Recently, I attended the Changjieyan festival of the Hani people in Yuanyang County.
    The main street was alive with activity and crowded with people, tables and food.  Friends, family, visitors, television stations and photographers came from afar to take part in the two-day festival where tables are placed in a long line hugging the curves of the main street and filled with food and drink for guests.  I had come to photograph the event, like many others, and made my way along the street, my shutter clicking to capture old women in bright blue silk, young girls with silver headdresses, old men smoking long pipes, and the variety of food including grasshoppers, bamboo worms and delicacies I was unable to identify.  People buzzed around me, food was shuffled here and there, shutters clicked and film rolled to capture it all.  As I pushed my way through the maze of people and tables, I spotted a quiet side street where I could escape the shuffle.  I stepped out of the commotion into the calm and noticed a small group of people a short ways down the alley. Deciding to have a look, I approached them and found that they were busy making the small baskets that would be filled with two colorful eggs and given to visitors. Wanting a rest, I sat down with them and watched a man weave the thin bamboo reeds into small baskets. A woman and girl then decorated the finished baskets with ribbon and yarn.  As I watched, they asked me where I was from, about my country, all very typical questions posed to a foreigner here in Yunnan.  We talked a bit more, but encountered difficulty, a combination of my lack of language skills and their heavy accent.  Mostly, I just watched.
    When the man had finished one basket, I asked him to teach me how to weave.  Very willing, he handed me several reeds and for the next hour guided me through the weaving of a basket.  Of the two days I spent in that village, that hour was the most significant.  My hands were clumsy and I bent the reeds the wrong way.  My teacher patiently corrected my continuous mistakes, at the same time complimenting my skill.  As time stretched on, for a moment I thought that I might be missing some opportunities to take photos of the main activity, but quickly realized that what was in front of me was far more important.  I followed my teacher’s example and my basket began to take shape, though a bit warped and misshaped.  I needed constant help, but the man was very patient and directed my fingers in how to work a reed over, under and through the other reeds. Other people gathered around to watch as the basket was finished and complimented me on my ability.  I tried to say that the basket was hardly my creation, but my teacher insisted on giving me the credit.  He then presented me with the basket he had woven, a much tighter, well-formed version of mine, to take back home with me.
    Today, as I hold those baskets, they represent much of what Yunnan has come to mean for me.  As I look at them, I see that they, literally, are a number of reeds intertwined to create a unified form, similar to Yunnan, a tapestry of culture and natural environment.  Within one hundred kilometers, culture, architecture and landscape can change so drastically it is as if one were in a completely new place.  A traveler attempting to experience all of Yunnan could spend years on the road and not see everything there is to see here.  A writer trying to describe the cultures of this area could write volumes and volumes and barely skim the surface.  A botanist trying to classify the plant life could never finish his studies in a lifetime.  The complexity of this province can only be described by a tight and intricate weave of innumerable existences.  To enter that weave promises many wonderful discoveries and I am continually astonished by the province’s richness and variety.  Yunnan truly is a special place.