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While China's northeastern parts such as Beijing and Shandong may represent the historical heart of the People's Republic, it's in the west where we find a unique cultural diversity that is so attractive to travelers. Nowhere else in the country might one uncover the splendor of China's varied minority population than 'south of the clouds,' Yunnan. Situated on the southwestern corner of four other provinces, Yunnan also shares borders with three countries (not quite including Thailand and India), its proximity resulting in the highest concentration of ethnic groups in all of China. However, with the northern Naxi city of Lijiang having become China's hottest holiday destination for tour groups, nearby Dali a laidback retreat for younger backpackers, and Zhonian a jumpig off point for Tibet, south Yunnan remains a relatively unspoiled region. From the concrete jungle of the provincial capital city of Kunming into the rain forests of Xishuangbanna, this writer bypassed the more popular route towards Laos and Vietnam for the less-explored areas around the Burma perimeter. My timing was perfect, as I arrived in the village of Menghun just before its Sunday market. A quiet community accented with stilted wooden homes and a hilltop monastery overlooking the surrounding rice fields, the day's drizzly weather served to enhance the village's reticence. But through the gray I caught glimpses of color that revealed thselves to be the region's multiple ethnic minorities.By mid-morning, Menghun's relatively small marketplace, abounding with freshly slaughtered pig heads, brilliant fruits and vegetables, plugs of tobacco and a rainbowof te
xtiles, became a veritable kaleidoscope of culture unlike any I have every witnessed. I was first met by the silky glory of Xishuangbanna's majority population, the Dai, a 2000 year-old culture that fuses HinayanaBuddhism with elements of Thai. The Dai dress attractively in shimmering attire, but it is the younger Dai girls in their formfitting pastel sarongs who catch one's eye before teasingly runing away like nymphs. Further illuminating the otherwise dark day were the Akha people, known as the Hani. Like a resplendent yet elusive jungle bird, the Akha appear from the deep lush hills only on market day, whence they adorn themselves in heavy layers of black brilliantly highlighted with intricately embroidered patterns. Descendants of the nomadic Qiang from Tibet, each Hani subgroup wear a different colored headdress to signify their tribe, not unlike the plumage of a proud bird, and lavishly accessorize in silver-studded bracelets and leggings, patchwork satchels and antiqued coins stretching out their earlobes. Tumpline baskets around their heads and teeth stained red with betel nut are commonplace. Especially weary of outsiders, they timidly skirted all my advancements, however friendly persistence coupled with a sincere interest in their lifestyle soon granted me access to a tight knit Akha clan. They spoke very little Mandarin, and of course no English, so we relied simply on gestures and smiles in an attempt to learn about each other. By noon the market had cleared along with the rain, the streets now lined with vivid knots of indigenous folk awaiting tractors to take them back to their respective outlying villages.
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