Yinyuan Village, Zhejiang Province

Like millions of Shanghainese and Chinese people, we travelled for the Chinese New Year. 6am Metro to Shanghai Hongqiao train station, two and a half hour high speed train to Lishui, two hour drive with a local driver through Songyang and up into the mountains to the village of Yinyuan.

In terms of distance we travelled about 460km SW of Shanghai; in terms of culture we moved nearly 40 years into the past and much further back in terms of tradition. We home-stayed in a traditional old village, one of many which are only now opening up to the outside world and oh, was it fascinating!

We arrived in the early afternoon and after meeting some of the family, being shown around the kitchen and given lunch, we headed off to circumnavigate the whole village and talk to as many people as possible. We travelled with a lady who speaks Mandarin but she had trouble with the thickness of the local accent and could not understand the local dialect some of the time. As a measure of how cut off Yinyuan village is, some of  the old people did not appear to speak Mandarin at all.

Outer walls of many houses are built from earth with strands of a plant similar to tough ndara grass wound through the clay; inner walls and floors are built from wood with some beautiful carving at the tops of posts. Many houses are several hundred years old, with repairs and maintenance quite visible, and proudly described as to which grandfather or relative did the repairs. Our host is the area's present carpenter and building conservationist.

In courtyards of old houses there is generally a lowered area with plants, or even a pond. In the past it would have held huge stone jars to catch rainwater for some of the household tasks, and drainage to outside ditches for the overflow. Rooms open off the courtyard, some closed in and some open fronted. As you can see from the upper photo, the net across the opening in the roof is to keep birds out of the house and kitchen, which is off to the left. Much of their living is in the open courtyard which was quite cold still when we arrived (680m above sea level), so coats were being worn all the time. There is a household shrine to the ancestors in every courtyard, some with photos from the '20s and '30s, all of which had food offerings for the New Year.

The whole village was so very welcoming, inviting us in to see their shrines and courtyards, full of the chats, and most entertained by us three westerners. Almost all thought we were Russian, since they would have been the last occidentals many would seen from back in the '80s.

There were vegetable beds squished in little plots throughout the village, and, since the village climbed the mountain, steps and slopes everywhere. Needless to say most of the alleyways were only wide enough for walking, but the occasional tuktuk or bike squeezed past.

And not a handrail in sight!

Every door had its couplets, requests for prosperity for the New Year:

And by the time we had visited with everyone, smoke was billowing from the central kitchens and the smell of food cooking was positively mouth-watering:

As we had been invited to join the family for their feast we had a bit of a scramble to wash face and hands, put on our red garments and hasten to the communal courtyard.

At a guess, between 35 and 40 of us sat down to the feast; four big tables with generations all mixed together. 

During the feast at various intervals people got up from the table to let off firecrackers in the laneway outside the courtyard where we were eating, and then streams of fireworks. Lots of talking, shouting, laughing, eating, dishes being passed around and around. And the toasts! Toasts by the older men, our host, our friend the Chinese speaker; welcoming us, wishing everyone prosperity, health, wealth and all sorts of good things, in luminously flowery language. And jug after jug of home brewed honey and rice eyewatering wines and alcoholic beverages.

My sister counted 23 different dishes on our table with all sorts of delicacies such as duck tongue, chicken feet, duck marinated in soy sauce, pork, different types of mushrooms, beef, home made dofu in at least five different flavours and colours, roast sweet potatoes, dishes of mixed vegetables, vegetables and meat, dry, hotpot, fried, stewed, stirfry... you name it, it was there! They had been preparing for days and what a feast! Traditionally rice only comes out at the end of a feast when every one is sated; the sign of a good feast is having most of the rice left over.

And were we sated! We rolled from the table!

Afterwards the Ancestors Hall was open so we had a quick look in; our host told us it is over 400 years old and regularly used, as we discovered later in the week.

After that we settled down in our rooms to watch the New Year Beijing Extravaganza on TV, four hours worth, which is apparently what the nation does after dinner. Flamboyant, colourful, did not understand a word needless to say so our friend translated some, and an utterly gob-smackingly technological end to an amazing day.

P.S. We did not watch all four hours! We finished our jar of home made honey wine and were in bed before midnight.