From the Dong to the Miao, back to the Han
When I wanted to leave Basha I looked for a lift and was let on board a van with a jolly group people who invited me to join their tour. They all came from different places,
Along the road a bullfight was taking place. The driver didn’t want to stop because he was pressed to be at home for dinner in time, as his mother had instructed. I would have liked to watch because in the Dong bullfight, neither bull actually gets killed but is chased away by the winner. At our village we were nevertheless rewarded by the sight of the champion of another fight. The awe-inspiring beast was proudly standing next to the drum tower and was the object of everybody’s admiration. Its owner patted it while certainly gloating over the big cash prize it had earned him. I was warned not to wave my red backpack in front of his eyes.