Contemporary Tradition: Asian Music in New York

There’s no place like New York to hear music from all walks of life. A period of few weeks earlier this year demonstrates it perfectly. I’ve seen and heard amazing acts of Asian music, drawing upon ancient traditions, rendered in new forms.

Hogaku: New Sounds of Japan 2008 @ Asia Society, January 12, 2008

As a general term Hogaku refers to traditional Japanese music, as opposed to Western music. In this series of performances on one Saturday night in January, the music was distinctly Japanese, although the tradition was perfectly merged with contemporary sounds. Still the evening’s performances were all on acoustic Japanese instruments.

First on stage were Goto & Obama, a duo that has performed together since 2002. In his introductory remarks, the Director General of the Japan Foundation in New York, Isao Tsujimoto, joked that we should not expect to be entertained by any presidential candidate tonight. Instead, one half of the duo was Akihito Obama who plays shakuhachi, the bamboo flute. Playing the Japanese biwa-lute was Yukihiro Goto. Both of these instruments belong to the pantheon of Japanese music. However, neither is a mainstay in Japanese classical music, but rather have more folksy roots and were originally brought to Japan when Buddhism spread there from China. The Shakuhachi was played in mountain temples some thousand years ago and was later disseminated further by wandering monks called ‘Komuso.’ Both instruments became popular beyond their Buddhist connotations and much popular music has been performed on them over the past couple of centuries. Seldom, however, have they been played together in Hogaku.

Goto & Obama’s music was firmly based on traditional Japanese melodies and sounds. Indeed, their performance consisted of a number of traditional tunes - such as the solo shakuhachi piece Tamuke and Itsuki-no-Komoriuta - as well as pieces penned by the two musicians themselves. While the atmosphere was true to the musical origins, the two instrumentalists stretched the limits of the form by borrowing from jazz and rock expression and improvising skilfully around the themes. As a student of shakuhachi, I was particularly taken by the fluidity with which Obama moved between these worlds.

After the intermission, the voltage was turned up a notch by Wariki, a quartet that combines music and dance to create the carnival-like atmosphere of Japanese street performances and festivals. Formed in 2001, the band draws from a variety of performance traditions around the country – including the shishimai lion dance and Shintoist kagura folk music and dance – rendering them into joyous celebrations completely in tune with current sensibilities. In fact, Wariki’s performance this night was so cheerful that it completely engaged the audience.

The quartet was fronted by Akira Katogi, whose main role is dance and street performance, but who also plays percussion on the taiko drums. Shunsuke Kimura played the yokobue, a horizontal bamboo flute. Both he and percussionist Etsuro Ono doubled on tsugaru shamisen, the Japanese banjo. Shingo Ikegami joined as a guest on koto, the complex zither.

Akira Katogi’s antics as he performed in flashy festival outfits cheered up the somewhat stuffy audience. As the show progressed, people were increasingly animated and laughing at the humorous twists on the stage. At the reception following, I briefly talked with Katogi who turned out to be as sympathetic and good-humoured off-stage as on it.

The stage was thus set for the final jam session in which all of the six musicians for Wariki and Goto & Obama joined in a jazzy romp. Goto and Ono showed off their jazz chops trading fluent improvisational lines between the biwa and the shamisen. For me, however, the highlight of the evening were the solos on shakuhachi and yokobue, respectively, by Obama and Kimura. The entire evening left me exhilarated as I exited the Asia Society premises to the chilly and dark Park Avenue.

Kaoru Watanabe and Tatsuya Nakatani @ Tenri Institute, February 6, 2008

A few weeks later on a Wednesday night I headed to Union Square south on Manhattan to catch what seemed like an interesting performance involving flutes and percussion by Kaoru Watanabe and Tatsuya Nakatani. Unlike the more formal concert hall setting of the above hogaku event, this performance took place in the exhibition hall of the Tenri Institute where folding chairs had been placed in a semicircle in front of a wall that donned contemporary Korean calligraphy.

The two performers both are bona fide jazz musicians of the free improvisational persuasion, albeit with a keen awareness of their native roots. Kaoru Watanabe was actually born in St. Louis and studied at the Manhattan School of Music, although he moved to Japan in the late-1990s living and performing there as a flautist for nine years. His background includes collaborations with well-known jazz and world music performers, as well as in traditional Japanese settings. He occasionally sits in with the Tenri Gagaku Society orchestra, of which my wife Yoko is also a member.

The drummer and percussionist, Tatsuya Nakatani hails from Osaka but has performed all over the world and has released many recordings of improvisational music. The performance started with him alone on stage, using a bass violin bow on a large gong building up a huge thunderstorm into which walked Watanabe from behind the audience with his side-blown ryuteki-flute.

Nakatani continued to create imaginative sounds from his stripped down Western drum set and various percussion instruments. He had a series of brass bowls out of which he would tease a wide range of tones. On occasion, he would grab a small cymbal and blow through its center hole while placing it on the snare drum. This would create whispering sounds that would rise and produce overtones that would mix with those of the flute.

Watanabe had placed a range of flutes, including a Western silver flute which he used only briefly, on a chair beside him. The unplanned improvisational character of the music became obvious from how he hesitated to choose a particular flute before first listening carefully to which direction his partner was moving. As a result, the music was both varied and sensitive. Watanabe played some beautiful mellow shinobue on a piece that swayed in a smooth bossa nova rhythm. He demonstrated his impressive technique in a jazzy solo on the ryuteki, a historical flute not known for its versatility.

After a brief intermission, the duo returned for a brief reunion. This time Nakatani entered from behind the audience blowing on the head of the tom-tom producing sounds imitating elephant bellows. The second set consisted of a range of styles that merged into a cohesive whole in the hands of these two musicians. They played a very pretty traditional Japanese folk song, even a tune from the very old gagaku court music repertoire, as well as free music on a high pitch nohkan, a flute used in the traditional noh theater, and percussion verging on SciFi tonalities.

The two musicians have known each other for two years but this was only their second performance together. It was an inspiring event in the clean and simple, yet intimate space of the Tenri Institute. In his own words, Kaoru Watanabe enjoys the Japanese sensibilities of space and a variety of tonal qualities. These were ample in the music we heard that night.

Akiko Yano @ Japan Society, February 8, 2008

On the Friday night of the same week, the legendary Japanese musician Akiko Yano performed at the Japan Society. She is undoubtedly a genius whose music resembles that of no other artist (the only fleeting connotations in my mind were some of her piano solos that reminded me of the sensibilities of Chick Corea). She has recorded 26 albums under her own name. This was the third time I had the great pleasure of hearing her live. In Japan, Akiko Yano is a mega-star who fills up the Budokan and other arenas, so it was a particular treat to sea her about five meters in front of me in the smallish hall in Manhattan where she’s lived since 1990.

Akiko Yano showed up on the stage looking great in a flowing black, white and grey dress that left her shoulders bare. Her hair was brown, long and flowing in large curls. When she sat behind the grand piano her touch managed to combine the powerful with the frail in her unique way. The first tunes were played in a trio setting with Chris Minh Doky and Cliff Almond backing up Ms. Yano on bass and drums. On the first tune, Hou-hi, a Japanese folk song, Akiko displayed her amazing ability to play funky while singing in the inimitable way that only she knows. The backing musicians easily settled into a free floawing groove that perfectly accompanied the music.

The second song, Chinsagume Hana from Okinawa, started with an ostinato played by Doky into which Akiko and Almond joined. The song drifted into a dreamlike state followed by a complex vamp during which the band intensified the approach. After the intensive period, Akiko got back into the melody and the song ended with Doky playing the same ostinato he had started off with.

The middle part of the concert consisted of a series of songs played solo by Akiko Yano. A few of the songs were her renditions of Japanese children’s songs and nursery rhymes, such as Imomushi goro-goro. She would chatter with the audience in a seamless mix of Japanese and English, then start on a song only to soon venture far from the theme on both vocals and the piano. At one point she’d play a tune composed for her by Pat Metheny, which – like Ms. Yano herself explained – didn’t take account of the singer’s range: Metheny, a fabulous musician and composer but not a singer, had written a melody line that challenged even Akiko Yano’s soprano. Another new song was by T-Bone Burnett, who has produced Akiko Yano’s forthcoming 27th CD. The slow funky allowed her to display her blues abilities.

The back-up musicians returned and the band went back into a jazz mood for the rest of the concert. Akiko Yano’s childlike singing is unique. She is an amazing pianist and her interpretation of music is like no-one else’s. There are few musicians anywhere in the world as brilliant and original as Akiko Yano.

Electric Kulintang: Susie Ibarra & Roberto Rodriquez @ Noguchi Museum, February 10, 2008

Just two days later, I went to the Noguchi Museum in Queens to catch a Sunday matinee with Susie Ibarra and Roberto Rodriguez amongst the imaginative stone sculptures of Isamu Noguchi. It was starting to snow outside and the austere setting in the museum was perfect. I grabbed a straw mat to sit with Yoko on the concrete floor against a white wall just in front of where Susie had placed her kulintang and other percussions. Kulintang is a traditional Filippino instrument, a kind of a xylophone with eight brass gongs played with mallets. The word ‘kulintang’ also refers to the kind of music and dance from the Philippines. Electric Kulintang was formed after Susie Ibarra and Roberto Rodriguez travelled to the archipelago in 2005 to research the musical tradition of her home country.

In the matinee the duo played music they had composed to the poem ‘War Horses’ by Yusef Komunyakaa. The poem narrated from a tape was accompanied by Susie on the kulintang and Roberto on various kinds of percussions and electronics. The short pensive concert played to an appreciative and artsy audience produced some interesting ideas that suited the atmosphere of the winter afternoon superbly. Yet, it was not something that would impress me excessively. I much prefer the duo's debut album, Dialects, in which the Electric Kulintang gets deeper into creating its innovative brand of “Filippino trip-hop.”

Pan Asian Chamber Jazz Ensemble @ Kumble Theatre, February 15, 2008

On yet another Friday night in February I took the subway underneath the East River to attend an Asian New Year Celebration at Long Island University's Brooklyn Campus. The attraction for me was the Pan Asian Chamber Jazz Ensemble, established and led by violinist Meg Ogura since 2005. I had purchased their first album already a couple of years ago and was intrigued by the music, so I looked forward to catching them live in the university’s Kumble Theatre.

The setting was not terribly promising. There was confusion at the entrance, which was clearly staffed with volunteers. A sponsor, Chatham Imports, Inc., that represents Chinese Baojing White Spirits, had failed to show up and the pre-show tasting was thus cancelled (a disappointment). The auditorium was only half-full and many in the audience appeared to be students and parents of the performers who would be on stage after Meg Ogura’s group. I settled in the middle of the hall close to the stage.

The Pan Asian Chamber Jazz Ensemble has five members, four of whom are female and three of Japanese origin. Tokyo-native Meg Ogura herself plays the violin and the Chinese violin, erhu. She is an established musician with a superb classical background, having graduated from Julliard. She has performed with the New York String Orchestra and as concert master with stars, such as Herbie Hancock, Quincy Jones and Diane Krall. In addition, she’s a professional jazz violinist who has recorded as a sideman for some of the biggest names in jazz. The other members are Jun Kubo on the Western flute and shinobue, Mamiko Kitaura on piano, Jennifer Vincent on cello, and Rich Stein on percussion. The ensemble entered the stage dressed elegantly in all black and sat down in a semicircle like a chamber orchestra should.

The first piece, Dance at the Palace, set the scene with a light swing. However, the main event was the world premiere of Meg Ogura’s composition Lu Chai or ‘Deer Park’ based on a poem by the Chinese poet Wang Wei (699-761). Although Meg Ogura herself is from Japan, her musical sensibilities are, indeed, pan-Asian. Lu Chai drew more on Chinese tonalities than Japanese. Although these two traditions are related, there are significant differences. In this piece, the composer used two different pentatonic scales, one from China, the other from Japan (the so called ‘Miyako-bushi’ scale).

Ogura’s four-part composition was intricate and sensitive, yet it was constantly moving and at times swinging, with the cello providing a base that was closer to a walking jazz bass than the classical basso continuo. Not unexpectedly, Meg herself proved to be the most powerful soloist on both of her instruments. Jun Kubo’s flute had a perfect but somewhat thin tone approaching a sini curve, but on the shinobue she demonstrated a remarkably beautiful sound (already a third shinobue player this year that has surprised me!). The pianist, Mamiko Kitaura, was another remarkable player who switched effortlessly from restrained classical style piano playing to fiery solos a la McCoy Tyner.

In the next phase of the evening the Pan Asian Chamber Jazz Ensemble accompanied the C. Eule Dance troupe in a ballet called Tsuru-no Ongaeshi (‘The Crane Wife’) based on an ancient Japanese fable. Meg Ogura had composed the music and the artistic director and choreographer was Caron Eule. As I don’t feel qualified as a ballet critic, I refrain from commenting further.

As the night wore on, the performances became increasingly amateurish but some were charming. After the ballet, they were performed by the Asian Student Association of Long Island University. I did stay until the evening ended with the famous Lion Dance.

China’s Sustainable Development is a Global Priority

China receives more than its share of negative media coverage these days. Some reasons are understandable, given the scandals related to tainted pet food and unsafe toys that have come to light this year. But much of the alarm appears to be based on an irrational fear of China’s rise as a world power. This reaction is deeply worrying and may have unfortunate consequences to the United States. Rather than its geopolitics, the more important concern is China’s environmental practice.

Since the end of the Cold War, United States has become used to being the sole superpower in the world. Now it appears that any country that is developing rapidly and acting more assertively than before is seen as a threat to the U.S. economy and security. This not only applies to China but to other countries, such as Russia, as well. It harks back to the 1980s when Japan’s rise as an economic power was watched with trepidation and anger. Yet, Japan continues to be America’s trusted ally and major trade partner.

Since it opened up its markets in the late-1980s, China has experienced unprecedented growth in its economy, much higher than those in America or other developed regions of the world. In October this year China surpassed Germany as the world’s third largest economy following the USA and Japan. This tremendous growth has been partly due to the low level from which it started. Largely, however, it is because of the enormous determination and hard work of the Chinese people who rightly aspire to achieve living standards at par with those of the industrialized world.

Similarly, China has attempted to modernize its military to a level appropriate to a major regional power. It still is no match to the American armed forces and will not be for a long while. Furthermore, there is no indication that China would have any desire for a confrontation with the United States.

There are problematic issues with China’s rapid development, for sure. These include not only the above mentioned lack of quality control of its products, but also concerns related to labor conditions and political freedoms. It seems, though, that on the whole the Chinese people are happy just to go about their business. Getting wealthy is glorious, in the words of the former leader Deng Xiaoping who opened the country’s economy. Politics is secondary. How is that so different from what most Americans feel?

Rather than attempting to isolate China, the United States should embrace it as a partner. The U.S. economic power historically has been based on high levels of management skills, capital and technology. China is still lacking in all of these, but has a huge manufacturing base. Every fifth person in the world is Chinese and as they get richer they will constitute a vast market for goods and services -- an opportunity for the U.S., not a threat.

The real problem of China’s rise for the world and for China itself is environmental destruction. Industrial growth requires energy and raw materials. Every week, two new polluting coal-fired power plants go online in China. Urbanization takes over natural lands, and the hundreds of millions of consumers demand more and more goods. In Beijing only, more than a thousand new cars are registered every day. Helping China to overcome these challenges is a global prerogative. This is one of the key issues being discussed at the Bali climate conference this month.

It is in America’s interest to support China’s peaceful and sustainable development. Fear mongering and calls for protectionism will hurt all parties, not least America. There is room for more than one big fellow on the block. China’s rise is inevitable. America’s welcome will determine how the benefits are shared.

[This op-ed piece was published in the Hawaii Reporter (www.hawaiireporter.com) on December 14, 2007, and in Northwest Asian Weekly (www.nwasianweekly.com)on January 12, 2008.]

Jeremy Steig @ Cornelia Street Café, New York, November 17, 2007

The music started with Jeremy Steig playing the well-known bass line of Miles Davis’ ‘All Blues’ on the flute. The small downstairs room in Cornelia Street Café became quiet except for the low sound of the flute. People here had come to listen to Jeremy Steig and were now putting down their wine glasses to hear the sensitive start of the concert. Soon the bass and drums joined in and the music settled into a moderate swing.

It was evident from the very beginning that the musicians were in a great shape tonight and that we in the audience were in for a treat. Jeremy Steig was accompanied by the veteran bassist Ron McClure whose credentials span playing with a host of jazz greats on his acoustic bass to providing the electric foundation to the legendary jazz-rock band Blood, Sweat & Tears. The drummer was a younger, but no less musical talent Gerald Cleaver.

‘All Blues’ set the stage for things to come, which would combine modern jazz standards, such as ‘Nardis’, ‘Yesterdays’, ‘Billie’s Bounce’ and ‘Solar’, with adventures into Steig’s own music, free improvisation and, as it turned out, Eastern tones, Jeremy flaunting his breathy sound and wild runs accentuated with fast double-tonguing with a flair.

That night Ron McClure would be at his best, melodic and bluesy even when venturing outside to more avant garde forms. His tone was thick and sweet whether he played solid bass lines or wandered up the neck of his big wooden instrument. Throughout the evening, Gerald Cleaver proved himself to be a highly musical percussionist, listening closely to his partners and sensitively inserting nuanced commentary in reaction to their playing.

For me personally, this was close to perfection. I vividly recall the times when as a teenager in the Helsinki suburbs I would sit for hours after school listening to jazz records with a classmate. Both Kittis and I were aspiring flutists and Jeremy Steig was one of our utmost idols. We would listen to the classic recording, ‘What’s New’, he made with Bill Evans in 1969. But our real favourites were his own more experimental and funky recordings, such as ‘Wayfaring Stranger’ and ‘Legwork’. I couldn’t have imagined that decades later I’d be sitting in an intimate space in the Greenwich Village listening to Jeremy play at a close range.

It turned out that I was not the only one having a similar experience. Turning to talk to my neighbour, she responded in a German accent that she, too, was a great Jeremy Steig fan for many years. Ela was a flute teacher from Germany now studying jazz in New York under Jamie Baum.

At times, Steig would use his trademark trick of singing along with his playing. Alongside Rahsaan Roland Kirk and Jethro Tull’s Ian Anderson, Jeremy has been using this technique for years. However, he does not only use it to create an effect or to make the flute sound raunchier. His way of playing and singing the overtones adds unexpectedly complex harmonies to the music.

Suddenly there was an unforeseen surprise. Jeremy Steig announced that Badal Roy was in the audience and would join the band on stage. The famed Indian tabla master was an old friend of Jeremy’s and had just shown up at the club (during the break, Jeremy’s wife Asako confirmed that they had had no idea Roy would be here). This encounter resulted in a lengthy improvised session between the four musicians that invoked lovely and breezy tones from the South Asian subcontinent.

One of the most memorable moments of the second set was a moody rendition of the standard ‘Willow Weep for Me’, a mellow tune that is especially suited for the flute. On a couple of occasions, Jeremy brought out the long curved bass flute to add its deep haunting tones to the evening’s repertoire. He would play a brisk walking bass on the flute setting the room into a swinging mood. Then McClure would pick it up with the double bass switching roles with the leader who in turn would now play the lead. It is amazing how the trio – with the temporary addition of the tabla – could create such a broad soundscape with such sparse and fully acoustic instrumentation. This surely is a lesson that many younger musicians should remember.

This evening also marked the pre-release of Jeremy Steig’s new CD, ‘Pterodactyl’, which he recorded alone overdubbing various flutes and blowing into bottles. It is, as he himself says in the liner notes, “the closest you will come to seeing the inner workings of [Jeremy Steig’s] musical mind.” In my mind, the record, like the concert, is evidence of Jeremy Steig’s originality and continuous innovation.

© Juha Uitto 2007

Svajanam/Kinsmen – Dakshina Ensemble featuring Kadri Gopalnath and Rudresh Mahanthappa @ Asia Society, New York, November 7, 2007

The evening was truly unique. Two alto saxophone masters with both their roots in South India on the stage together: Kadri Gopalnath and Rudresh Mahanthappa – hence the title of the collaboration: Svajanam means ‘kinsmen’ in Sanskrit. But as to their approach to the saxophone, in many ways, the similarities between the two ended with their instruments and ethnicity. Despite this, the music that followed presented an amazing amalgamation of classical Indian tradition and that of American jazz.

The collaboration in practice brought together two bands each led by the respective sax masters. Kadri Gopalnath is celebrated as the first person to play Indian classical music with the decisively Western instrument, the saxophone. His renditions of Carnatic music of South India have brought him fame in his home country, as well as abroad through his many recordings and concerts in North America, Europe, Australia and Asian countries. On this night, his cohorts included the renowned female violinist A. Kanyakumari and Poovalur Sriji on various Indian percussions and electronics. Dressed in traditional garb and seated on rugs placed on a small stand on the stage, the trio could have performed pure Indian classical music.

To their left stood Rudresh Mahanthappa with his New York-based jazz quartet, consisting of guitarist Rez Abbasi, Carlo De Rosa on bass and royal hartigan on drums. Mahanthappa is by many considered one of the most original young voices on the alto sax and has been recognized as such by the prestigious Down Beat magazine over the past several years. Elegant in a black suit and dark blue shirt, wearing his wavy hair long, he looked the part of the young jazz lion that he is.

I am only making this distinction between the two sides to emphasize the varying starting points of the musicians. In reality, on stage the two musical traditions melded seamlessly into one, flowing in and out of the moulds. Both leaders, each of them masters of improvisation, soloed powerfully throughout the evening. Gopalnath blew lengthy raga-like scales covering the full range of the instrument from the honking low register to whining laments on the upper reaches. Curiously, he would sit back and remove the headjoint of his colourfully decorated sax every time any of the other musicians would start soloing.

Deeply rooted in be-bop, Mahanthappa’s playing was bluesy and his articulation more syncopated than that of his older kinsman. Mahanthappa’s alto sound is clear and unsentimental even when soaring through fast and complex runs.

The concert was paced to alternate heated rhythms created by the Indian team with Gopalnath and A. Kanyakumari’s flexible solos and pensive moods when the two traditions merged to produce new and often hauntingly beautiful moments. Some of the highlights featured Mahanthappa’s solo ballads that were matched by the inventive guitar of the Karachi-born Rez Abbasi, a rising star in modern jazz guitar in his own right.

The two Americans forming the jazz foundation of the band demonstrated their sensitivity and big ears throughout the evening. Both De Rosa and royal hartigan responded to the challenges created by the musical adventure in an extraordinarily imaginative way. Their collaboration with Poovalur Sriji’s complicated and impressive rhythms was both respectful and adding nuance to the melange. Sriji’s own credentials, ranging from performing with Western artists, such as Yehudi Menuhin and Bela Fleck, as well as with leading Indian musicians, speak for themselves. Carlo De Rosa produced one of the most memorable solos of the evening on his upright bass.

The truth is that the musicians were truly able to cross over the musical barriers that lesser talents might find insurmountable. At the end of the evening, the listener did not think about the contrasting idioms of Indian classical music and jazz; one only remembered a rewarding musical experience in which the totality was distinctly larger than the sum of its parts. Svajanam first debuted on these same premises at the Asia Society in 2005. As the creators hoped writing in the concert leaflet, Svajanam truly highlighted the “multi-faceted intricacies and intersections of jazz and Carnatic music thus creating a sound that transcends the label of ‘Indo-Jazz fusion’.” I look forward to a long continuation of this fruitful collaboration. Kadri Gopalnath and Rudresh Mahanthappa truly are kinsmen.

© Juha Uitto 2007

Pleasures of Chinese Air Transport

After lunch in the same cold and empty dining hall that had served as our place of breakfast, lunch and dinner for the past several days, our host Professor Guo took Geoff and me to Kunming airport where we bid farewell to each other. Geoff and I had travelled around Yunnan on field visits to a project enhancing biodiversity conservation in agricultural landscapes that both of us were advising.

At the check-in we were informed that the China Eastern Airlines flight MU-5406 supposed to leave for Shanghai at 1:45 p.m. was delayed due to the late arrival of the aircraft. The estimated time of departure was now 2:35 p.m. This happens, but Geoff had a fairly tight connection to a Quantas flight from Shanghai to Sydney later in the day. Finally the MD-62 that was to take us to Shanghai arrived, the passengers disembarked and the plane was refueled. At 2:55 p.m. we were allowed to walk across the tarmac to the plane and be seated in the cramped-up seats. At 3:20 p.m. we were ushered out again. A tall and quite beautiful stewardess told us that one of the engines of the plane had a problem that needed fixing. So we sat down back in the waiting hall of the rather chaotic airport. When an Australian and a Finn are stranded in such a situation, there is only one possible course of action: to drink beer. After a couple of beers there was again commotion. I went to the young man in Yunnan Airlines uniform who seemed to be the only one at the airport with even a basic knowledge of English and, to my surprise, was told that we would all be moved to the airport hotel.

At the hotel great confusion reigned. The airline could only tell us that if they get the plane ready "you have to go to Shanghai tonight" but if not we would stay overnight at the hotel. I asked to be told as soon as possible which of the alternatives would be the one, so that we didn't have to be on call until late evening and could at least relax at the hotel. This to me perfectly reasonable request didn't seem to sink in. Furthermore, we tried to put through the point that we have connecting flights to catch. Mine was (fortunately or unfortunately) on China Eastern, so there should not be a problem. But Geoff's was on a different carrier and the cheapo ticket prevented him from changing it. We were met with shrugs. Then again, what could the guy do? Nevertheless, I wasn't happy when they tried to make us share a room. Both Geoff and I said no and asked for a private room. We were told that a private room would cost 30 yuan extra - no big deal, of course, but it was a matter of principle by then; it was not my choice to stay in this hotel. The airline guy was saying that there are three beds in one room and that two men must share a room. Meanwhile, in the confusion one of the reception girls had written me a slip with a room number (A309), different from Geoff's (B408). This provided us the opportunity just to leave and go upstairs to our individual rooms. Half an hour later a bellhop came in with a card with the word A408 written on it (presumably referring to bed A in Geoff's room). The diminutive fellow didn't speak a word of English so I showed him my A309 card. He tried to exchange them by grabbing hold of the card in my hand, but I stubbornly told him that this was my room and I'd stay here. He went off and never returned.

At 6 p.m. I received a call in the room. The person spoke Chinese and hung up when I said I didn't understand the language. A few minutes later there was a knock on my door and a girl stammered something about supper. So I went down. Geoff arrived soon after, looking cheerful and carrying his bags. They had knocked on his door, too, and he had thought we were on our way to the airport. Consequently, at dinner he was pretty gloomy. We shared a table with a bunch of locals who were also trying to get to Shanghai. They were eating and laughing and appeared to be enjoying this unexpected chance to stay in a hotel.

Interestingly, even in this fairly good hotel at the international airport of the capital city of southwestern China nobody seemed to understand a word of English. Geoff went down to the business center of the hotel to call his wife that he didn't know when he would be coming back. The person in charge of the center had to call help from a girl from the reception. She apparently was the only English speaker in the hotel. In the day's China Daily Business Weekly that I had read earlier Bill Gates was quoted saying that if China intends to become a leader in software technology they needed to learn good English. This will be less of a problem in the future as so many US educated and other overseas Chinese are increasingly returning to their home country. Of course, most of them will stay on the coast and it'll take a while until places inland will benefit fully.

Later I was walking around the hotel to check out the place and make the time pass. A pretty albeit heavily made up girl in the hotel uniform waved me to join her at the table where she was smoking and playing solitaire. Opening her uniform, she revealed a sexy outfit she was wearing underneath and explained to me - in Chinese and sign language - that she would take me to a back room for a massage. Of course, I had to remain waiting and ready to go in the unlikely case we'd be called to fly to Shanghai. The last thing I wanted at that stage was to be left behind by the plane. Not that I would have invited her to my room under other circumstances either. But the incident showed that private entrepreneurship is alive and well in China.

Finally, at around 10:30 p.m. when Geoff and I were sitting at the bar drinking more beer, the English-speaking receptionist came to inform us that we would be staying here for the night. By that time we had actually figured it out by ourselves. She told us that our flight would be at 6:30 in the morning. When we asked her to confirm the time by writing it down, it turned out to be 8:20. Well, I myself could easily make the same mistake in Chinese. The bar was full of girls who looked like the one that had spoken to me earlier.

The following morning I woke up at 6:30. The room was freezing cold and I could see my breath. I had slept in my full cloths under all blankets I could gather. My hands were frozen and my nose running. When I tried to produce a sound my throat didn't react. Our suitcases were never brought to the hotel (I kept my fingers crossed that I'd once more be reunited with my bag), so I had no change of clothes. Luckily, at least, I had packed my toothbrush into the hand luggage that was with me.

As requested by the staff the night before, I went down at 7 a.m. sharp. It was a sunny winter morning and the lobby was cold because the doors to the street were open. We all sat there huddling with no sight of the China Eastern crew. The guide of the Korean tour group that was stuck there with us, a friendly fellow in a baseball cap and shades, somehow found out that the airport shuttles were to pick us up at 7:30. This was later revised to 8 a.m. They finally came at 8:15. Needless to say, no breakfast was served.

We were then taken to the airport where we were dumped in the chaotic departure hall with no instructions from the ground crew. After a while and entirely by chance, we found out that it was necessary to exchange our boarding passes from yesterday to new ones to enable us to board the plane. We were told to line up at the office, which carried the sign "n-duty mana-ge". Our Chinese fellow passengers were all shouting excitedly and trying to cut into the line. When we finally made it to the counter, the girl told us that we actually needed to go to another counter. Why wasn't I surprised? I asked her politely whether she realized how annoying this all was. I received a blank stare. We walked over to the other counter and after a lengthy wait were sent to a third one where we eventually got our boarding passes. When we pointed out that we had connecting flights out of Shanghai that we'd missed, they called the supervisor. Finally someone to talk to! The lady arrived and looked at my ticket that said Shanghai-Narita and had the time 09:10 written on it. She stated the obvious - "Oh, you won't make it to that plane" - and after a bit of pondering asked whether I would like to change flight. I answered in the affirmative that, indeed, I would. She then told me that this could not be done here in Kunming and that I would need to contact the airline once we arrived in Shanghai. I pointed out that the sign above said that this was the counter for "international travelers with connections overseas." Apparently it didn't mean that they had any responsibility for the actual connections. When Geoff asked whether our bags would be on the flight we were about to board, the manager was starting to show signs of irritation. She told us curtly not to worry so much. I told her we had a lot to worry about.

Suddenly there was a terrible rush. We were told to board immediately, so we hurried down the steps to the tarmac, literally squeezed in between a set of aircraft stairs, and walked to the China Eastern MD-82 that was waiting. It was the same plane that had broken down yesterday. I found my China Daily Business Weekly in the seat pocket of seat 19C where I had left it the day before. Also the same crew was there, including the stunning tall stewardess.

The flight departed soon and was actually quite pleasant once we were airborne. The plane was only half full so we could spread out in our seats. Upon departure from Kunming the weather was clear and we were flying at a relatively low altitude. To the north, on the left side of the plane, there were snow-capped mountains. The terrain was hilly and the hills looked incredibly denuded. No forest and little topsoil were left, only subsoil and weathered rock. There were deep ravines everywhere. The tiny valley bottoms were built densely with small villages and the poor looking agricultural terraces climbed the hillsides. Elsewhere the valleys were cultivated with paddies and the houses were perched on the surrounding slopes. Every now and then, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, appeared large industrial plants spewing out thick smoke to the otherwise clear mountain air.

After about half an hour of flight the cloud cover became thick. A Shanghainese tour guide leading a group of tourists was pacing agitatedly up and down the aisle mobilizing a mass protest against China Eastern. She didn't speak English, but she approached Geoff. In the hope of passing her on to me, Geoff told her I spoke Japanese. It turned out that his scheme was successful. She was specializing in guiding Japanese groups and actually spoke the language. Her name was Yang and I recognized her as the enormously noisy middle-aged woman who had sat next to me at dinner last night ("Wouldn't want to meet her on a dark street," Geoff had commented then). I promised to help her and asked Geoff and the Koreans whether they'd like to write down their complaints to the airline. The tour guide would collect them all and deliver them to the company office in Shanghai. All stewardesses gathered around Yang apparently trying to persuade her that it was no use sending in the complaints. She would not budge. Afterwards she came back to chat with me. I'm afraid she will, as she promised, look me up one day and appear behind my door.

When we started our descent, clouds were hanging thick over Shanghai. There was some turbulence and the purser announced through the intercom that if anybody was feeling sick they should barf into the disposal bag provided for this purpose in the seat pocket. I'm sure that this straightforward reminder of the existence of the bags was warranted by previous experiences.

The landscape as the plane decreased altitude was a grim reminder of Chinese reality. There was not one square inch of unused land. There were small hamlets surrounded by fields and intersected by irrigation canals. One could see how these were being invaded by urban sprawl and highways. When all of these people would abandon agriculture and move to the nearest town in search of a fast yuan it could have serious implications on the food security of this most populous country of the world - and the impacts would have repercussions far beyond when China started massive imports of food from the world market.

Closer to the airport the paddies were replaced by endless drab looking suburbs with rows of identical houses. The individual houses all looked derelict. There were junks in the small, polluted canals. When we landed close to noon it was raining and Shanghai looked monochrome grey.

Amazingly, our bags arrived just like the lady at Kunming airport had promised - we needn't have worried. The Koreans who had by now become our friends were all waving goodbye. Geoff and I walked over to the international terminal. A very friendly and attractive young lady at the China Eastern transfer counter directed us to the airline offices in fluent English. We were back in the modern world. China Eastern was trying to entice me to take the same flight I had missed this morning tomorrow instead. When I told them that I'd love to do so, but needed to get to Tokyo today, they agreed to put me on the first Japan Airlines flight the same afternoon. Geoff was sent to the Quantas office and we separated with good wishes for our respective continuing flights.

Juha Uitto 1997 [Published also on http://www.bootsnall.com/articles/06-03/pleasures-of-chinese-air-transport-kunming-yunnan-china.html, March 10, 2006.]

The Violin and the Drums

The passersby barely noticed the music, so smooth it was. The violinist was wearing a grey cap and a thick coat, as the subway station at the 14th street was cold in the damp autumn air. He appeared expressionless holding his instrument while a multitude of humanity passed him by in the cacophony of New York City mass transit. But the emotion was clearly there, somewhere buried deep in the Slavic soul of the elderly immigrant whose melancholy tones apparently brought him back to the Old Continent. The violin played sad tunes that were vaguely familiar. The background tracks upon which he played the longing melodies were reproduced poorly by the old-fashioned boom box that was attached to his seat. Nobody paid attention to the lone musician.

Suddenly, from another part of the train platform, beyond the staircase that descended to the L train, a loud boom of drums echoed. It was first a single beat, followed by a couple of additional strikes. But within seconds the roar of the percussions filled the cavernous space. It echoed across the station and it was no longer possible to confirm the location of the perpetrator. The rhythmic beat drowned all other sound. The downhearted man with his tunes from the Old World didn’t stand a chance. Yet, he continued to bow his violin. As the train approached its own screeching and clonking drowning out the chaos on the platform, several people, I amongst them, approached the old musician to leave our change into his open violin case.

Juha Uitto 2007

Flying to Kundiawa

I had arrived at the airport in good time, or so I thought. The big and very dark Papuan woman standing behind the counter and wearing an Air Niugini uniform was telling me otherwise. She had to shout in her strongly Pidgin accented English to get the message through to me, partly because of the tropical downpour beating on the corrugated iron roof making it sound as if we were inside a huge old fashioned typewriter; partly because of the general commotion in the departure hall where hundreds of people lugging bundles of luggage and wet children were lobbying for the limited seats on the few flights off of Port Moresby, the capital city of Papua New Guinea. Yet partly, I realized, it was because I really didn’t want to hear what she was saying. I had to be in Kundiawa in the central highlands by today, otherwise my contact would leave for the bush tomorrow morning as scheduled and my trip all the way to this vast tropical island in between Australia and Indonesia would have been in vain. There was no way on earth I could ever hook up with the team if they were to move onto the still uncharted inland without me. And this was the first such trip – mission, as it was called in the somewhat arcane UN language – that my employers at the International Fund for Agricultural Development (IFAD) had allowed me to take alone. A more senior officer could afford to screw up occasionally, but for a newbie like me it could be fatal. But here I was standing in the overcrowded shelter claiming to be a capital city airport departure hall and the only Air Niugini flight to Kundiawa today had been overbooked and I had been bumped.

Rejected, I stepped out of the terminal building, determined to find another way to travel up-country. By now, the rain had slowed to a light drizzle. A red banner declaring “Ten Years In Dependence” above the street that led to the terminal hung soaked in the grey mist. It referred to the country’s independence from Australia achieved ten years earlier, in 1975. The misconstrued sentence unwittingly testified to the still limited indigenous capacity in the country. I walked determinedly around the perimeter of the airport and found a small wooden shed that served as the terminal building for several privately owned flight operators competing with the state-owned Air Niugini. Here too, I was out of luck. I was told that nobody was scheduled to fly to the highlands today. The downpour was picking up strength again and the air was saturated with humidity in the tropical heat.

I must have looked dejected to the young dark-skinned boy leaning against the chicken wire fence separating the street from the runway as I exited the shed. He’d seen that there was a pilot in the hangar, he informed me helpfully. Perhaps he could be of help. Thanking the boy for his advice, I entered through a gate in the wire fence and walked to the hangar across the rain-soaked tarmac and found a bony blond middle-aged man sporting a thin Clark Gable –style moustache and a white short-sleeved shirt with epaulets indicating the rank of captain. He stood there inspecting a Brazilian-made twin-engine Bandeirante. Seeing me enter, he looked up with little curiosity. I approached him and explained the quandary I was in. His first reaction was outright negative: he was going to fly today, but not to Kundiawa. His job was to fly freight to Lae on the north coast of the island and today there was a party of foreign golfers that was awaiting its supplies. The flight path would go straight up north from the southern coast where we now were, in Port Moresby, and he would drop off some mail en route in Mt. Hagen. But no Kundiawa. After a brief negotiation, however, we finally were able to agree on a slight change in the scheduled route. After all, dropping me off in Kundiawa wouldn’t make a major detour and I would gladly hand over my unused Air Niugini ticket for the service. Relenting finally, the pilot admitted that he would actually welcome some company on the long and monotonous flight. He introduced himself as Dave and we shook hands.

Soon we were seated in the small plane’s cockpit, I firmly lodged in the co-pilot’s seat. By then, the weather had improved significantly and the cockpit was bright and hot. The storm clouds still looked dramatic on the western sky, but here the tropical sun was heating up the ground. The tarmac was steaming with evaporating puddles of rainwater. Dave put on his aviator glassed, opened the cockpit window on the pilot’s side, and warned me in his broad Australian accent that we would otherwise suffocate and die. It was against the regulations to fly the Bandeirante with a single pilot only, but it was difficult to find a qualified co-pilot so Dave was normally doing this trip all by himself. It was unlikely that anybody would check and ever enforce such laws here. Besides, it was more economical for the company to pay for only one pilot. The only other person flying with us was a Papuan airhostess who stayed for the entire flight alone in the dark cargo section sitting on crates of golf equipment on their way to the exclusive club in Lae.

The twin engines of the plane were roaring as Dave revved the controls. The puny control tower and the miserable airport building where I had been refused just a couple of hours earlier stood to the left of us. Dave was solemnly going through the pre-flight checklist. When he was ready, we rolled down the runway without hesitation and took off. There was no line of aircraft waiting for their turn to depart. The rapid acceleration pushed my back into the seat and the excitement made my body tingle.

We left the coast as soon as we had departed from Port Moresby and flew directly north. Within minutes, we were flying over an impenetrable rainforest with its shades of dark green reaching as far as the eye could see. Mighty rivers in deep gorges crossed the landscape, transporting billions of cubic metres of water, brown with sediments towards the ocean. Papua New Guinea – or PNG, as it is known to people who live there – was still quite pristine, its interior mountainous and covered with dense forest. At the time, the entire country - slightly larger than California - had only 3 million people, mostly living in scattered settlements across the island. Many of the villages were so isolated that even neighbouring tribes had nothing to do with each other. The rugged topography and rapidly flowing streams had helped to preserve the nature, as much of the country is too hilly to allow for extensive logging on the steep slopes and the transportation costs of getting the wood out are relatively high. As is almost always the case, though, the natural riches of PNG have tempted foreign interests from wealthier countries like Australia, Japan and the neighbouring Indonesia that occupies the eastern half of the island as its Irian Jaya province, and the following two plus decades since my visit have seen more of the natural resources extracted with resultant damage to the environment. Also, in the intervening years the country’s own population numbers have almost doubled to close to 6 million in 2007 due to high birth rates and falling mortality. All of this places an increasing pressure on the unique environment in this biodiversity laden country.

The Bandeirante was flying steadily north at a safe altitude to avoid mountain peaks. The weather was now clear, which allowed me to observe the green vastness below us. Dave praised the Brasilian plane as being the best one to fly. When a few years earlier the company had bought two of these planes, Dave had been the one to fly one of them from the factory in Brazil all the way to its new owners in PNG. He said that the trip, which included stopovers in Hawaii, New Zealand and Australia, was the best he had ever taken.

After a couple of hours of flight Dave pointed to a high plateau at a distance in front of us. A darker treeless patch which I gathered was the runway ran through the flat green of the forested hilltop. Papua New Guinea has the highest airstrip density of any country in the world owing to the legacy of the World War II. The network was built organically, step by step, as the Japanese troops expanded southward from the north, while the Allied forces raced to meet them having landed in the south from Australia. Each side built small airstrips as they advanced. As we approached the landing strip, I could see the slopes of the steep hills dropping hundreds of metres on all sides. The runway itself started at an edge of a cliff that dropped straight into a gorge. Noticing my concern, Dave consoled me: “Don’t worry, PNG pilots are the best in the world. Those who were not, are dead.” There was no margin to miss the approach, but Dave brought the plane to a perfect landing on the amazingly narrow strip in Mt. Hagen.

After the mail had been unloaded and Dave had a cigarette or two, we took off again. The next stop was the unscheduled one in Kundiawa where I would get off. The airstrip was, if possible, even smaller, jungle encroaching from all sides. I thanked Dave profusely for dropping me off here. “No worries, mate”, he intoned, already preparing to roll off to the grassy runway.
What now, then? I wondered whether I had actually been so lucky to get to this lonely place in the middle of the third largest island of the world just to be stranded without even a compass. Then I noticed a small but tough looking man approaching me from a four-wheel drive. Without any introduction, he said in an Australian accent that he’d been worried that I might not show up after all. Would I care for a beer?