 Yuan and four hours, a shabby bus takes us there from Xining, the provincial capital. We traverse arid and mountainous landscapes where the first section of the Yellow River flows, and the waters still don’t carry the sediments that give it its name. The colours of the soil change: red, yellow, white and red again, a contrast against the bright turquoise waters. Along the river there are cultivations and villages of ethnic Muslims, mostly Salar and Hui; descendants of Arab mercenaries who arrived around 600 BC across the Silk Road.

Three hours have passed when we leave behind the Yellow River to enter the mountains. The road is dotted with landslides around which the cars have no choice but to reluctantly give way. We begin to glimpse the first signs of Tibetan culture. Always faithful to their gods, dwelling near them, sharing the heights. Stupas, votive flags swaying in the wind, huge murals in impossible places, some of them even carved. As if it was a review of the history of Tibetan art, the first drawings that we see are more primitive, simple and black, representing dancing figures making offerings of khadag, a customary Tibetan white silk fabric.

The Jiugu Valley

We have ascended to 2,500 meters, leaving behind the dusty road to enter a dream valley, formed around the river dGu-chu, Jiugu in Chinese. Crops of barley and wheat grow at the banks of the river, golden under the bright sun. There are many trees and villages with low adobe houses, Tibetan flags (tar-chog) waving in their courtyards. But the most outstanding are the monasteries, ostentatious and colourful next to the humble houses.

Almost two thousand years ago, during the Han Dynasty, the valley was a border between the Chinese and Tibetan empires, becoming a settlement area for Chinese central government troops. Even so the greatest influence in the valley remained Tibetan culture. The government combined Tibetan Buddhism and politics, with the monastery of Longwu at its epicentre.

In 710 AD, Tang Dynasty era, the valley was handed over to the Tibetan empire, as the result of peace negotiations between the two empires. Since then it has been a Tibetan settlement, assimilating the Mongolian Proto-Turks and the descendants of the Qiang ethnic group who had long inhabited the area. Even long after the fall of the Tibetan Empire the largest ethnic groups were descendants of Tibetan soldiers as well as settlers who came from the centre of Tibet, perhaps in search of a land where life would be less difficult.

Regong is also the most important centre of Tibetan art, with 700 years of history. Their thangkas (a Tibetan painting on cotton or silk) and sculptures are well known both in Southeast Asia and in Western countries.

Tibetans are a people zealous in their traditions, aware of the risks of their ethnic identity in a country like China, where 95% of the population belongs to the Han ethnic group. As a people who have historically combined religion with government, religious aspects permeate almost every aspect of their customs. This religious fear has perhaps survived better than in other cultures, given their close relationship with nature and the harshness of inhabiting environments as inhospitable as they are beautiful.

The religions of Tibetans: Popular, Lamaist and Bön Buddhism

The religion of Tibetan people is not limited to Tibetan Buddhism, but also holds important influences of Bön religion, hitherto little studied. Formerly the religion that spread throughout Siberia and Central Asia was animist. Bön was the Tibetan side of this religion. As it became entrenched in Tibetan culture, the first monasteries appeared, developing their own doctrine. But later, supported by the kings of the time, came the triumph of Buddhism. It was then that Bön became heresy and their adherents were forced to adopt elements of Buddhist religion to survive.

Tibetan Buddhism is the result of blending popular religion, Buddhism and Bön. Its rapid expansion was due to the intentional assimilation of popular religion. The only difference is that both Bön and Buddhist religions deal with affairs of the other world, such as karma and reincarnation, while popular religion only cares about worldly affairs.

Laru Festival (Glu-rol)

The Laru festival or Glu-rol is a specific communal rite of the Regong area. With magical-religious elements, it is based on the giving of offerings to the protective gods as well as communication with them through a medium or lhawa. This festival is held annually between the 15th and 25th of the sixth month of the Tibetan solar calendar, the period of the summer solstice called Glu-rol, hence the festival name. It usually lasts three days, but the gods can request more days through the medium. The function of this ritual is to seek prosperity and health for the villagers as well as the fertility of livestock and good harvests.

The area of Regong has several villages and this makes the festivals itinerant. The participants of each festival usually belong to the same clan or tribe, while members of neighbouring clans or tribes come to visit the festivals of others as a gesture of courtesy.

According to a legend, in times of the Tibetan Empire battles between Chinese and Tibetans were frequent in this border area and both sides suffered heavy losses. The peace treaty that ended the struggle was signed on the 22nd day of the sixth month, the Laru festival being a commemoration of this treaty.

The mountain gods

In each of the villages of Regong there are sanctuaries (ndekheng) that shelter the statues of the three mountain gods: Moggul, Trazil and Nyenchin. Moggul is the oldest and most powerful. According to the legend, he comes from Khamse, the “Red Mountain”, hence the red colour of both his face and his horse. Trazil, a heroic god, helped the Tibetans to definitively defeat the Muslims in a battle. Nyenchin, the third god, although important to many Tibetans, is not present in the rituals of Regong, since according to tradition he doesn’t inhabit any of the mountains surrounding the valley. The mountain gods participate in the festival through the medium. When the lhawa is in trance, the god uses him as a means to speak to or punish people for their offenses.

The festival begins

On the first day of the festival, early in the morning, men and children in traditional dress go to the hill behind the temple of Moggul, where two levtsis are erected, a kind of altar dedicated to the mountain gods. From here rise poles with tar-chog, pieces of cloth with mantras blown by a wind that takes them to all corners, benefiting as many people as possible. At the foot of both altars a fire is kindled, on which offerings of flour and alcohol are poured.

There are two lhawa, an older one leading the column of men and a younger one standing next to the levtsis where they make the offerings. The older man is smoking while engaged in lively conversation with the men at his side. Meanwhile, the youngest man is in trance. His body jerks, heaving continuously, although his gaze is lucid and restless, quickly following the movements of those who give offerings.

Longtas, small coloured papers with the image of a winged horse, are thrown up into the sky, taking advantage of the ascension of the smoke to rise even more. The more they climb the more auspicious they are. After a short time the major lhawa begins to direct the column of men downhill towards the temple, ordered by age, the smaller ones closing the row. The descent is marked by the rhythm of a tambourine, interrupted only by some shout praising the gods that is enthusiastically seconded by the rest.

Entering the temple through the back door, we are surprised to see a man chopping a lamb with water boiling in two huge cauldrons behind him. Meanwhile at the front door the parade of men goes to the center of the courtyard. Following the orders that the young lhawa gives between spasms they begin a circular dance. They form a changing spiral that narrows, allowing the gradual entry of other participants. The first young women who will also dance arrive and go to the porch at the right side, where other women are with their children and grandchildren. The men’s dances are directed to the mountain gods, while the women’s dances are dedicated to the gods of water, also called klu. While for men there is no age limit, women can only participate until they are married.

The dances continue and the oldest lhawa starts dancing frantically, assisted by three young men that surround him to avoid him hitting anybody, which would be interpreted as a punishment from the gods. Besides him, the youngest lhawa scatters alcohol and seeds on the ground.

Women approach the steps that ascend to the temple carrying offerings of yogurt, seeds, alcohol and a kind of castle-shaped dough. When they reach the first step, the male members of their clan are summoned to pick up the presents, because if the women would deliver them directly their long manes would distract the gods, hindering the communication with the men.

Sitting in the shade under the khadag strung on the columns, the elders carefully observe the movements of the lhawa because they are the only ones who can interpret the gods. As the day goes on the volume of their voices, their laughter or the wobbling of some old man crossing the square (helped by a young family member) is a sign that they are giving a good account of the alcohol offerings. As they say: “The gods like to drink, but accompanied”.

Suddenly at a signal of the lhawa the dancing men leave the square to make way for the young women who will do the “dragon dance”. Although the age limit is 25 years it seems that none exceeds eighteen. This is because most of the village girls are in college and did not have time yet to return for the first day of festival, although they will do so for the following. The clothing of the girls is the traditional Tibetan robe with heavy turquoise and coral ornaments hanging from their hair that emulate the scales of the water deities they dance for. The girls move to the beat of a drum of softly metallic sound, looking down in submissive attitude. With both hands extended they hold the long sleeves so as to hide them, and make small and timid movements back and forth, mimicking the movement of waves. Like men they go in order of age, the oldest at the front holding a khadag and the smaller behind in less submissive attitude. Some are so young that it is amazing to see them duly following the line, although quite disoriented, searching for familiar faces among those who watch and laugh. After the dragon dance the men go out in small groups, taking turns dancing with and without tambourine, always under the direction of the young lhawa, who continues to make offerings, sometimes joining them in the dance.

It’s been three hours since the beginning of the ritual, and the lhawa calls out for two boys dancing on orange stilts. One emulates a tiger and the other a snow leopard. The boys alternate their dance with different instruments, always assisted by other lads who prevent people from interfering.

After they leave everyone suddenly rises as sign of respect. An old lama accompanied by two young men makes his entrance into the courtyard. Everything seems to stop while he walks slowly towards the temple.

The presence of the lama is a purely political act, a courtesy, since he is not allowed to participate directly in the ritual. Once he disappears inside the temple the lhawa calls the daemons to dance: two barefoot boys wearing a mask, making genuine contortionist movements.

While the dances continue, the men begin to carry offerings to burn them on the altar that is on the entrance porch to the temple. At noon the whole set of participants comes out to dance in what seems the final touch of the morning dances. With the dance finished they all go to eat. The ritual will continue in the afternoon. The elders stay, always in surveillance, eating the delicious lamb stew prepared that morning, which they share with the few who still remain there, faithful to the ritual even though the activity has lessened. From the crowd, only the guardians are left to prevent the gods from feeling alone, but the dances do not cease. It is the moment for jokes, and a group of old men goes out and dance for the joy of the few present ones, so endearing are their awkward movements and their shining bald heads under the sun.

In the afternoon the crowd has increased; people from other villages have come to pay their respects. The dances continue like in the morning, in addition to the performance of a group of clowns, including several middle-aged men who had been drinking merrily on the porch.

Blood offerings

The following days of the festival are a repetition of the first day with one exception: the second day dawns rainy and the presence of foreigners and the curious outside the ritual is practically nonexistent. Perhaps that is why men who wanted to make their blood offering take the chance to dance with knives. They strike their foreheads vehemently with the blades. It is auspicious for the man who makes the offering if he bleeds a lot. This practice was more common before when the liberalizing policies of Deng Xiaoping allowed the revival of religious traditions that had been oppressed during the early years of the Communist regime. However, Buddhism, which ultimately is the dominant religion of the Tibetan people, is against this manifestation. Its total disapproval has come to reduce the prevalence of this ritual considerably although it is still practiced occasionally, like this rainy morning in Regong.

For Tibetans these rituals are not part of religion but a tradition. A tradition that unites them, facilitating community cohesion and the restoration of ties as well as a way to reinforce, year after year, their proud ethnic identity.

And it is precisely this strong identity so little shared by other ethnic groups in China, that distinguishes it and makes it attractive and mysterious like few others.

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Tonle Sap

Webmaster_1 — Wed, 14 Mar 2018 23:44:16 +0000

April, full moon. It is the Khmer New Year. The roaring of the locals’ boats floods out the night noises: the electronic music of the not so distant parties, the neighbor’s conversations, the small waves breaking against the bamboo rafts that keep households afloat.

Water hyacinths also gather in their own community, creating a parallel floating village that goes with the flow. They are like the Nothing in The Neverending Story, a dark and silent presence that becomes large at times before disappearing. But the water hyacinths never disappear before hindering the youth rowing from one party to another, or the fishers coming and going to and from the lake trying their luck at night fishing. To avoid the propellers of the boats getting tangled with the Nothing, they have to make their way over and over elevating the most possible the huge rod holding the propeller, which also increases the noise.

Tonle Sap, the largest lake in Southeast Asia, was formed 15,000 years ago. With the warming climate a river was born from the lake, connecting it to the Mekong, the “Mother River” of Southeast Asia, thus creating a unique ecosystem. The rivers of the Mekong are born in Tibet and run through Yunnan, Burma, Thailand and Laos. From November to May they flow into the sea, but in the monsoon they flush excess water in the lake, tripling its size. As the lake is only one meter deep at its center, the water makes its way back, surpassing the edge of the dry season. In October the water flows back again, and the lake empties back into the Mekong. This movement maintains a balance in the final stretch of the river, avoiding problems of flooding and drought. This balance involves a real lesson in impermanence. As one Cambodian proverb says, “When the water rises, the fish eat ants. When water is low, the ants eat fish.”

It is dry season, and the water level in Tonle Sap is low. The waters recede and enable the revenge of the ants. The low water also allow the locals to grow rice in areas that remain under water the rest of the year.

During the reign of Angkor Wat, founded five hundred years ago at the north of the lake, this annual flooding was of great importance. Yearly floods provided food to a population that reached half million, giving four crops of rice per year and providing the necessary animal proteins to more than 200 varieties of fish living in the lake. The stone reliefs at Angkor Wat show fish that local fishermen still recognize, demonstrating the enormous wealth that this ecosystem has maintained over the centuries.

This ecosystem also keeps various records: colonies of aquatic birds in danger of extinction and one of the most productive fisheries in the world, with an annual catch of 300,000 tons. This combination of natural resources makes the locals reluctant to abandon a way of life that has sustained them for centuries since the ancient and prosperous times of Angkor Wat, despite the immense poverty in which their lives are submerged.

Currently about 80,000 inhabitants live in 170 floating communities, the solution that brings balance to a life somewhere between drought and flooding. Houseboats allow their necessary transfer, sometimes of several kilometers, of domiciles. Usually the man of the house responsible for dragging the house with ropes, with the whole family aboard. Some years the inhabitants are forced to move their entire home up to ten times.

Fishing is their main livelihood, done using various techniques for larger or smaller fish, also for the preservation of fish, essential in tropical climates. Other industries have emerged, such as breeding captive crocodiles for the exploitation of their skin, creating floating plots which supply the necessary vegetables, making handicrafts with the invasive water hyacinth stalks, and a tourism that is becoming more interested in this peculiar way of life.

Mothers must always keep their babies at arm’s length when the little ones are newly discovering the world around them they must pull on their clothing when crawling babies approach the house limits and the water. Their bodies are constantly rocked by water movements, and conversations are drowned out by the roar of passing boats. Children must wait all day within the limits of their homes, because the family has left with their only vehicle. They play with the dog, and none forgets to scan the horizon now and then, hoping their family members return soon.

Floating gardens; fishing farms; shops offering all kinds of products; the boat mechanic and the man who collects used batteries; the locals walking among undulating ships and platforms, without ever losing a step; a tiny boat with a dozen monks, all crammed in tight and sitting still lest they knock the boat over; the festival on the shore where they dance in circle the monotonous Khmer dance; trees in pots clinging with wires to the house posts; porches tuned up with party lights, or the inevitable furtive looks into the intimacy of the floating village, where privacy is difficult to maintain in a place where the houses have only one room that is everything, open to the river.

There are various excesses that threaten the livelihoods of locals and the habitat of Tonle Sap, as the exploitation of the vegetation of the area for construction or fuel, the poaching of protected birds or their eggs, the illegal fishing that undermines the variety and numbers of fish. But the greatest threat comes from the creation of dams and reservoirs on the upper Mekong river. These can irreversibly alter the cycle between the river and the lake, destroying the ecosystem of the area. The future of a lifestyle that has remained for hundreds of years depends on the administrative ability and the common sense of governments. How can we find the balance between progress and protection?

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Nostalgia (China)

Lynn Hardies — Thu, 23 Nov 2017 19:35:14 +0000

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Dali (China)

Lynn Hardies — Thu, 23 Nov 2017 19:33:23 +0000

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Tongren (China)

Lynn Hardies — Thu, 23 Nov 2017 19:29:48 +0000

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Tuk and the water

Webmaster_1 — Fri, 24 Feb 2017 08:51:15 +0000

Tuk was a cat fascinated by water. In all states. Water in a glass, in a pond, bottled, dripping from the faucet or the toilet murky swirl. He could lay motionless for hours, his yellow gaze fixed on that transparent substance that breathes other airs. What he most wanted in the world was to know how to swim, so he could get into that other dimension. That moving freely without gravity, as did the fish. The poor fish were terrified because they confused envy with murder instinct.

Tuk soon grew bored with water in its more domestic forms and went to investigate. He found water in a sewer but it was too disgusting and meeeeow! he ran out. He found water in several fish tanks and was amused by the bubbles from the air pump, but he eventually found it too immobile.

Finally he found the water that most inspired him. It was a mighty river with lots of backwater corners, where it flowed, crystalline, among rocks and pebbles.

He could spend hours there, contemplating huge fish swimming majestically when they were not aware of his presence and suddenly became terrified when they recognized his feline silhouette beyond the mirror of the surface.

He started going every day, always to the same haven of the river. It got to the point that the fish almost starved for not daring to leave their shelters to eat. Furthermore it was precisely in quieter waters where food was abundant that the cat would hang out. Nor could they venture into other pools because they belonged to other fish clans. Each clan had its area and could not get out. It was Fish Law.

One day, the bravest and biggest of all fish, sick of seeing his own kind suffer, decided to confront the cat. He swam ostentatious by the shore, expecting to see the black and agile silhouette with yellow eyes. When he finally saw him, he approached. “Here I am, eat me, you can see I am a delicious bite, I’ll give myself to you so easily that you’ll barely get wet, but in exchange you have to promise me you’ll leave my family alone and go hunting in other parts of the river, where I guarantee the fish will be more succulent.” (In the animal kingdom, unlike the human, promises are kept.)

Tuk, flattered that one of the fascinating creatures of water would deign to talk to him, was both surprised and amused. “Me, eat you? But I just eat cat food!” “Then why do you come every day?” “To see how you swim, and if you are not swimming as unfortunately has been the case lately, to dream that I can swim like you.” “Are you a cat who’s not afraid of water?” “Cats do not fear the water, they fear drowning! It would be the only death that would prevent us from being reborn, exhausting at once our nine lives.”

The fish had an idea. “If I teach you to swim, would you swear me friendship and loyalty through all your nine lives, and to my family when I’m gone?” (Fish, if they lead a good and smooth life, can live much more than we imagine). Tuk accepted enthusiastically, and from that day on his swimming lessons began. At first they held him up and allowed him to feel the water and its movements. Soon they taught him to move and use his muscles to stay afloat and propel himself, as well as holding the air in his lungs and press it against the nose to keep water out of his nostrils, and even to hold a reed in his mouth to breathe beneath the surface.

Tuk soon became a great swimmer. He also ended up being close friends with the fish, and unwilling to avoid it, he scared the other clans of the river, who had to migrate to the sea.

The river turned into the kingdom of this fish clan, with fishes stronger and larger than others of their species. They had many, many children and ended up being a native species known as the “catfish” because they could meow and were able to speak to all cats that came to see them, who were many.

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Cloud

Webmaster_1 — Fri, 24 Feb 2017 08:39:47 +0000

There are places more transited by clouds than others, there are places where they rarely disturb the blue sky. And there are places that trap for their spectacular beauty, and are tempting even to the clouds. Cangshan is one of them. Nineteen mountain peaks overlooking a plateau valley with a huge lake shaped like an ear. Between each peak stream down torrents of water from glaciers or the many springs emerging everywhere. A cold, clear water fast descending the many slopes towards the lake, causing such dense vegetation that only birds and squirrels can move freely. The early settlers hardly ventured into the woods that separated the lake shores of the green slopes, full of herbs, trees of diverse species and flowers. Delicate and slender in the lakeside, the stems become more woody as they rise in altitude. Azaleas of the most varied colors brighten the foreground of the view that can be enjoyed from the higher valleys.

Both lake and mountain cause the eternal presence of clouds. Cirrus, cirrostratus, cirrocumulus, cumulus, altocumulus, altostratus, stratocumulus, cumulus nimbus, stratus, fractostratus … all pass through, maybe limping a bit on the slopes or in one of the many mountain peaks, to cross afterwards the valley or merge with the lake, always together. More than a cloud is amazed by the beauty of a place in particular, but can’t do anything about it, only sigh over their eternal nomadic life and dream that they will soon find a place as beautiful as this.

The clouds have always been united in a common identity that turns them into a single being. Although they appear isolated, they are actually one showing its many forms: elongated, fluffy, frayed or a crazy spiral. Depending on the amount of light they scatter, they are white, gray, or endless colors revolving from pristine white to pinkish through various shades of blue, yellow or red.

They soar across skies talking to each other as if thinking out loud, keeping distance when angry and joining each other when intoxicated by storms, charged with water even if they seem empty of all matter, but never separating from their family more than allowed. Clouds are never isolated but belong to a group, a well-defined clan, that has to keep on moving with a minimal binding, leaving place to those coming behind. Clouds are nomadic per life, an eternal life that never ends, they just change shape, from condensed steam to water drops that fall to form part of a lake, a river, the sea.

Until they re-condense and become again water droplets suspended on atmospheric dust. If a cloud is delayed in the physical change, it stays dormant over where her sisters have fallen or they wait for her from above, but they must always go together, or relatively together. There has never, ever been a cloud flying solo.

The light that hints below the horizon heralds the arrival of the sun. Today is going to be a bright day. One can start to guess the forms of the new valley to which they have arrived. Cloud loves to come to a new place at night and discover it in the sunlight when she has already been hours in the unknown. She loves that feeling of unreality, that of knowing you in a place without knowing how it is. Her sisters accumulate besides her, waiting for the sun to warm the cold air coming out of the ground, and thus get to rise, starting the movement. They all are eager to go to the lake. The view from the mountain is wonderful, but when the sun makes the clear waters of the lake shine all the clouds are amazed with the heat that the light generates. This site is idyllic and they are all enjoying it. But Cloud feels something else. To her, it is impossible to leave the mountain. It is as if the slopes are loudly begging her to stay. She doesn’t understand how her desire isn’t general and unanimous. Although she has always had problems with authority, even her own. And the beauty of the place makes it much easier to rebel against anyone.

Her sisters begin to descend into the valley, gliding over the slopes covered with dense forest, only interrupted by meadows of green grass. But she likes the tickling sensation that the mountain top gives her. She looks sideways, and her desire to expand grows with that glance, following it as a natural thought, beginning to spread over the many peaks arising from the ridge to the north, to the south. Mmmmm … the pleasure helps her to ignore the protests of her sisters. “Cloud, what are you doing? The weather is not for you to stretch out along the ridge, but to go down to the lake with us.” But Cloud doesn’t want to merge with the water, being forced into finding herself again.

Strange how, though she loses herself momentarily when she merges with the non-condensed water, her mischievous identity seeks herself, to evaporate again as Cloud, part of the others but yet unique and nontransferable. For the first time her rebellion makes her stronger than ever, so she becomes increasingly dense, she moves though she seems still, until she is a blanket of cotton candy over the summits. Her sisters have already disappeared in the lake, not before looking back, full of concern. They actually didn’t want to merge with the lake, but the fact that Cloud does not descend with them becomes a problem, the breeze would push them too far, leaving her behind, and if she meets the following cloud clan, they would all have a big problem with the high authorities. Their cloud existence could dwindle, even being eternal! They would be punished by becoming a water that doesn’t leave the pipes. So they decide to dissolve and fall unexpectedly as gentle rain on the lake, and wait impatiently until Cloud decides to move. And she does, but it doesn’t seem that she intends to join them. She walks around the mountain, the different valleys, exploring every corner, every tree, enjoying each view, all different but equally beautiful. She becomes small and discreet, sometimes a mere mist that almost goes unnoticed, upsetting her sisters even more. Finally she decides to drop into the water of a spring that leads her full speed downhill, ending in the lake.

“I will not leave” she says firmly to her sisters, before any has the time to protest. “I’m tired of nomadic life, I’ve seen enough of the world, I’m staying here.” “You cannot leave us! It’s forbidden!” “Then tell the high authorities they can come find me and punish me.” “We can not function without you, you are part of us!” “You’ve done it many times, it is obvious that my independent thinking does not affect you to do what you must, and leaving the group will do you more a favor than anything else.”

The heat of the sun turns the surface of the lake into a large pan, clouds begin to evaporate again, fighting at first to stay on the surface of the lake, waiting for a decision. If they united their wishes with all their might, Cloud would have real difficulty maintaining her rebellion. But the group lacks sufficient strength. They are tired of fighting against the current. And Cloud has taken refuge in a deep cave, where the sun’s rays can’t reach to drag her to the surface and out of the water. Sad and relieved at the same time, the clouds of the clan regroup above the lake, floating, hopelessly scrutinizing the darker parts where they know the black sheep of the family has hidden. And suddenly a gust of wind throws them against the mountains on the other side, much lower than Cangshan, thus no real obstacle. Gradually, the last cloud of the clan loses sight of the beautiful valley, to continue their eternal journey, lightened of a weight that they now find unnecessary.

The valley sky is limpid, the passage of this clan of clouds has been faster than usual, the following cloud clan has not yet arrived. Cloud evaporates before the sun loses its strength, creating a small, discreet formation to avoid suspicion. She doesn’t really know from what she’s hiding, the valley is sparsely populated, and the animals have enough concern surviving each day to pay attention to this solitary cloud that carefully crosses the sky, going in the opposite direction as usual, back to the mountain of her dreams.

When the fierce winter winds hit the region, Cloud condenses and drops on the springs or the lake, to avoid being pushed out of what she already considers her rightful home. During the monsoons, when it rains every other day and also in between, Cloud hides inside the cave of the lake, something unnecessary, because the monsoon clouds, real workaholics, are so busy that they would never have noticed that presence not belonging to their clan.

And when new clans of clouds climb to the crest of the mountain to appear in this valley, Cloud becomes a sigh of herself, to hide among the trees of a forest or in some crag corner.

Over years and centuries, few have noticed the presence of that strange cloud only to be seen when it makes little sense, a cotton fleck cheerfully riding the 20 mountain valleys or skirting the edge of lake, or on her favorite position, extended and compact along the mountain ridge. And the few that have noticed would never say anything the other clouds, because Cloud is already an indelible part of the landscape of Cangshan.

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