Luoyang and Nanjie (from the past)

(Emily)

The last stops on our journey were a bit surreal, and made our final destination all the more welcoming. In Luoyang, China's ongoing and uneven transition into the present was obvious; while other cities we've seen have been shining and modern, and surpass those of America and Europe, Luoyang semed in some ways to be stuck in the previous century. ( Not the eighteen hundreds. No horses or telegraph lines.) We passed block after block of raw, dusty earth masked by temporary walls, and unfinished, wounded-looking buildings whose metal supports arched into the air like exposed bone. At first, we thought the weather as just overcast, but it turned out that the sky in Luoyang is permanently smoggy. The entire effect was rather dystopic. It is at times like these--well, all the time, but especially times like these--that I wish I spoke more Chinese. Luoyang, while not a prime vacation spot, is still home to millions of people who must have some affection for it. The language barrier bars me from the human interactions that I'm sure would round out my impression of the city.
On our second day in the area, we left the city to visit the village of Nanjie, or Nanjiecun, the only existing Maoist collective. In the 1980's, when Deng Xioaping was leading the country in a more capitalistic direction, away from the commune system and towards "communism with Chinese characteristics," Nanjie took the opposite tack and returned to purer communism. It's economy was once purely agricultural, but beginning in the 1980's it became more and more factory-based. It now produces sweets under the brand name "Mine," (oh yes, we made the joke you're thinking about right now--over, and over, and over again...) instant noodle-bowls, MSG and other flavors, and it's own brand of beer. Mao's face was everywhere: restaurant decor, clockfaces, city walls. At the restaurant we ate in, the waitresses all wore olive green military-style suits, with red accents. Nanjie is actually a big tourist destination, but it's largely visited by nostaligic Chinese, not Westerners; we got a few stares. But to most appearances, and excepting the large and well-kempt images of Marx, Stalin, and Engels in the city square, Nanjie is much like any other Chinese village. Though advertising is a bit more muted, and the city is perhaps a bit wealthier than the surrounding areas (it did, however, recently get a loan from the central government), most of the fundamental things that set Nanjie apart are invisible. For example, around 70 percent of villagers' expenses are paid for by the local government. They receive some cash, but mostly pay with vouchers they receive in return for work.

After lunch we fell down the rabbit hole. We were on a bus tour--well, a golf-cart tour--when we suddenly stopped and told we'd be visiting someone's home. It was the definition of awkward. Inside the apartment was an older woman with a little girl, and a boy taking a nap in the next room. The tourguide casually pointed out various furniture items and told us which ones came with the apartment (most of them, including a color TV). Then we got back on the golf cart, wondering why these people were okay with having strangers come unnannounced to their home.

After that experience, we probably should have been prepared for the veritable Odyssey of awkwardness that lay in store for us. But no. Our next stop was the Botanical Gardens, which the young couples of the surrounding towns apparently consider the best place to take their wedding photos. We probably walked through fifteen seperate photo shoots on our way through the gardens. I don't know who was staring harder, or who was more stare-worthy: the couples in matching pink or yellow wedding outfits or the random American tourists in a small communist village's greenhouse.

We still can't decide if the indoor gardens were eerie or hilarious. There were fake animals everywhere, including a life-sized dinosaur, some deer, a miniature rhino, a larger-than-life squirrel that doubled as a speaker, kangaroos, an incredibly sinister giant frog that sat and watched us from a scummy pond, and the only animal that made sense--a panda. We were torn between taking pictures and getting out of there as quickly as possible. That sounds like an exaggeration--but it was a garden full of fake animals and wedding photo shoots in a Maoist commune in China! No rules! No logic!