This article is a practical travel reflection written from Shenzhen after a trip to Yunnan. The “official” reason for the visit is to look at how traditional farming and soil might relate to human health. The real reason is simpler: Yunnan is stunning. Along the way the author uses a deliberately unscientific method called “gawking” (staring at real life until it starts making sense). The story expands into how China builds, plans, and lifts rural areas—then circles back to food, weight, diabetes, and the uncomfortable surprises that don’t fit neat theories.
Why Yunnan
I’m writing this back at my base in Shenzhen after a trip to Yunnan. Why Yunnan? My official explanation is that my interest is in how soil affects our health, and Yunnan still has areas of traditional agriculture that have not been fully “modernised”. I wanted to see what that looks like in the real world, and what it might mean for health.
The real reason is that Yunnan is an absolutely fantastic place, with some of the world’s best scenery. If you have done the classic tourist trail of Hong Kong, Shanghai, Beijing, the Great Wall and Xi’an, and you are looking for something more rugged and more authentic, then Yunnan may be the place for you.
Scientific Methodology (and Why Mine Is “Gawking”)
Because this trip was supposed to have scientific underpinning, I should describe the methodology. There are double-blind randomised trials, statistical observational studies, mechanistic methods… while the method I used is known in scientific circles as gawking, defined as “to stare or gape stupidly”.
You may ask why I selected this particular methodology. I used to do a lot of business in Hong Kong. When Deng Xiaoping opened up China, I hopped across the border to Shenzhen—then a rather poor and primitive village. Now Shenzhen has a population the size of Australia, is loaded with high-tech companies, and overloaded with cars, including more than enough Bentleys and Lamborghinis fighting for the last parking spot.
That was over thirty years ago. Since then I married into a Chinese family and visit China typically twice a year. I have reconciled myself to the fact that it is impossible for a Laowai (foreigner) to truly understand China. The only possible action is to gawk and try to make sense of the complex mystery that is China—sometimes with a dash of fantasy.
In conventional science, you choose what you will study. Gawking is different. It guides you to what to study. It can be erratic, but it forces you to look at what is happening in the real world.
The Impossible Task: Understanding China
Let me give one example. Take the Great Wall. Western logic says it was built to keep out invading hordes. But that is not Chinese logic (at least not in my distorted telling). The gates get thrown open, the hordes overthrow the emperor, and the Wall becomes an advertisement: “Look how rich this place is—worth attacking.”
China has been running for the best part of five thousand years, with dynasties rising and falling. In my simplified version, each new dynasty starts with good intentions, then later emperors get distracted by palaces, feasts, and concubines, while the running of the country is left to the great Chinese invention: the Mandarins (civil servants).
The Mandarin system is, to my mind, one of the ultimate Chinese inventions: tough exams, long training, and a belief that if you manage roads and bridges it might help to know something about engineering. The Mandarins keep things working until excess and instability become too much, and then—eventually—out with the old.
Mongols, Gunpowder, and the Lesson of Technology
Another lesson comes from the Mongols. For years they were a collection of warring tribes. Then Genghis Khan unified them around a world-beating technology: the reverse tension bow, combined with synchronised horsemanship and stirrups.
China had invented gunpowder, but initially used it like fireworks. The Mongols, not famous for subtlety, captured Chinese engineers and persuaded them to use gunpowder to fire high-velocity stones and knock down walls. The Mongols became unstoppable—so unstoppable that Europe only avoided conquest because the Khan died and the armies returned to elect a new leader.
The deeper point is that China learned: technology matters, and the smart move is to adopt and use it effectively—yours or anyone else’s.
So What Does Any of This Have to Do With Yunnan?
Here is the link. Political stability requires rising living standards across the population. Shenzhen’s success is obvious. But Yunnan is one of the poorer provinces and has many minority groups. The living standards of Yunnan have to rise—there is no option.
This is where you see “modern China at work” (again, in my exaggerated telling). China has an obsession with building bridges. Bridges mean employment. Spectacular gorges mean spectacular bridge sites. Build bridges, and you bring work and money into Yunnan.
Then someone points out a bridge is better if it has roads. But roads down steep gorges are hard, so you build tunnels. Soon there is a network of roads, bridges, and tunnels so dramatic that you go from “high speed rabbit in a tunnel” to “eagle flying over a massive gorge” in seconds.
Governments, Infrastructure, and the Private Sector
In the West there is a common view that governments can’t do anything, so everything should be outsourced. China’s infrastructure achievements suggest that belief is, at best, incomplete. The Mandarins can plan bigger and longer than private enterprise—when they decide to.
But roads alone don’t create prosperity. You also need traffic: tourists, hotels, restaurants, shops, hire cars. The government can build the infrastructure, but they do not want to spend their lives changing hotel bed sheets. So the private sector needs to build and run the tourism layer.
The puzzle is obvious: early on, there are no tourists, so there is no profit. Yet I saw hundreds of empty hotels—modern and luxurious. How did they get built? I was not given the secret, so I resort to make-believe explanations (white envelopes, brown envelopes, and polite “encouragement”).
The real point is not the story. The point is the result: government planning plus private execution, operating in a way that delivers long-term national goals.
Innovation: The Third Wave (and a Warning)
My professional life was innovation, so when my “gawking” suggested China was moving into high-tech and innovation, I paid attention. Innovation does not come from nowhere. It is usually built on years of skill, an environment to experiment, and then risk, timing, and luck.
I also developed a suspicion of the Western financial model, where short-term capital often ends up steering companies away from deep technical innovation and toward acquisitions and quick returns. In technology, integration creates power: a “technopoly”. Gates did not invent the mouse. Jobs did not invent every phone component. They integrated technologies into systems people could use.
My worry (and you can treat this as a provocation) is that China may quietly prepare to buy useful innovations, while countries like Australia talk loudly about innovation but struggle to reform the capital structures that support it long term.
Back to Food (The Real Reason I Was There)
While I have spent time talking about software and national strategy, the bigger industry is food. China can adopt external technology brilliantly, but agriculture is one area where imported “best practice” can be deeply harmful. In some regions I see productive soil being degraded by heavy chemical fertilisers (especially acidic, nitrogen-rich inputs) and rotary tillers that destroy soil biology.
Add factory farming and processed food, and you get a health crisis. China already suffers a major diabetes crisis. You only have to look at the podgy kids coming out of school to see it may get worse before it gets better. That is why I went to Yunnan—to look at places where traditional farming still exists.
Chinese Food, Eating Habits, and a Mystery
China has top-class restaurants like anywhere else, but most people eat at home or at what I call street restaurants. As we moved away from cities, we found “farmer’s restaurants”, where you select produce from a display and it is cooked in front of you. In the mountains, we found “forest food”: wild edible plants collected from areas too steep to cultivate.
We flew into Kunming, hired a car, and headed south toward the Vietnamese border. Often meals involved large groups (family, cousins, “cousins”, and friends of cousins). This gave me a chance to watch eating habits and body types up close.
When I first came to China over thirty years ago, most people were short and slim. Now there is an enormous range: some kids are tall and well built, some still slim, some plainly overweight. Older people remain short and slim. Middle-aged people often fall into two groups: slim, or with a pot belly.
The fat pattern is not always like the Western “fat everywhere” look.
And then the shock: I could not believe how much food people ate at these meals. The table would be piled with food, topped up with new dishes—and yet it all disappeared. At one meal, three middle-aged women ate similar amounts. Two had figures Western women would kill for. The third was plump. Same food, same beer, and sometimes the dreaded rice wine.
Despite the outrageous eating and drinking, a large proportion of people remain slim. So how does this sit alongside the fact that China has one of the world’s worst diabetes crises? The story was not lining up neatly.
Up the Mountain: The Surprise That Broke My Assumptions
At last, we went up the mountain. The navigator led us through a back street, then onto a road carved into the mountain side: vertigo on one side, crumbling cliffs on the other. After what felt like four hundred years we reached a poor, old town on a flatter summit, said to be a minority area.
This was what I had come to see: people working the land with picks and shovels, no rotary tillers. The soil looked beautiful, full of organic matter. I could not measure nutrients, but I had no doubt it was rich. The mountains themselves, constantly dropping rocks, were like a slow-release mineral supplement.
So now, I thought, I would see fit and healthy people.
Instead, I saw people who were noticeably fatter than on the plains below. Not necessarily “obese” by Australian standards, but clearly heavier. And the only person I saw who I would call obese (fat all over, not just tummy fat) was in this remote mountain town with what could be some of the most fertile soil and natural food around.
For someone who has been writing about minerals, soil, and health for years, this felt like a public contradiction. Time for a rethink.
“This Is China”: The Missing Piece Appears
In China there is a saying: “This is China.” It sounds like nonsense, but it really means: never be surprised, because reality will not match your neat expectations.
A friend of a cousin of a friend invited us for a home-cooked dinner. The food was local and natural—even down to the chicken’s head in the soup, a tradition I am still learning to accept. I was studying the food, trying to find the hidden cause, when the answer appeared in front of me: a sweet fizzy drink (not Coca-Cola, but a local equivalent with a banana on the label), and then ice cream.
The pattern was familiar. Back home near Bundaberg—good climate, good soil, lots of produce—there are many seriously overweight people. In wet and windy Melbourne, people are generally slimmer. Here I was seeing a similar contrast: beautiful food conditions, yet extra weight.
The puzzle deepened: why do many Chinese people eat huge meals and stay relatively slim, yet diabetes numbers are massive?
The Sad History of Diet Advice (and Why It Keeps Changing)
Diet science has swung like a pendulum. First fat was the enemy. Then we were told to avoid butter and use margarine and vegetable oils, only to later discover trans fats were a major problem. Then sugar became the villain, then carbohydrates, then the glycaemic index. Then attention turned to fructose and liver overload, then to minerals and vitamins, then to calories and thermodynamics, then to hormones, and now to gut biology.
Gut biology seems the most promising line of research because it explains why people vary so much. Some thinkers add stress and psychology into the mix, and there is evidence stress can drive weight gain.
Self-Experimentation and a Practical Direction
Hopping between Australia and China gives me a chance to observe and experiment on myself. With hindsight, I have been too focused on the chemistry of soil and food—micro nutrients, trace elements, and soil biology. My “gawking” suggests those things are necessary, but not sufficient.
The missing piece is the gut biology itself: what gets into the gut, what survives, and what changes appetite and metabolism.
I also became suspicious of “one size fits all” theories. Walk two minutes in Shenzhen and you see a wide range of body shapes. Genetics is part of the story, but it is often used as a cover for missing understanding.
During this trip I ate a broad range of foods, with very little control (China has a strong social food culture). The results surprised me. For the first few days I ate like a glutton and put on several kilograms. Then I hit a wall: I simply could not eat more, and my weight dropped back toward normal.
Appetite regulation is real—and it is not just willpower.
Ending Notes: The Cost of Diabetes and a Real Opportunity
Whatever the exact numbers, the diabetes burden in China is enormous, and rising. The personal and financial costs are staggering. China is already proactive: I was surprised to see a street clinic in a small town doing random diabetes tests for passers-by. Food is close to a national religion, and there is a strong concern for clean and healthy food.
Australia has a reputation for clean agriculture that is valued in China. That creates an opportunity for socially responsible innovation and cooperation—especially in practical approaches that move beyond slogans and into what actually changes health outcomes in the real world.
Colin Austin — © Creative Commons. Reproduction permitted for private use with source acknowledgment; commercial use requires a license.
