Lessons from Lijiang by Ino Manalo

The landscape is one of wonder. Arriving in Lijiang airport, you immediately sense that
there is something different in the surrounding terrain. The mountains are snowcapped,
even in summer. As you drive away from the airport, you notice that you are in a valley
and that the vistas are broad, broader than one can imagine. Having grown up constantly
hemmed in by the sea, the vast expanse of fields is so liberating

I’ve had the good fortune of visiting Lijiang in the Western Chinese province of Yunnan
on three occasions. My first trip was almost a decade ago, in conjunction with a
UNESCO conference on heritage resources management. At that time, I had already been
so impressed with the streets of ancient houses over which towered the magnificent peaks
of Jade Dragon Snow Mountain.

We were very lucky to be participants of a UNESCO activity. The organizers went out of
their way to make sure that we would understand the many meanings that created the
context in which Lijiang was embedded. It was pointed out that Jade Dragon Snow
Mountain was sacred to the local folk. The water that came from the melting ice was seen
as liquid jade. The brooks that tumbled down to the valleys brought the magic and
blessings of the slopes to the surrounding countryside. The mayor of Vigan, Eva Medina,
who was one of the Filipinos with me in the conference, observed that while everyone
else was impressed by the incredible views and the lovely old houses, what truly amazed
our kababayans was the fact that the rivers were clean!
Water was indeed an important factor in the people’s lives. Many springs were
considered holy, sites of silence and enchantment. Streets were bordered by canals in
which sparkling rivulets constantly flowed. Some cafes would simply keep their bottles
of soft drinks cool by dipping it in the icy streams! Every now and then, the canals would
even be rerouted to wash streets.

Lijiang was accepted in the UNESCO World Heritage List because it represented the
coming together of many cultures such as Naxi, Han Chinese, and Tibetan. These
cultures lived in relative harmony, creating a vibrant community. This was clearly
illustrated in a small village where the painted murals in the temples showed the
influences of different aesthetic schools.

There was actually so much to do in the ancient town. At night there were performances
such as concerts of traditional Naxi music. Sometimes a group of young people would
gather around a bonfire and dance. It felt good to join them and simply twirl and spread
your arms. Mayor Medina would say: “Para ka namang ibon na nakawala !”.

Then there was the amazing variety of shops. On sale were all kinds of colorful fabrics,
scarves, bags, handmade paper, tea, leather goods. I must admit that I bought a finely
embroidered jacket and wore it proudly to a conference reception. Everyone was too
polite to tell me that my new purchase was really for women. After I found out the truth, I
gave the jacket to my sister saying nothing about my social faux pas. My sister loved her
gift.

The food at the conference wasn’t the greatest. As we were often confronted with strange
bubbling stews, it became customary to inquire about the contents. The wisdom of such
inquisitiveness became questionable, however, when we learned that one of our steaming
tureens actually contained donkey meat. From then on, we all thought it best to follow the
lead of another mayor, this time of the Nepalese town of Bhaktapur. I can still recall how
he would declare in a booming voice: “Don’t ask!”.
Fleeing the hotel dinner one evening, I found a little Italian restaurant tucked into a
corner of the ancient town. Its owner had moved there from Italy because he had learned
that there were actually a lot of truffles in the Yunnan area. The food was wonderful:
pizzas with thin crusts, fresh pasta with sun-ripened tomatoes. It was definitely an
improvement over donkey. The next day I spied a group of my fellow delegates at the
next table. Soon the entire conference was dining at the restaurant!

Of course, our hotel was really the exception. The traditional cuisine of Lijiang is
excellent. At breakfast one can gorge on little pancakes laced with green onions. Street
peddlers will tempt you with trembling puddings steamed in large round metal trays.
Usually, one sits on tiny stools before low tables to feast on a delicious array of wild
mushrooms, crisp river fish and purple rice. A memorable meal was made up of chicken
in a sweet orange sauce, egg plants coated in batter then fried and farm fresh eggs
scrambled with chives. When all else fails, there is always the famous delicacy that all
my friends in the Philippines seem to know about: Yunnan ham!

One can use Lijiang as the base for trips to the surrounding area. There is an amazing
gorge to explore. There are trekking expeditions through the wild country that gave birth
to the great trinity: the Yangtze, the Ganges and the Mekong. Imagine that the rivers
which fed three of the world’s most important civilizations actually started from the same
place! The outlying villages were also a joy to visit. Their charm lay in their dreamy
Brigadoon-like quality. Perhaps the somnolence that the surroundings inspired proved so
potent that a member of our party was left behind by the tour bus in the little hamlet of
Shuhe. As he was a fellow Filipino, I volunteered to return and rescue him. I still
remember driving past sprawling fields of wheat, polished to a fine copper sheen by the
gathering dusk. I still remember coming upon my wayward compatriot sitting alone by a
well in the central square of Shuhe. I still remember how he smiled when he saw me.
Years later, when I returned to Yunnan on my third visit, I was quite shocked to see how
things had changed. Shuhe was no longer a sleepy town. Long ago, I had taken a picture
of the stone bridge and the ragtag bunch of houses around it. Now, the bridge was still
there but the houses had been reincarnated as chic galleries and cafes. There were
landscaped parks and plush establishments serving French and Korean food. The wheat
fields had disappeared. In their stead were residential estates and resorts.

Lijiang’s new urban sector had become bigger. Skyscrapers had sprouted everywhere.
Yet, the old quarter had been preserved and, amazingly, also expanded! There has been a
spate of construction in an architecture that can be best described as “Trying-to-be-
Ching”. Whole districts have sprung up with neo-antique structures that are a cross
between the styles of the Manchu Empire and the Empire Strikes Back. All these aim to
give the ever-growing number of tourists their heritage fix. When I first went to Lijiang,
visitor numbers were less than a million. In 2009, it is expected that the 6 million mark
may be reached. The Past is big business in Lijiang.

Conservationists are up in arms. They note that the free interpretation of traditional
architecture can be confusing. The issue of authenticity is raised. More importantly, there
is much concern about the fact that the original Naxi residents of the old town are selling
their houses to entrepreneurs and moving out. At the rate things are going, Lijiang will
lose the ethnic character and cultural mix which were the main reasons why it was
included in the UNESCO list in the first place. There are also complaints about the noise.
The music blaring from a string of bars is disturbing homeowners as well as the guests of
the beautiful boutique inns that the town is so famous for. Who then should the municipal
management favor: the hoteliers or the bar owners? What takes priority: a good night’s
rest or partying? What is the true value of silence?

To be sure, very few are complaining about the great mass of tourists that descends on
Lijiang every year. For the huge numbers spell prosperity. The shops and restaurants are
thriving.

Tourism channeled properly can actually help conserve heritage resources. How else can
a troupe of traditional musicians be able to perform to packed audiences every night of
the week? The local government is able to generate so much from tax revenues that it can
afford to restore many of the magnificent old residences of Lijiang. I had the chance to
visit a few of these with two members of the Protection and Management Bureau: the
dynamic Ms Rose Ding Wen and her colleague, Leo. They showed me several elegant
houses that were to be integrated into a special tour. I suggested a creatively designed
circuit that could even include performances and food. We also discussed how Lijiang
could serve as a central venue for heritage management, conservation, and museums
workshops catering to people from the surrounding provinces.

The town’s tourism earnings also help support an interesting municipal showcase: the
Lijiang Naxi Dongba Museum. Its exhibits are very sophisticated and well organized.
During a meeting with the Deputy Director and one of the staff members, Ms Zhao
Xiuyun, I was even told about plans to set up a children’s section that would cater to
students and younger visitors.

Entering one of the town parks I was a little irritated at first to be chased by a guard who
demanded that I pay a heritage tax. It turns out that this standard fee was based on a
proposal made during the workshop that I had attended almost ten years earlier. The tax
is a one-time payment that is valid for an entire stay. It is supposed to be collected by
one’s hotel or at major tourist sites. Tourists should keep the receipt and show this when
needed so as to avoid paying again.

The remarkable influx of visitors has allowed for the blossoming of quaint inns that
incorporate traditional architectural features. Everywhere one looks there are splendidly
carved entrances that open into tranquil plazas. Among the most tasteful places that I saw
was the Zen Garden Hotel operated by Ms Yumei He. The Zen Garden stands on a hill
with views of the whole ancient district. The rooms are set around a central garden filled
with cane chairs, ponds and flowering plants. Meanwhile, a budget option is the Crescent
Moon Inn just a porcelain tile’s throw away from the main shopping street. Lodgers are
calmed by a glimpse of lovingly tended plants in a quiet courtyard. My room featured
paper lined windows and an immaculate modern bathroom. The proprietors were so
gracious that when I told them that I was leaving on a short trip and would be absent for a
few days, they wouldn’t let me pay until my return. It turns out that the Crescent Moon’s
owners were from Northern China. Such was the booming tourism business in Lijiang
that it attracted people from far-away places. More importantly, the establishments that
were being set up always respected the heritage context. Then too, the great demand for
artisans who were skilled in traditional techniques helped keep the old construction
methods alive together with the industries that produced time-honored materials such as
tiles and bricks.

Tourism brings many problems: pollution, noise, displacement, exploitation. There are
even some people discussing whether it is a good idea to place entire communities on the
UNESCO list. Can one really legislate heritage guidelines that will be followed by so
many people? Is UNESCO actually interfering with private lives? Surely a balance can
be found between commercial interests and the need to preserve heritage values as well
as the tranquility and integrity of place. Experts have, in fact, shown how one side of the
equation can support the other.

The jury is still out with regard to Lijiang. What I do know is that there are nights when
one can stand on a balcony relishing the amber glow that comes from tiers upon tiers of
ancient houses. Then it does not really matter whether the surrounding structures’
connections to the past are the result of pretence or privilege. I do know that there are
certain mornings when the cobblestone streets are wrapped in a silence that is broken
only by the sound of women fetching water from the wells. Walking around one is
greeted by a vendor who offers pancakes so fresh and warm and yielding that for a
moment cares are forgotten. There are no more discussions on the meanings of heritage,
of development, of authenticity.

There are only pancakes.