Sichuan rules

 

Western Sichuan, by which I mean the western half of the Sichuan basin rather than the vast swathes of mostly mountain territory tagged on to Sichuan province over the past century by various Chinese governments, is a very special part of China. The sense of connection to the past, of continuity with antiquity, of a functioning and healthy web of social and family contacts being intact and alive, is stronger here than in any part of the Chinese countryside through which I have passed. At least, that is my impression, true or not.

The region feels almost blessed in many ways, but only relatively speaking. This is still tough rural territory compared with the richness of, say, Thailand or New England farmland.

Let me start with the terrain. The terraced fields are often intricately interlocked with stone and brick walls, with delightful and perfectly round fishponds sitting in the middle of most of them. The walls and circles have careful, almost artistic, designs that seem to date from long ago, maintained with at least as much care as anywhere else I have seen in China.

The solid and usually traditional farmhouses are well-sited beside the hills, overlooking the fields and surrounded typically by bamboo stands. I saw more old farmhouses in this – to me – magical region west of Nanchong and east of Chengdu than I had seen since the poorest areas of Anhui province. But I sensed that, unlike in Anhui, a key reason why these houses in Sichuan have so far survived with their distinctive Tudor-style walls of rectangle wooden struts is more a result of the fact that the houses were originally well built and so are in less need a replacement. I would say there is also a greater awareness of tradition among these people.

To the east of Nanchong, the houses had all been painted by the local authorities with fake black and red lines to make them look from a distance as if they were traditional Sichuan houses. Here, the lines were real. Even the more modern brick and concrete farmhouses that I passed had a style about them that reflected the older structures, with slanted tiled roofs rather than flat concrete slabs, and white walls and yellow doors – but all different, and clearly not demanded by local officials. It was a pleasure to look at them.

One change for the better in this region in recent decades is afforestation. The hills above me were all well-covered in trees, and several people commented on how 20 or 30 years ago they had all been barren. One man told me that officials assigned areas of the hills to each farmer, and then gave money in return for them planting and caring for the trees. A smart idea.

“It is really important to have more trees because the environment in China is deteriorating so fast,” said the man. I am always interested to see how far the awareness of these issues is spreading even at the most basic levels of Chinese society. This awareness has implications right up the line through the years ahead.

Another way in which the region is blessed is the climate, which is often mild and pleasant when other parts of the country are suffering from extremes of cold or heat. This part of Sichuan province feels protected particularly from the bitterness of winter in a way that rural Anhui and Hubei are not. There was still plenty of green around in February, and while the paddy fields were asleep and brown, there was no shortage of signs of life. The ducks were happily cruising through the waters between the burnt rice stalks, snuffling up goodness from the muck, and from the bamboo stands beside the farmhouses I could often hear the satisfied cooing of doves or pigeons. People here wear five or six – or more – layers of clothing as a matter of course, but I was perfectly comfortable with just one sweater.

Then there is the lifestyle, which, after the work is done, is dominated by tea and games. People in this part of China, and certainly in the Chengdu region, love their tea, and I detected a relatively high awareness of the difference between good and bad tea. In front of one very ordinary and poor farmhouse, I was given some Iron Buddha tea from Fujian, which was delicious.

Meanwhile, alcohol consumption in Sichuan is allegedly relatively low. There were certainly far fewer advertisements along the road for alcohol brands than usual.

As to games, the people of this part of Sichuan all seem to play mahjong and cards all the time. The little villages all have open-fronted teahouses filled with square wooden tables, four persons to a table, usually playing mahjong.

Why the extreme interest in this game? I asked.

“It has to do with history,” said one man, home from Shenzhen for the holidays and clearly very happy to be back communing with his roots.

“Sichuan province has always been relatively peaceful, and the weather is generally good,” he said. “It is easy to grow rice, corn and other crops, so it is not difficult for people here to lead a pretty comfortable life. That means there is plenty of time to do other things and so people play mahjong.”

I asked about the rules of the game used by the people in this region. As far as I know, Shanghai and Hong Kong people these days mostly use what are known as “Taiwan rules.” But in Sichuan, I was told, they use a variety of rules, often changing to another playing method during the same session.

“Basically every place has its own rules,” said one young man, a recent graduate from a university in Chong­qing, who was here visiting relatives. “There are Nanchong rules and Chengdu rules and Chongqing rules.”

As in the rest of China, they play mostly with friends and family for small amounts of money, with the days passing by in what looked to be a delightfully social way.

Then there is the food and the water. I had a couple of meals with local people in their houses – or rather in the courtyards outside – and the quality of the food ingredients was obvious.

“The pigs and chickens here are so tasty because they are fed naturally,” said one guy. “The meat in Shenzhen is just terrible by comparison. “In the end, I will move back here for the food.”

I spent time with one family drinking tea, and the water I was told came from their own private well.

“The water is clean and you can drink it without even boiling it,” said the farmer. “In the summer, the water from the well is cool and in the winter it is warm.
With water outside (in other parts of China), there is no way of knowing what is in it.”

But there is, of course, at least one problem in this quiet rural corner of Sichuan province, as described by one migrant worker, who used the international sign language of rubbing his thumb and index finger together.

“The quality of life here is very good but there is no way to make money,” he said. “But I much prefer to be here,” he added. “My plan is to work in Shenzhen for another 10 years or so, and then come back to the village and build a house for myself and take it easy. Maybe spend RMB100,000 (US$15,220) or so on the house – that would be enough.”

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