A CHINA ADVENTURE: A trip to a remote village in Yunnan Province             Sower’s Action and the Ivey Business School funded the building of a school in the remote mountains of South West China and this was the opening dedication. Someone said “it will be an experience”, “you should go”. Now these expressions are usually reserved for some venture which is truly odious, but, is, nevertheless, in some way, morally enlightening or spiritually uplifting. This journey ran the gamut of emotions-tearful, fearful, depressing, but, equally, joyful and exhilarating. This journey was an education-a glimpse of the microcosm of China today-but, not the China that can build the Pudong or welcome the world in 2008, but rather a glimpse of the culture, daily traditions, and the struggle for the future that millions of remote villagers have waged for centuries. This was a journey to the remote mountain village of Mangdu-without the basics of electricity or running water-but with great hope and a promise of a better education.           We flew to Kunming and spent the night there and then took an early morning, short, half hour flight, to Lin Cang. The plane arrived at this one runway airport high in the mountains. The air was refreshingly clear, the sky blue and the clouds a perfect, puffy white. It was an auspicious start.           We began our six hour drive to Yungdu. The road zigzagged through the mountains; we just kept climbing and climbing, leaving the raging water far below us in the valley. All of rural China, it seems, passed before us-countless numbers of farmers herding their oxen down the road, their pigs and ducks, and chickens, and their burros that moved to their own drummer, oblivious to our driver’s horn, women with straw containers filled with sticks destined for the evening’s fire. There were young men and boys with bamboo poles, yoke-like on their necks, with baskets balancing precariously on each side. Corn was being husked to be dried on mats beside the road. A woman was doing her washing, transferring clothes from one basin to another. There were hundreds of weathered faces from many clans; Yunnan province has over 26 minority clans which is just about half the number in all of China. With borders on Burma and Thailand and Vietnam in close proximity a melting pot is inevitable. The women of the Yi clan all dressed in black, with hats that resembled upside down lampshades, tended their cows.           Our drive was slow; we averaged 35km. an hour. There was never an open, straight section; we turned and circled constantly; snake-like we coiled our way over the mountain range. These mountains were the beginning of what was to be the magnificent landscape that was used in Lost Horizon to represent Shangri-la. There was lush greenery on every side and around every ninety degree turn. The fields were all tiered in that ancient method that is used throughout Asia in countries like Thailand and Vietnam and Bali. Man and oxen, with primitive tools, ploughed countless fields. This is the only way to eke out a living in this rough terrain and to tame the mountain into producing a crop. The air was crisp; the sky, a pure, azure blue. We stopped for lunch and were treated to some local delicacies-roots, stems, stalks, and a wonderful, local, rice noodle,-centuries of eating whatever the hills could provide.           We journeyed for many more hours and as the sun started to sink into the distant horizon, as many workers took to the road to return to their villages, stocked with the work of the day, their hay, their fruit baskets, their well, nurtured livestock, we pulled into Yungdu. A special delegation met us and insisted on a walking tour of the city. Yungde is a town of 40,000, which is miniscule by Chinese standards. There were no fancy cars-no BMW’s, Mercedes or the Rolls Royce’s of Hong Kong but rather some hybrid trucks with diesel engines exposed, belts whirring or small taxis encasing a four cylinder motor, cobbled together to keep out the elements. We were quite an attraction. Locals stopped on every street corner. Children crossed the road to take a closer look at these aliens; grown men interrupted their impromptu board games to stare. We were people who did not have black hair.           Our party included four graduated students from the 2004 EMBA class, Benson Pau, Charity Au, Jodie Cheung, Edwin Luk and the Sower’s Action representative, Dexter Young who are all Chinese. Then there was my wife, Kathleen Slaughter, Dean of Ivey’s Hong Kong campus and myself who are Caucasian. We had barely started when we heard cymbals and drums-a representative few in red, yellow and green satin costumes went by-parading a monkey, a pig and an ostrich-the circus was in town. We got more attention then the pig and the ostrich. The circus performers wandered on down the street probably swearing at these “gweilos” who had stormed the town and were undercutting their gate receipts. Most had never seen a foreigner. What a responsibility to represent the whole race! Children thronged, giggled and whispered. One young face strained; the eyes narrowed and finally, “How are you”.  She was so proud to attempt communication but too shy to stay for an answer. Another, a 12 year old boy, struggled to resuscitate the only words he could recall-cursing, I’m sure, his lack of attention in those early English classes; but his earnestness and honesty made up for his lack of academic acuity.           “We’ve cooked a whole sheep for you”. Our party was honoured with a local, traditional banquet in the evening. We were piped into the room by a man who played a gourd-like instrument that emitted a high pitched wail while several young ladies from the Li Mi clan, in colourful costumes, shuffled back and forth to the rhythmic beat. This was one of many special meals on this adventure. We had fabulous soup made from the freshest fungi of the mountains, noodles that were fine, glass-like strands, the pride of Yunnan province, a peppered leaf that looked awful but was very tasty and the inevitable rice, one dish resembling wallpaper paste that had numerous meats and cilantro-a nod to the Burma-Thai cuisine that is just across the border-and many, many, many toasts with a local liquor that resembled Vodka, a silvery toast, silky smooth and lethal.           “You have to take a jeep”. With that, we gave up our van and transferred to four wheel vehicles. It was early morning and we were starting out on the last section of our trip to the school.  It was a dirt path, perhaps five feet wide at maximum with ruts and valleys carved by running water and then hardened in the blazing sun; but there were also puddles with water that came over the tires and almost up to the door as we inched up the mountain. The dust descended and ran like rain down the windshield. With the care of a surgeon, our driver found the high spots and avoided those crevices that were two feet deep. For over forty-five minutes, bone jarring, head knocking, like a dingy in an angry sea, we made our way up this 45 degree pitched mountain path. The path leveled; the vegetation cleared, no longer beating the windows like some very naughty child. We reached a small clearing and there it was-a magnificent three story building in gleaming white with yellow trim. I’ve never seen concrete look so good. In the piercing sun, all symbols aside, it really was a beacon of hope for a better future in Mangdu.           The children, 180 cherubic faces, dutifully trained to sit on their hands, were waiting, on simple wooden benches in the pristine sunshine and the glorious mountain air. They were so quiet, so patient. With shy smiles and timid glances, they too cranked their heads to see these ‘first-time’ foreigners. Armed with only Ni How “how are you” and Xia, Xia, “thank you” we crossed many racial boundaries. They laughed and giggled spontaneously as they posed for many pictures. The ceremonies began. Mr. Xue, Mr. Li and Mr. Au representing the Education Department and the Communist Youth Leagues and the Headmaster Mr. Yeong had many nice things to say and the children applauded politely. A plaque was unveiled to thank Sower’s action and Ivey for their work. They listened intensely as this stranger, this Caucasian, the Ivey Dean, explained how a Business school from Hong Kong and Canada came to give them a chance for a better education.           And then it was lunch time and they spread like fire to claim their bowl of rice. Seventy-six of them live at the complex because their homes are too far away. They range in ages from pre-kindergarten to late elementary; they share a small space, fifteen feet square, which is jammed with bunk beds-the boys in one room and the girls adjoining. Now they have a new school-they don’t have desks or chairs and the books are few but it is a magnificent start.           The inaugural ceremonies included a home visit. We walked for fifteen minutes down dusty paths following the markings of the animals that had preceded us, past many small shacks, past fields of corn and bamboo groves. The lush, bountiful greenery unfolded. The sky was still blue and the heat shimmered off the grass-a picture post card from some Romantic English painter. What a sharp contrast to the daily struggles of these villagers. We entered a small courtyard ten feet square. The grandfather, who was over eighty, with a weathered, and wise, lived-in face, is just one of three generations who share this tiny space. He offered us a precious gift, all that he could spare, a few cigarettes. Times have changed; we had to tell him that we didn’t smoke. There was a concrete stand and a huge wok, a small fire was burning, heating water and a chicken and a cat were doing whatever they do on the dirt floor. It was a simple, humble place. There was a magnificent poinsettia tree, easily ten feet tall, in full bloom, just outside the courtyard.           We left the village of Mangde with a new appreciation for what we have and a new understanding for the daily regimen of millions of rural Chinese. I recall the young girl we met on our home visit. She was bright. I found out later she was one of the village’s top students. She was bright but shy, hesitant but somehow self assured in her own world. As we left, I said to her “study hard”. My translator did his job and she gave me a look that passes all understanding; she had already learned that lesson. If she is representative, China has a very promising future. With the help of Sower’s Action and Ivey this seedling will grow and blossom in the garden nursery.