As an American, it is easy to forget that food actually comes from somewhere! (Who knew?)
One of the best parts about eating here is that the food is fresh. We saw women picking beans in the fields outside our compound, and the next night we had them for dinner.
All that tea we drink? It is mostly cultivated by hand on the steep mountainsides. We've traveled over 1000 miles and have yet to see any sort of farm machinery. Almost all of the work is done with a hoe. Occasionally we've seen a water buffalo being used, but even that has been rare. Both men and women work the fields (in fact, the women are considered to be the harder workers; they do the same physical labor, as well as care for the family. It's not unusual to see men sitting around smoking, playing cards, while the women around them are working).
Rice? Again, cultivated by hand on a small scale.
Everything must be transported from the fields to the market. Much of this is done on people's backs. They carry unbelievably large loads. (Even in the city, the porters at the train station carried 4 suitcases at a time, hanging from poles across their shoulders).
Warning: If you are a vegetarian, do not read the rest of this post. Use the time to call your mother.No one has refrigerators in these small towns and villages, so grocery shopping is a daily affair. Every morning the sellers stake out their territory and spread out their goods. The market is divided into sections. My favorite is where they sell live chickens.
There are several ways that the live chickens are transported. The simplest is the clump of chickens held upside down by their feet. I love it when they start flapping. (I'm secretly hoping they'll achieve lift-off and I'll see a vendor floating several feet above the ground). You can also see chickens-on-wheels. Vendors lash huge wire cages to the backs of their bicycles and take the birds for a spin. My favorite of all, though, is the sack of chickens. The vendor puts all his chickens in the sack and then cuts individual holes for their heads to stick out.
The reality, though, is that this is the last trip for these birds. People look over the chickens, pick the ones that look tasty (how do you tell?) and they are killed. (Vegetarians, I warned you...) Ducks and fish also come to market alive. There is a whole row of butchers who primarily sell pork. While the pigs are slaughtered at home, they are brought to market mostly whole.
Why am I writing about this? I have no idea. Maybe because it is so different from home, and it is an integral part of daily life here. You are close to the source of your food. You see the person who planted it or picked it or raised it. There's no plastic packaging. It's not pre-plucked or pre-washed. You see it in its living state. It seems like a more honest relationship with the food. (So honest, that several of our group are ready to become vegetarians. Not me - I love meat).
I hope that I will remember all of the labor that goes into the food that I so conveniently buy in the grocery store. I hope that I will appreciate having a refrigerator. I hope that I will win the lottery so I can hire a Chinese cook.
