『Travels in China: People of the Frontier』
- The real face of China, met at the border of Oji

"China Travels: People on the Border" captures the lives and landscapes of people encountered in remote areas of the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region and the Tibetan Autonomous Region, rather than in famous tourist destinations in China.
Through encounters with ethnic minorities and foreigners from around the world, the imbalances and changes within China, the chaos and tensions, and the fragments of small but powerful emotions are vividly recorded.

The author said, “The Chinese...
Koreans reject generalizations like, “Koreans are...” and make eye contact with people with their own faces.
Kindness and misunderstanding, hospitality and rejection in a foreign land, suffering in the highlands and the majestic snow-capped mountains.
Rather than providing a panoramic view of the vastness of China, this book asks questions about China's "boundaries" as felt through the skin and on foot.

“Who lives on this earth?”

This travelogue, written across timelines from the present and 20 years ago, is not simply a travelogue, but a record of the times and another side of China that we are not familiar with.
Through the author's journey to find people in the remote areas rather than the big cities, readers will hear another story about the 'real China' that melts like a wave in the author's journey.

“Isn’t it dangerous to say something like that in China?” I asked worriedly. The Turk snorted harshly, “Huh!” and then began to speak passionately.
“Osman is a talented person who received the best education in Turpan.
But the Chinese government does not recommend such talents to farm.
Does this make sense? The Uyghurs in Xinjiang have no human rights.
All the good jobs are taken by Han Chinese.
There is no opportunity for the Uyghurs at all.
So most of the Uyghurs here are barely making ends meet.
Whose land is this anyway? (Omitted) Anyway, all Han Chinese are bad guys!”
--- p.26

The Chinese government's slogan of "One China" sounds quite plausible before you delve into it.
But the reality is different.
Xiao Zhang always said he was from Guangdong or Guangzhou, never said he was from Hong Kong.
Mainlanders look at you with colored glasses when you say, “I’m from Hong Kong,” and if you say, “Hong Konger,” they get angry and say, “So, aren’t you Chinese?”
Even while we were hanging out together, I saw someone sneer in front of her, saying, “You’re Chinese, but you don’t speak Chinese well.”
It was 2003, five years after Hong Kong was returned to the Chinese government.
Hong Kong people were complete strangers.

--- p.30

As the departure time approached, the ticket inspection process was, as expected, chaotic.
A crew member, who was weaving through the crowd of squabbles, raised his voice.
“Get in line! There are foreigners there too, aren’t you embarrassed?” The middle-aged woman’s words were answered.
After only a year of living in China, I started seeing people lining up.

--- p.54

While walking around Korra, I kept coming across children with slings on their backs.
I was curious about what these kids were doing, so I asked them, and they said they were students who went around Korra and collected trash that people had left behind.

“Isn’t it hard?”
“It’s not hard.
“It’s rewarding to pick up trash like this and go around Kora, and it’s also a way to build up virtue.”

Those children were saints.
Children, no more than thirteen or fourteen years old, were walking around the cora, carrying sacks as big as themselves, filled with heavy trash.
Although their faces were so dirty that it was unrecognizable, as if they hadn't washed for several days, their eyes were clear and their smiles were refreshing.
The voice that said shyly, “It’s not hard,” was calm, unlike a child’s.

--- p.108

Tibetans dream of making a pilgrimage to Lhasa at least once in their lifetime.
He walks hundreds or thousands of kilometers from where he lives to the Potala Palace in Lhasa, doing prostrations and three steps.
When the Tibetan I met at that time was asked, “What do you wish for so earnestly?” he answered, “We wish for the return of the Dalai Lama.”
Some answered, “I walk to wash away my sins.”
The reasons are different for each person.
But they each set out on the journey with a fervent wish in their hearts.

--- p.135

“Whew!” The priest’s shout tore through the frozen air.
Sturdy monks entered the marketplace, carrying sharp swords and hooks.
An old monk beat a drum and recited sutras in a soft voice.
The onlookers all had blank expressions on their faces, as if entranced by the sound of the continuous, low-pitched chanting.
Meanwhile, the monks placed the naked body on the altar and finished preparing the ritual.

--- p.142

"Are there rules about how to live? People set the rules for what to do at what age, what to have children at, how much money to make, and what to do.
You don't have to follow along there.
Find out what you really want to do.
“You’re still a child.” He was forty-eight at the time, and I was twenty-five.

--- p.154

Utopia was not reality, but something that existed in my mind.
A place where you can find comfort from your loved ones.
A place where there is sometimes a boring and repetitive routine, and so a place where there are no worries.
That was Shangri-La.
Suddenly, I started missing the place I would reach at the end of my journey.
But it wasn't time to go back yet, and I felt my steps spring back as I looked forward to that day.

--- p.182