Tens of thousands of tourists flocked to the small city of Zhangjiajie during the National Day holiday as the "golden week" gave people an opportunity to get out and enjoy the area's picturesque countryside.
Hotels, restaurants, supermarkets, and souvenir stalls bustled with activity. Cars, buses, tractors and motorcycles were nose-to-tail on virtually every street of the city in central China's Hunan Province.
What tourists did not see was any real evidence of the culture of the Tujia minority, whose people make up 77 percent of Zhangjiajie's population.
Li Junsheng, a local painter, believes tourism is tarnishing the city's unique culture.
The modern buildings going up in the city, says local government spokesman Guo Tiejun, are there to meet the needs of the growing number of tourists.
"They cannot accept shabby houses, the city was built to cater to the demands of tourism."
The question is, is tourism revitalizing the city or destroying its intrinsic cultural fabric?
Culture all but lost
Nestling under blue skies dotted with cotton wool clouds, Zhangjiajie's unique mountainous countryside is covered by forests. Fresh air breezes around the crags as birds call out from the green trees. Waterfalls tumble from the dells and trickle down the cliffs.
Unsurprisingly, the area is a huge draw for tourists wanting to get back to nature. Ancient Tujia towns nearby Zhangjiajie are another popular attraction.
It is this combination of magnificent scenery and fascinating culture that painter Li, 42, loves so much.
Zhangjiajie was quiet and beautiful when he was young, he remembers. Diaojiaolou, Tujia folk houses, built of wood and stones, were just like those described in Shen Congwen's classic novel "Biancheng (Remote Town)."
"Now they have disappeared without trace," Li says regretfully. "In the view of an artist, I think the new city has done great damage to the area's natural beauty and to Tujia folk culture."
Li Zhe, a local tour guide, says that aside from a few guides like himself who have learned about Tujia traditions and history as part of professional training, few residents, many of them ethnic Tujias themselves, know anything about their culture. Hardly any young Tujias, she says, learn to speak their native language.
Traditional costume has been almost completely abandoned by the city's residents. Waiters and waitresses in tourist restaurants are the only obvious wearers of ethnic dress. Most people living in the city opt for modern shirts, jackets, jeans or suits. There is little sign of any genuine Tujia culture.
When asked how Tujia people cook their meals, a waitress simply replies: "Electric cooker."
There are places in the neighbouring Xiangxi Tujia and Miao Autonomous Prefecture that have preserved their folk culture much better, says Deng Xiaoxia, who was born in Xiangxi but now works in Beijing. Her grandmother's village has stayed the same for decades, she says.
"For me, I like those wooden houses," Deng said. "They are cool in summer and very convenient. Just seeing them makes me feel nostalgic."
Modern life and tourism
Although Deng wants to preserve her hometown's past, she says she is also concerned about tackling poverty there.
She says that unfortunately it seems the poorer a place is, the better its folk culture is preserved.
"It's a contradiction," she adds.
Deng remembers it used to take her four hours to walk to her grandmother's home because there was no transport. Her grandmother lived without electricity.
"Zhangjiajie was a common county, just like my hometown, but I must accept that things have moved on over the last 30 years," Deng said.
Before 1988, when it was upgraded to a city, Zhangjiajie was called Dayong County, part of Xiangxi Prefecture. In 1994 it was given its present name.
According to local government figures, Zhangjiajie had a gross income of 9.6 billion yuan (US$1.2 billion) last year with tourism-related revenue accounting for 5.52 billion yuan (US$681 million).
One middle-aged local Tujia farmer says he now earns 400-500 yuan (US$49-62) per month selling his vegetables, much more than in the past.
"Life is much better now." he says smiling. "I have enough money to support my family." He didn't like his former life because he was too poor.
"Quality of life is the most important thing," he adds.
Working in the sociology department of Peking University, a professor surnamed Gao says such changes are inevitable.
"Cultural preservation has a high cost. It's practical to change Zhangjiajie into a modern city, and it's natural for local Tujias to adjust to modern life. It is unavoidable that they should be influenced by the outside world. If some protectionist activists call for preserving the city exactly as it was in the past, please ask them to pay the renovation bill."
According to Deng Xiaoxia, a traditional diaojiaolou house in one of Xiangxi's villages would cost much more than a modern house built of cement and bricks because timber is now very expensive.
Artist Li Junsheng insists that cultural preservation and social development are compatible.
"If we preserve the old city and build a new one nearby, people can still enjoy a new life, but the old city itself will be a tourist site complete with traditional housing, clothing and customs," he says.
"In this way culture can be conserved along with a rising income from tourism."
But professor Gao rejects the idea. According to Gao, it is meaningless to deliberately preserve architecture and social culture, and priority should be given to economic growth and social development.
"While places that are influenced by the outside world are developing, it is isolation and poverty that make towns stay the same," he says.
However, the fortune brought by tourism leads to another problem: Some residents say the gap between the poor and the rich in the city appears to be deepening.
Rich people boast that the seventh Lincoln limousine in the whole of China can be found on their small city's crowded streets.
And even though the middle-aged farmer is satisfied with his rise in income, he says he does not expect to ever earn more than he does now.
His land has been devoured by the city's expansion, forcing him to find agricultural land elsewhere.
"We grow vegetables on suburban mountains now," he says.
(China Daily October 18, 2005)
|
