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Xian and the Terracotta Warriors By Kamouraskan and with a little help from Lariel   Please see Part 1 - From Beijing to Yichang for disclaimers and acknowledgments. This article is copyright to the authors January 2008.

"We are spreading toilet culture throughout the city, by ensuring that our public toilets are never boring," Lu Xiaoqing told reporters in the southwestern Chinese city of Chongqing. "Here in Foreigners Street, we have the world's largest public bathroom, with more than a thousand public toilets located inside a vast porcelain palace with an Egyptian façade, spread over an area of 30,000 square feet. Tourists and locals can listen to gentle music, or surf the internet while using them, and they always leave feeling very very happy.

"We have also set up a fleet of mobile public toilet buses, which roam the streets every day from 7:30am to10pm. Each one can relieve up to a thousand people a day, and they leave very very happy. Our outdoor street urinals are also popular with locals, although a few foreign men will use them, because only their lower body is covered by the screens, while their face is on full display to passers by.

Our greatest success has been the installation of outdoor sinks that look like a row of naked women bending over in high heels, with the sinks embedded in their backs. It used to be very hard to persuade men to wash their hands after urinating, but now they queue up to do it, because they can fantasise about entering a woman from behind while they are washing. As I say, everyone leaves here very very happy.

-Chongqing Morning Post 23/9/07 quoted in Private Eye, Funny Old World Column

Day 9
'This morning arrive in Chongqing and disembark your cruise vessel. Excursion to Chongqing Zoo to see variety of animals including 5 pandas. Late afternoon flight to Xian. Transfer to Tangcheng Hotel. Lunch and Dinner at Local Restaurants'

It's our last morning on the Yangzte, in our lovely double bed with the river flowing past our balcony. So we sleep in and only get up in time finish packing. And to work out something we've been dreading; the tips for the crew and to pay off our bar tab.

We dither about and finally decide to drop 200Y in the envelope but our bar tab with the added charges for access to the net has reached 700Y somehow.
We say a sad farewell to our lovely room, a premonition warning us that it might be the last comfortable double bed we see. We hit the shops on board, as all the items are now at least half their original price and that makes them almost reasonable, and some of them are unique. And we have many promises, or at least presents, to go before we sleep.

Once onshore, our newest guide presents himself to us with the usual anglicised name, and the aura of a true believer in the New China. A former country boy, he is overflowing with examples of how the life of the average person is so much better in the modern age. "Farmer make maybe 1,000 Yuan a year. Here, we can make that each month or more." Later on, he admits that he visits his family to get pork and other treats. "Not as good in city," he admits. Well, maybe it isn't his soul, but what does a man profit, should he gain the world and lose his pork?

He and others have been successful proselytisers. Chongqing, a city we've never heard of, was once a small town just after the second war. It had already boomed to 6,000,000 less than a decade ago, and since that time, he tells us, the population is at thirty million. Thirty Million people - THIRTY MILLION! And we've never heard of it.

Of course, it is filled with more examples of the National Bird, the crane. All busily building more high-rises and tearing down what little there was of the traditional housing. Each building looking like the television isn't the only thing without any regulations.

The bus trip to the zoo is not the light and tumble journey described by Paul Simon. We are lectured at some length about 'our' involvement in Iraq. Questioned on how could we elect Tony Blair or his lackey Brown? "If you sent soldiers to my country, I would fight you too," he tells us with what he assumes is an incontrovertible argument. It's too much for me, and I take him aside to explain that many of the group, including my wife and I, marched against the war, months before a single man was sent. That I'm a Canadian, whose country refused, despite enormous pressure and many penalties from the US, to go to Iraq. That China could have been far more effective an opposition to the US in stopping the invasion. But instead, he seems mesmerised by the concept of protesting the war. He asks how we went about it and why? Considering that at the time, I assumed our marches were pointless, except as a counterpoint to those that saw Britain as an accomplice to warmongers. And, in the face of such naiveté, how can I bring up Tibet?

The next lecture series begins with the story of how the Japanese have been given two pandas as a gift of friendship, and that they hardly deserve it after the way they have treated the Chinese. Our guide adds that we would know nothing about it. Well, I admit to not knowing all the statistics on the Comfort women, or the Rape of Nanking, but I think everybody on this bus is well aware of the atrocities done by Japan in the Second World War. Certainly Britain of all of the western countries and those Canadians who served in Asia have more than enough knowledge of that lovely bit of history. I've worked with survivors of the Burma Railway and heard their horror stories. I also know that the western troops' survival rate, as terrible as it was, was still ten times that of the Asians troops.

Being Brits, there are no counter arguments made, but I find it less than coincidental that a while later we seem to draw the guide into a Catherine Tate comedy sketch. It's a classic subtle revenge, and any explanation will make no sense unless you've watched the comedy skit show. But here goes.

Before pulling into the Zoo, he asks the group how many pandas the Chongqing Zoo has. We all refuse to guess, but just like the sketch, he insists that we try. Someone calls out "One!" and he laughs gently and says it is many more. Thus encouraged, another member calls out "twenty!" Our guide barely has time to shake his head when another calls out, "two hundred!" Angry now, he tells us that there are less that a few dozen in captivity in the world. "Thirty!" is called out now. Again he furiously repeats that there are very, very few in the world's zoos. Finally he spits out that there are five. Like the comedy sketch, his splendid five is now reduced to a tiny figure, and we all obligingly say, "That's quite a lot." He doesn't grimly state, "Yes. It IS," but we all know he's thinking it. British National honour having been subtly assuaged, and no arrests having been made, we're ready to enjoy our zoo trip.

We're here to see pandas and I'm curious about the zoo. So far, by design or coincidence, all of the public buildings we've seen have been state of the art modern. We're also aware of that China was for decades the only country to successfully breed Pandas in captivity, so I'm assuming that this will be a Great Leap Forward in secured habitats. Wenchuan County is home to the Wolong Nature Reserve, China's leading research and breeding base for endangered giant pandas.

It is lovely. The landscaping is more like a large park and for the first time we are not surrounded completely by large tourist groups. There are actually locals mixing with the foreigners but we are constrained once again by the time allowed. The strange thing is that it is the panda enclosures, which are the least impressive of the sites. They are in fenced off sections no larger and possibly smaller than zoos built in the sixties, so certainly an improvement on the Victorian model, but there's no sign that there's any recreation of a natural habitat. We rush through a fabulous collection of birds, from flamingos other exotica, but they are also in standard sized pens. There is a glass surround pool of Hippos, something which I hadn't seen before and a huge hit with the kids.

We are led through more wonderful landscaping with ponds the size of lakes to an Art Museum. One of our group had come on this trip partly to see Chinese watercolours in their native habitat, so it's appropriate with the zoo is nearby.

Unlike the ones on shipboard, these are wide ranging in style and period, and many are truly gorgeous. I am extremely tempted to buy, but where would we put something so impressive? The prices are very reasonable and once more I am begging Lariel that we set up what we have jokingly referred to as a Chinese Room, where all of our treasures can sit in context. But no, once again we have to pass. And then our hour was up and we had a flight to catch.

Well, sort of.

One of the joys of modern life that we are now sharing with the Chinese is the long delay in the airport, and once again we share it with businessmen and other elite members of the communist party So after all our rushing about, we spent more time in the airport than in Chongqing. Which is a pity, because although we were never told that there was anything of historical significance in the city, I have to wonder if it might not be a great analysis for urban studies or a sociologist. Where else in the world has a city expanded so quickly?

China, we are told from almost every source up to this point, has a population of 1.3 billion. During our trip down the Yangtze, it was mentioned that the population in the countryside, as opposed to the city, had more flexible requirements as far as the one child/one couple rules. This meant that any census was only an estimation. But it was still a bombshell when our guide announced that the whole 1.3 billion was also a bit of an estimate. Just a bit. Approximately plus or minus 300,000,000 people. Or a variance of plus or minus six hundred million people.

That's more than the populations of the G6. All of which countries have paperwork to the nth degree on almost all their citizens, if only to keep track of such oddities the Chinese leadership thinks unnecessary. Like health care, elections, and social services.

The country has over two dozen minorities speaking countless dialects and languages, and multitudes that for a variety of reasons, such as the one child per family laws, that simply do not want to be counted.

So they are attempting to deal with these multitudinous problems. One method is clear on the TV; all programs are subtitled in Mandarin. I think the idea is that regardless of dialect or accent, people will soon have a common written language with common definitions, if nothing else. Of course, as the young seem obsessed with western brand names and music, they may soon be as unsophisticated as the culture they are so desperately emulating.

Predominating the television channels we have watched, are ads selling quack cures. Some are simply herbal but others are increasingly technical. With beautiful special effects, they show the marvels available to elderly people willing to strap on some bizarre machine for Only Minutes A Day, allowing them to kick box thugs and jog miles. The announcers are invariably in white lab smocks, while behind them detailed 'scientific' information scrolls too quickly to read. It would all be laughably like the pseudo-science ads of the 50 and 60's (Doctors Recommend Camels For Their Patients) if those commercials hadn't been banned by the introduction of government and private regulating bodies in the 60's and 70's. Apparently, China doesn't see the need for that sort of thing, the commercial enterprise being king.

Our Airline is China East, which seems a real improvement on Air China, and so of course we later read in the papers that it's about to be bought out by Air China.
Chongqing Airport is once again, World Class, that most hateful of tired phrases. It is efficient and probably better than most airports, something the city and the country are justifiably proud of. But again, not what we came to see. Are we stereotyping the Chinese? Do we not go to London to ride on the Eye? Certainly, but we do it to see the views of the Palace of Westminster and the Thames, and we are desperate for their Chinese equivalent.

Because that is what the tourists come to see, not the new concrete and glass. We are not here to judge if the New China is world class in airports or highways, but to rejoice in their magnificent history and at most, see how they might have blended the greatness of the old with the power of the new.

I'm reminded of the expression, the greatest thing since sliced bread. In Quebec and England, bread was a personal made food. Perhaps there were communal ovens, and any town of any size, eventually had a baker. They plied their trade for centuries until after the war, when modern factory sliced bread appeared in the shops. The townspeople couldn't get enough of it, and their traditional breads and their bakeries were abandoned.

It was the tourists, the summer people, who began the renaissance. They would mention in passing to others of their kind, 'there's an excellent bakery in...' and name some town a few miles away. And thanks to this word of mouth, their patronage would keep the baker going for few months, until they flew south once the cold weather came. Then it would start again. 'Yes, our baker closed, but there's one in…' Eventually, the gentrification of the small towns began. Summer people became permanent; children who left years before returned to new jobs based often in renovation related trades, tourism or self-employment. People began to have children in the villages again, opening schools and restaurants. And they came back for the romance of the village, to get away from the chains and the rotting edifice that was modern life in the cities.

The larger towns and cities, the ones that had expanded under corrupt councils who abandoned any kind of building codes or central planning, continued on in exploited and dirty mazes. Their housing and their property values, their tax rolls and quality of life sank and still they hustled for more factories and raised charges for car parks. But the big money was in the small towns that had waited for them, decaying in the sun and missing this 20th century expansion. And they began to renovate the old homes, their town markets, churches and memorials. And the bakers came back, adapting by providing many goods that would never have been seen in the old days; new pastries, new treats along with the old. And of course, unsliced bread.

I think China is still in the immediate post war, 'greatest thing since sliced bread' stage.

Which is crazy, because these are the descendants of a civilisation that could quite rightly claim centuries of superiority over others. Why does it seem to my untrained eyes as though this oldest of cultures is similar to teenagers playing with the latest electronic toy?

Each time we are taken to some new technological marvel, that image returns. Of a host dragging a guest past their fabulous gardens and stately home to see the brand new kitchen. I recognise that this seems extremely chauvinistic of me, to want to review only the old, but that is what tourists do. That is what the Grand Tours were in the 19th century. The exploration of the great civilisations and the great cultures. If the Chinese only want to show off their wares and modern accoutrements, perhaps they should be prepared for only businessmen to love them. Such were my thoughts before as we flew into Xi'an.

When we arrived, we had no reason to expect anything different. What was the first indication that this, here, was the China we had made this trip to see?

Probably the first sign was that our guide introduced himself by his own Chinese name. Not John or Bob or Peter. There was ease in answering our questions right off and though I could not substantiate each of his answers, most were confirmed later on and each was seemed to come from a voluminous knowledge of the city, combined with a certain pride. He happily quoted statistics of the many excellent universities in the city, but had no hesitation in saying that they were packed by mainly the wealthy and not sufficient for demand. As we drove through the main highway from the airport, he casually pointed out a gate saying it was the Air Force Base. Pointing out a government military installation? Who was this guy? Later on he would casually mention that there was a growing gap between the rich and poor in China, and by now I was wondering if he could possibly be trying to goad us into criticising the regime. Instead, we all commiserated on the growing inequality in each of our countries.

Xi'an is also different immediately. The streets also don't seem as crowded, the air is clear and possibly not coincidentally, for once there are lots of bikes and scooters.

Getting closer to our hotel and the centre of the city, we pass a central library. It is concrete and glass, but there are abutments that gave it a pagoda appearance. Through the glass and steel we can see the miles of aisles of books. More astonishing, was the massive statue of The Thinker by Rodin, dominating the steps.
I imagined it being hauled down or attacked in some later era when the west is vilified, and asked our guide if that wasn't a bit western. He replied quite naturally that it was a library; that the Thinker is no longer a French icon of thought, but a world one. That was all. There was no appropriation of the symbol. No insecurity that it represented anything foreign. Simple stated with confidence. We had seen ego, boasting, but this was different. This was truly world class.

Maybe we had finally found the New China that we could admire.

Xi'an had been the capital of China for centuries, soon after the country had been united under Qin, the first emperor, which explained why his tomb (and the Terracotta soldiers) were nearby.

After his death, and the violence that had occurred, began the Han dynasty, which had been far more interested in trade with the worlds outside and within. Xi'an had been the destination of the Silk Route and its trade with India and its Buddhist temples had guided much of the ancient architecture.

We arrive at the Tangcheng Hotel and it is definitely modelled entirely on the older, opulent western hotels. A huge lobby with a piano player by an open plan bar, winding staircases behind which was an imitation German beer garden. At least it was a garden, more Japanese in style, with a bridge over a small stream, sparkling miniature lights and winding walkways, all secluded by the hotel walls.

Our room has, heaven! Two feather pillows instead of foam, but the only sour note of our entire stay is struck. The food. As much as we may not have liked Beijing, wherever we ate, the food was excellent. Xi'an never supplied us with a bad meal, but they were never as good.

This time we are told our meals have been arranged in the 'Western' Restaurant, and we are shown to a large buffet with what passes for western cuisine. Once again it seems as though we in some sort of Star Trek episode where the kindly captors are attempting to keep us content by providing us with what they think is our sustenance. There is Spaghetti Bolognese, Fish and Chips, various western style soups, and that is the key word, western style, as though served by people who have only seen pictures of the real thing. It's all more than edible, but considering we once worried about eating Chinese for two weeks, it is ironic that we now miss it.

After dinner we re-boarded our bus and were taken to the Wild Goose Pagoda in the Great Compassion Temple. If any of you have ever watched the show Monkey or seen or read anything based on Journey to the West, well this was where they ended up. It was built in 652 to welcome the great Master, (actually the Monk Tang Sanzang or Xuan Zang, who for some really odd reason is played by a woman in the Monkey TV series) and to house the Buddhist scrolls he accumulated after 16 years of studying in India. We were told we could not enter, and this was strangely comforting. Finally a temple that we couldn't bumble about in.

The Pagoda is over 200 feet high and our guide casually added that with in the massive acreage of the walled city and the temple, there were height restrictions, forbidding any building to top it. Height restrictions based on a religious cultural structure? Even London's St. Paul's Cathedral no longer dominates the skyline as it did for centuries. How was it that in the Land of the Crane, this tradition survived?

The temple grounds are beautifully laid out, as always the landscaping is perfect but the totality is dominated by the inherent spirituality of the Wild Goose Pagoda.

Next we went to the walls of the city. I've been to Conwy and lived in Quebec City, but neither of those walls is as well maintained. They were begun over a thousand years before the Provincial Government restored the city wall a little over two decades ago. The walls are about 40 feet high, over 50 feet thick at the base, encircle the China's former capital city, by about 3 miles by four miles, with almost a hundred ramparts and attached sentry buildings. Each time we visited the south gate, Yongning, (Eternal Peace) there were shows, exercise classes and the like going on and the crowds flowed in and out freely amidst peddlers hawking kites, which were flying about, even in the late evening.

Nearby we were shown the Bell Tower and its counterpart across the temple grounds, the Drum Tower. The people of the city were traditionally awakened by the bell, and the drum was for nightfall. Our guide said, "Bell chimes at dawn and drum beats at dusk." Both are huge and as lovely as anything in the Forbidden City. Far more impressive is how they are clearly a part of the city and its events, not simply a tourist prop.

Each city gate has three gate towers: Zhenglou, Jianlou and Zhalou. The most outside is Zhalou, which stands away from the City Wall and is opposite to Zhenglou. It was used to raise and lower the suspension bridge. Jianlou with small windows in the front and flanks was used as a defensive outpost. Zhenglou, in the inner, is the main entrance to the city.

Our guide leads us to what appears at first to be an immense wading pool, where he explains we will see the light and water show.

Now I've seen 'dancing waters' before. But these are created in a space two football fields in length, broken up by five or six concrete divisions of steps, allowing spectators to stand on each rise amidst the fountains, two to three deep. With even larger crowds on the sides. Light is emitted at the base to colour each of the hundreds upon hundreds of sprinklers. It was more like a fireworks display than a fountain as the water rose from 10, 20, to 30 feet, dropping suddenly and crashing through its own spend to create an coloured umbrella of spray. Moving stream and side shooting streams danced together, all of them lit from within and without to classical and Chinese traditional music. Once again, the best of the world, but with an emphasis on the Chinese tradition. Of course it finished with a Strauss waltz after twenty minutes of rapture. Part way through the show, two drunken teenagers stumble into the fountains, fighting. It's clear that they are friends and not about to hurt themselves, and instead of burly security rushing them off or the crowd judging them as hooligans, they are simply ignored, though I see a few hidden smiles. When the show does end, the water is shut off suddenly, and the transformation of this physical beauty to a puddle on the concrete is as shocking and abrupt as the silence.

We wander happily about the park for a while, looking in at the modern shops on the periphery, and continue to mingle with wandering crowds of locals in a friendly atmosphere unlike any we've so far experienced in China.

Leaving this modern and beautiful park behind, we walk through the gates into the Muslim Quarter and find ourselves in a fabulous primordial bazaar of shops and stalls. There is a main street and alleys running off it, crammed with stalls containing every bit of tat or foodstuff you could dream of at a tenth of the prices we have been seeing. As well, while we scan the stalls at no time are we harassed, followed or pushed into buying. There are non-tourists browsing as well and amongst the foods are clear regional specialities we have not seen before. The alleyways leading off the main street are seedy and some stink of urine, but the further you venture, the less the prices are. As this was an optional trip, and we had already spent over an hour wandering the parks and shops before going to the Muslim Quarter, we have to leave much too soon. But we have quickly fallen in love with Xi'an, and we will try to come back to the Muslim Quarter again on this trip if we can.

We take a walk about the hotel and have a few drinks in the German beer garden, before heading inside to sit with most of the rest of the group in one of the hotel bars. Then to bed. The television has the BBC again, and we catch up on the news, make some notes in the travel diary and with our feather pillows snuggle up for a good night's sleep.

Day 10
'Terracotta Warriors. Small Goose Pagoda. Optional Trip to Tang Dynasty Theatre'

So this is our last big event on this trip. We've done the cruise down the Yangtze, the Great Wall, and now we're going to see the Terracotta Warriors.
Our bus passes the First Emperor's hundred foot high burial mound and our guide points out that it is over a mile away from the warriors.

The area around Xi'an is like Egypt's Valley of the Kings, littered with tombs. Once the First Emperor (259-210 B.C.) started the trend, everyone had to have one. To make sure that it was done right, Little Qin began his tomb at the age of 13. It is supposed to have taken 700,000 workers and covers dozens and dozens of square miles. All that is visible now is the slope of the artificial mountain and the Terracotta Warriors.

First, things we didn't know. As noted, the hill is almost a mile away from the warrior site. No one is quite sure what treasures lie between. The Chinese claim that none of the ninety-plus tombs have been opened, which considering the history of tombs in other parts of the world (particularly Egypt), is pretty hard to swallow. Nevertheless, that's what they say.

Either way, the terracotta warriors are pretty small beans compared to the rest of the tomb. Detailed maps describing the layout have been found, exactly matching the present digs, and ultrasound geophysics has confirmed the other 8,000 soldiers are as laid out in the plan. But the plan also claims that in the emperor's tomb, all the ceilings are covered in pearls to represent the stars in the sky. That he himself is surrounded by treasure, in a jewel encrusted boat, floating down a river of mercury. And guess what? Core samples of the tomb have confirmed high concentrations of mercury.

So why not dig it out? Well, the warriors were not discovered in any way intact. They were all of them, shattered into shards (mainly from a peasant's revolt shortly after Qin's death) and every warrior you have ever seen has been painstakingly reassembled from these bits. Also, every warrior was once beautifully painted, in lifelike bright colours, all of which faded immediately on being exposed to the air. So, the Chinese say, and our guide backed them up, that no further explorations of these ninety tombs will be done until science achieves the technology to uncover without damaging the discoveries. Think of that? Ninety tombs, all waiting with God only knows what scrolls, books, documents and incredible riches from a long dead world. That could keep any government in power for a decade, except in a country as large and as populated as China.

Previous to Qin, the practice had been to have a hundred or so of the retinue buried with you. So compared to many of his predecessor, the clay models are definitely an advance. Each of the 8,000 soldiers has their own facial features, hairstyle, and when dressed in the same uniform, even the folds and fit are unique. While he was at this task, he did make a few renovations to the country as well; building over 6,000 miles of road, over a thousand miles of canals, and consolidated three smaller sections of border wall into 2,500 miles of what would become the Great Wall.

When we get off the bus, there's a small feeling of fear that we're not actually there. The signs all refer to the Museum of Terra Cotta Warriors and I'm scared that this is only some display. We walk towards what seems like another perfect museum display, through the white gleaming lobby and then into a stadium of a room. And yes, it's the main dig, and there they are.

Another brilliantly laid out site, open, clearly marked and spanking new. The World Heritage symbol is on everything and the labour to build and display the warriors is clearly a combination of money, brains and love.

A ceramic display in fact, stands out, as it alone has no translations.

The Warriors are only excavated to a distance of about 100 yards but the building continues for twice that distance it seems. On either side of the exposed areas, there are ramps for the tourists to wander along to try to get closer. They have built a platform where the warriors are facing, with a camera mount, and for a fairly steep price you can stand out there and have a photo taken without any of the structure in view. Otherwise, you can lean over the glass and walls and touch the crumbling clay several feet away from the sight you've come so far to see.

There are actually four sites, though only three are open and filled with the famous discoveries. The largest is the one most photographed, of the hundreds of soldiers in rows, standing and waiting. Behind them are the mounds where their unrecovered brethren no doubt wait. Upstairs there are models of the carriages, which have long since rotted away, along with models of the horses in glass containers with excellent explanations in English. Each building is crowded now, and I wonder how it will handle the millions who will be here for the Olympics.

We reboard the bus to make the required factory stop. Once again we are shown how the product is made, but this time, it is the various miniature Warriors. The factory guide explains that yes, we could buy cheap inferior imitations, seemingly unaware of the irony that they are making expensive imitations. He tells how they produce carefully made handmade artefacts, from the same clay as the original models, and once again, apparently to convince us we are watching the actual process at work, two workers fill the moulds and begin to produce a ten-inch figure. Surrounding us and in the warehouse shop next door, are thousands upon thousands of the figures, of all sizes from a few inches to larger than the originals. Yes, again, we are supposed to believe that this is the main producer of the models. Somewhere there is a factory where presumably conditions are not this light or airy.

Having received the usual lecture about buying inferior goods, we browse about. The only place we ever see a price on an object seems to be these factory shops, perhaps on the assumption that tourists aren't up to bartering. Strangely, for two people who have previously hated the process, we've become used to it and find it hard to accept tagged merchandise. Nevertheless, these prices are quite strict and seem to be about 10% higher than the identical items in the tourist shop in the hotel. Possibly believing we'd pay more from the 'original factory' or because the ones in the hotel are inferior, but once again we all pass the opportunity. In fact, our British group is quite offended when someone from a US group basically points at a life size piece, costing ten thousand yuan, and demands it be stripped and brought to his tent. Or at least delivered to his home. I can see both sides of it. The American has clearly decided long before to buy one of the things; having arrived at the place to do so and the decision having been made, he orders it. What's the use of having money if you can't pull one of these things off periodically? But our group is offended by the act. British convention demands that you shop, you comparison shop, you compare and finally after discussion, you might buy and definitely at a bartered price. British customs offended, we reboard the bus.

We finish off a beautiful sunny morning with a trip to the Wild Goose Pagoda's little sister, the Small Wild Goose Pagoda. Hardly small at over a dozen storeys, and the park that gives it homage is beautiful and isn't as sparkly new as too many of the previous places we've visited. There is a huge gong mounted off to the side, and one of the park workers asks if our group would like to sound it. Perhaps it's just our new found love of this city, but even the offer comes not with any sense of supervised directive. There's no line up of dozens of other foreigners ahead of us, and so four of the ladies grab onto the suspended log and swing it with satisfying force into the gong after a few tries, encouraged by the laughing park worker. Again, the park is filled with locals and tourists from within China as well as from without, and the relaxed atmosphere is worth a thousand excellent meals in Beijing.

Tonight is supposed to be an optional trip to the Tang Dynasty Theatre, but after the debacle of the Peking Opera, Lariel and I are definitely going shopping. We've checked out the prices of the cabs and found them to be a reasonable (for us westerners at least) at 3-5 Yuan. Our guide uncharacteristically has been selling the theatre as a cultural event we cannot miss. We want to browse and shop. We want to wander about Xi'an, wander amongst its people and see if our impressions of a cosmopolitan city are correct.

We've mentioned our plans to a few of our group to see if they want to split a cab, and seem to have infected the rest. Few followed us to see the market stalls and we've played it up as a must see. It comes down to a vote. Our guide with great enthusiasm asks who wants to go to the Theatre and only one lone hand raises, which neither of us saw at the time. All hands are raised when the Muslim Quarter is mentioned. So our guide suggests we take the bus. Now we know that 3 cabs would take all of us and cost less than taking the bus. And perhaps he is worried about us wandering off and maybe a few of the group are worried about arranging our own transport, but for whatever reason we agree and we set out as a group. Despite the supervision, we feel empowered, as for once we are setting the agenda, something we never would have considered before.

First we want to hit the malls, if only so I can see the prices that are paid in the real world, as I have more that a sneaking suspicion we haven't been anywhere near reality on the tourist track. The department stores are huge, much like the Ginza in Tokyo with walls of neon and brightly lit walls and displays along the forecourts.
To my surprise, the prices for the western label goods are not cheaper than at home, which makes me wonder how everyone we've seen or met under the age of 30 is wearing some westernised t-shirt or band insignia. But our breakthrough finally occurs in the basement where after wandering through several massive underground shopping corridors, we at long last find a regular supermarket. Yes, the 30 Yuan we've been paying for a bottle of water is a little overpriced, here they are selling cold for 0.9 Yuan. Chips (crisps) are 0.6 Yuan, and it's 1.2 Yuan for the soft drinks we've been shelling out 40 for. We stock up on crisps and various biscuits, chocolate and head off to the Muslim Quarter.

So a word about this, a Muslim quarter in China? Well, the Silk Road extended from Xi'an to Damascus, Jerusalem, Babylon and all of the great trading centres of the era. Through this trade, the great giant did receive some exposure, though some might consider it an inoculation, to western ideas and certainly religious concepts.

As the capital of the time, and the one end of the Silk Road (as well as the 'fur road'), Xi'an developed various foreign communities. (Much like the Dutch settlements in London as it developed its trade routes.) Over the centuries, the foreign communities grew in size, and to some extent introduced their own customs and facilities. Today, Xi'an claims to be the home of 50,000 Muslims, many of whom can trace their history to these original Middle Eastern settlers. At the end of the seedy but probably soon to be revamped and cleared Muslim quarter, is the Great Mosque, still used by the community since 742.

The streets are old but very much alive. There are tourists and locals, and we pass and meet with members of our group while perusing the varieties of foods and tat. We still have our 'needing to be filled' list of gifts that we want to buy for friends and family, and though we already have a small pile of things in our suitcase, this is probably our last chance to scoop up bargains.

On the list was at least one miniature terracotta warrior, specially requested by Lariel's brother, which has to be at least 18 inches, and possibly a smaller one for ourselves. In all of our travels, we've usually bought one Christmas decoration, because we love the thrill each year of opening the boxes and finding these little mementoes of the places we've been together and the ones from our families from before we met. We've also bought ones for friends and this year I want to try something special. I want to buy a series of decorations and give them to each of our family, so that they can all be linked in a way. That when we visit each other's homes, we can see the decoration.

I'm beginning to think that maybe I shouldn't have planned such a series of gifts and based them around a trip to China. I mean, why expect China to have Christmas decorations? And despite all of the thousands of stalls we've been through, we have yet to see a single Christmas decoration in all of China. I've begun to assume this is not going to happen. But there, in the Muslim section of Xi'an, we find the Christmas decorations. There aren't a lot, and many advertise their origin by having pandas and various not-too Christmassy type designs, but we wander about knowing this is the largest variety at the best price we're ever going to find.

One of the reasons we are so sure that this is the bargain centre, is that on the first night here, we'd stopped to examine the mid-sized terracotta warriors. We'd decided on a General for Lariel's brother and we'd learned to distinguish them by their badges and topknots.

The generals of that size had been priced at 380 Yuan at the factory where they were made and the ones in the hotel shop were 340Y. Despite the warnings about cheap knockoffs, we were unable to discern any difference between the one in the stall and the ones in the factory. (Later on, I took the time to compare side by side our purchases with ones in the hotel shop. Weight, serial, detail, apparent materials, they were exactly the same.) So we figured we could get it for a little bit cheaper in the stalls. We pointed to the appropriate item and the vendor pushed out the usual digital calculator and punched in 30Y. Now, you learned quickly that the first offer was to be completely ignored and to counter with an offer of about one tenth their price. From there the two of you could work up to about a third of the original offer. But we were so stunned that the starting bid was less than a tenth of the shop's, we shook our heads, immediately said okay and handed over the money. The warrior was placed in a plywood box tied shut with silk ribbons.

So with that purchase still on our minds, we'd returned with cash and on the hunt.

Soon enough we found the same stall and picked for ourselves an archer, if only because it was one of the few originals in a display case at the Warrior site, that you could look at closely. But when we held the model up, and this was a smaller size than the General, the calculator read 50Y. Well, we were damned if we were going to pay more for the smaller than the larger, so we countered with ten and he angrily put away his calculator. We made to walk away until the counter offer of 30 was heard. We replied with 20, in bills in front of him. He demanded 25 and even though we were now talking of less than a pound we stuck to our 20 and grudgingly another plywood box was brought out.

Our big regret was that we didn't buy more chopsticks. They were lovely things, in sets of two, four and six. In beautiful faux hardwood cases, complete with chopstick rests and with a variety of designs painted on them. At the prices they were going for, we could have bought several for all our friends. But the very fact that they were so inexpensive made us worry that they had some major flaw. That the painting might rub off or they could be cheap in some fashion we couldn't see. So we bought one set, with little painted ducks to rest them on, and joked at how from now on we'd go into restaurants and pull out our case of personal sticks, like we were Minnesota Fats with his personal cue stick.

After venturing into the darkest alleys of the Quarter, we realised that we were not going to see anymore Christmas decorations and Lariel was feeling a bit woozy, I assumed from the stench of urine that pervaded those same back alleys. We returned to a stand we'd passed a while before and chose a box of decorations. Each quite small, but individually decorated and small enough to ship easily.

We caught up with a few members of the group and made our way back to the bus and waiting driver. One last look at the magnificent tower, the kites being flown even in the night time, the smiling crowds with nothing but the best peaceful intentions, and regretfully boarded to go back to the hotel.

That night we returned to the bar with the group and enjoyed talking about the trip and our reflections, As we were readying to leave, the bar staff present us with beautiful imitation glass key chains, with etchings of the warriors and the tomb minutely inscribed inside. They are lovely and we cannot believe how our opinions of China and this trip have improved with every moment in this city.

But how fair is that? The Mayor of Montreal, Jean Drapeau, once said that he was not upset that after 200 years, Montreal had been eclipsed as the largest city in Canada by Toronto. He said that Montreal would be the Rome to Toronto's Milan. Maybe Xi'an is the Montreal and Rome of China. Chonqing and Beijing are the Toronto and Milan. So perhaps it isn't fair to prefer Xi'an when I love Montreal. But what I think doesn't matter. Milan and Rome, Toronto and Montreal have centuries old rivalries, based on history and finance. It has made them what they are and they appeal to different people. Though the dangers of disagreements between Xi'an and Beijing might have larger consequences, as one chafes under the other's reputation or power, it will still shape them, for better or worse.

Day 11

Our last day in Xi'an and close to the end of the trip. Lariel slept poorly, so I leave her to sleep while I wash and dress. Next, into the floor lobby with my notes to enjoy what are clearly going to be the last of my indoor cigarettes. I'm getting low so it looks a good excuse for a walk and a trip to one of the local non-tourist shops to see what tobacco actually costs. As always, the elevator is filled with people heading down to breakfast, so once again I walk the flights down, with the movement sensors setting off lights irregularly all the way down. I wander just enough off the main route to find a tobacco shop for locals and yes, cigarettes are under a dollar a pack, even less if you want to risk your life even further by buying locally made ones.

After another buffet breakfast, we gather in the lobby, wend our way to our bus, the Provincial History Museum, and then our last major site, the Yangling Tombs.

Our guide tells us that while building the road to the airport a few years ago, they cut between the tombs of a Han Emperor and his Empress. (The only case of separate tombs for spouses.) The road crews discovered that like the First Emperor, the grounds underneath and between the tombs were populated. This time by thousands of ¼ sized men and ½ sized animals.

This museum was still unfinished, no doubt rushing to be completed in time for the Olympics and possibly for that reason almost empty. If that is the case, I pity the crowds that will not have the experience we did, finally wandering about a site in quiet and peace. I found it to be very much like the purported Philip the Great's tomb in Vergina, Greece.

Like the Warriors, the exterior is simply a concrete shell encasing the main dig. To get inside, you must put plastic slippers over your shoes, and the dim lighting creates an atmosphere of respect that has been lacking in all our experiences until now. The excavations are shielded with glass walls, but they are both horizontal and vertical. You can walk right up to, or stand on top of the various trenches and be only inches away from the naked men, pots and hundreds of imitation domesticated animals. All of the signs were in at least three languages. (Apparently, The Chinese have for some reason gone back to the 19th century and decided that French is still the second language (lingua Franca, right?) and the international language of diplomacy, so it is included with English.)

A nice touch was that there were photos of the team that had worked on the project, large group photos of a mixed age group, smiling and laughing. The recognition for a job well done. Recognition, not piles of money or patronage from the Emperor or the Chairman. A job well done, one the country can be proud of. Something that seems rare in any country nowadays, much less modern urban China. Definitely worth seeing, and I might have enjoyed it more, had Lariel not taken ill.

It had begun as a small cough while we had wandered about the day before. When we arrived at the Provincial History Museum, she begged off to lie down in the back seats of the bus. Worried, I blew off the Museum, and stayed with her. She insisted that she wasn't going to let her being ill ruin the trip for both of us, and I did want to see the Yangling Tombs. Despite a bit of guilt, I was glad that I did. But in her misery, nothing of what I described of the exhibits was sufficient to drag her out of her foetal position to take a look. The group was sympathetic, but like any good horror movie, we were also thinking; was it contagious, was she only the first?

My beloved lighter ran out of fuel that night and I was forced to purchase one if I was going to enjoy my last few cigarettes in this Ciggy smokers people's paradise. Out of a pile in our last restaurant, I grabbed another butane one; it has Mao's face and a small inset of his tomb and annoyingly plays The East is Red whenever you open it.

The biggest worry for both of us is how she is going to handle the flight back to Beijing. This was a real fear and it gnawed at us both as we waited in the Xi'an airport.

One of the worst experiences she had ever had, or at least while I've known her - and considering all she's had to put up with me, I assume that makes it the worst - was a flight to Canada a few years ago. I'd picked up a bad stomach flu from one of my patients just before we'd left for the trip, and was just getting over it on the day we were to leave. Because of a ticket cancellation, we were bumped up to first class in apology and in our usual casual wear looked the part of underclass interlopers in the rarefied upper class boardroom atmosphere. We ignored the patronising looks and settled in to enjoy the perks. Now if you've ever seen A Fish Called Wanda, you must realise that embarrassment is the greatest torture for a Brit. So you can imagine, having been only grudgingly allowed into First Class, how Lariel felt when with little warning, the stomach bug hit her, and her vomit seemed to hit every nook and cranny on the plane. The starched and very elegant lady in the seat ahead of her must have felt she had died and gone to Hell when Lariel's completely unexpected blast whooshed through the gap in the seats, hitting both their companions with still enough velocity to smash into the seats in front of them and rebound into their laps again. We discovered that the airsick bags provided were not only not large enough, but the acidic contents of the vomit ate right through them. Lariel was immediately removed to a small staff quarter on the plane, where she sat looking as ashamed and unhappy as any animal I have ever seen.

This was not something we wanted to repeat. Sadly, she did, although thankfully without the sheer drama of the Canadian version. The ability to learn being a wonderful thing, she'd reserved a plastic bag especially for the occasion, having vowed never to trust airline sick bags again.

When we arrived in Beijing, she was barely awake and wanting to lie down, so our last full night in China was spent in our room in the Dongfang, in single beds once again, as we'd failed to press our case at the desk when the assignments were being made. Oh well, if another couple in our group got our double beds, they were most likely going to enjoy them more than we would.

Day 12

One last fabulous breakfast at the Dongfang with the group. I grabbed a few basics, toast, tea and some fruit to take up to her, but all she had were apologies 'for ruining' our vacation. I tried to ignore this delirium. The rest of the day was a blur. We'd finally found a place we wanted to stay and explore but it was miles away and behind us. Also, we're sad as we don't really want to leave the people who had shared so much with us. Lariel is sick, chances are that I am coming down with it, and we face the 11 hour flight back in what we knew was going to be a hard and cramped trip.

In my obsessive way, or just to drive Lariel insane, I always break each step of the journey into sections, or legs. This time I work out that there are more than dozen, many of which my poor darling is going to have to push herself to the limit to make it through, especially at the other end. So we're not looking forward to any of this part of the trip.

At the airport we say a quick goodbye to our tour guide and feeling slightly abandoned, make our way to the various security checks. Once again, we have to arrange ourselves in the order of our visa, but this time we arrange to board the plane in a group to sit together, a reflection of the experiences we've shared. Lariel is still not at all well, but aside from a few white faces, the rest seem to have avoided catching what she has.

Amazingly, Air China shows the identical exact same choice of films and a handful of television shows. Total time of the films and shows, six hours. Even if we had somehow missed these wonderful selections or Meg Ryan's surgery, that still leaves five hours of either nothing to do in my case, or focus on not being sick, in Lariel's. After I finish both of my books, I work through an idea I had for a story taking place in the City of Ghosts. Of course, it seems brilliant to me as I sketch it out in my notebook and mind, but getting half the ideas onto the page with my inadequate skill is as always, the real challenge.

We finally arrive, exhausted, sick and tired and there are still several legs to go. We hug and exchange last handshakes and business cards about the luggage carousel, and drag our luggage to the airport bus. After 30 minutes, we are taken to our poor abandoned car, which welcomes us with its blinking lights like a faithful dog wagging its tail. Then, Lariel, because I am too much of a wuss to pass my British driving test, has to drive the 90 minutes in the dark, as sick as she was. We arrive completely shattered. We now need a vacation from our vacation.

Our suitcase is filled with souvenirs. I think I have about half dozen for my daughter alone, not counting the brochures and photos we took of costumes for her growing theatre arts portfolio.

As for that vacation we need, sure enough, I come down with her flu and we spend most of the next few days at home, sick as dogs. A final tip, if an obvious one: If you take a trip such as this, do NOT plan to head into the office the next day. As it was, Lariel tried to go to work after only two days, and ended up back in bed for a week.

So, the trip now over, back on our feet and going through the many impressions, we tried to answer some of the questions that we have been asked.

From our friends and family, and to those who might be planning such a journey in the future, the obvious question is: Did you enjoy the trip?

Well, obviously yes. In the final analysis, it was the experience of a lifetime, and if we had the cash, we might go back, especially now that we have a better idea of what we'd want to see, and a better knowledge of China. But with all of the places in the world that we still haven't been to, it would never be on the top of our list.
Between the to of us, we've only visited only about 20 countries, and almost all have been in the northern hemisphere. With the exception of time in Xi'an, almost all of our hosts were more welcoming, friendlier and open than those in China. Not a surprise for what is still a very closed society at some levels, but still a warning to the next group to follow. As for China, it was in many ways a disappointment. We certainly do not regret going, but throughout the trip, there was always a sense that it could have, should have been better. Perhaps this is normal for a group tour, and despite the enormous support and pleasure we had from the group we were lucky enough to travel with, despite the enormous complications of travelling in China without recognised tour group sponsoring you, we wouldn't do it again. It was too confining, though that was the intent of our hosts.

Does China really want tourists? Of course they do. Aside from bringing in fresh, unloaned cash, tourism has become the largest income earner for several countries, worth trillions. And the tourists themselves are hardly a threat to the government's rule. No country ever feels inferior to tourists. There may be resentment, but considering the general lot of people who travel; overweight, ignorant types like us, no one could fail to feel superior.

To those people who are protesting China's actions: does it help or hinder? Well, if you're foolish enough to trust the opinions of someone who has only toured China for a few weeks, you deserve our ignorant answers. Do we think protest makes China more alienated? Well, yes, of course. But the longer answer is that it will only slightly influence the final outcome. China's future will be decided by the provinces and how Beijing reacts. Their danger is not the world outside, but a Communist party that is so separated from the people.

But if you must protest, stop referring to China in your placards. Take a leaf from diplomats of years gone by of the right and left and call it The Beijing Government. China is a rich mosaic, and yes, every time an ignorant westerner blasts 'China' they push that mosaic together against a common insult, never the best reason to bring people together. But that mosaic, the provinces and the ethnic minorities, have needs and aspirations which conflict with the Communist party. Mao once said 'The people are like the water and the army is like the fish.' Well, the Communist Party as far as we could see, has as much connection with the people, especially the younger generation, as a fish on dry land now. And that must scare them. Most people in China are rightly terrified about a civil war, and are willing to put up with some terrible conditions and opinions to preserve peace. Who could blame them? But China could have Civil War, and not because of some paltry protests about Tibet, but because it seems to be ruled by mainly Northern, Beijing-centred old men who distrust and dislike the peoples of the provinces, be they west or south. And they are handing out power to money-makers, most with no interest in or concept of duty, nation, consequences or morality. Capitalists who are building with no controls, no restriction in unfettered greed. The sort that a hundred years ago had children in mines and no safety inspections. Or, as we would see a few months after our return, the sort who would build schools out of poor quality concrete incapable of withstanding an earthquake.We can complain about the standards and safety regulations of our jobs, but we do know we have moved on from treating human labour as fodder. It took centuries for us to get that, and the Chinese are ignoring these facts because of what they see as self-interest. 3800 people died in China's mines last year and that is the stat that we're allowed to see. The big question for China's future is: can the government give up more power, particularly economic power, and hold onto authority? And if it doesn't, and the economy collapses due to failed long term ignorant planning, can they survive?

And finally? To those Chinese attacking the western media for its lack of balance, frightened they want to destroy your country. Who feel, quite rightly, that they are being unfairly criticised. Just because you're right, doesn't mean you're asking the right questions. The Communist Party does not have a sterling record in dealing with protest. They have casually labelled any rally as an attack on the state. It's not. It still takes huge courage to protest in today's China, especially when more blood is shed every month. But the student protests that were crushed in Tiananmen Square occurred in the heart of Beijing, the power centre, where tanks could roll right in, where it could be controlled. But what happens when it happens out in the provinces, somewhere it can be less closely controlled? What happens when people have had enough of being forced into the cities, or the next natural disaster to occur in the provinces is mishandled by the central government? Or when the Yangse becomes so polluted that it can't sustain a population any more? Those are the real dangers to Chinese unity, and they are all within.

As I said before, we're tourists. We come to admire the scenery and peruse the history. And that is something that China has, to such an extent and breadth that it would be hard to compare to any other. But it's hard to ignore the modern China, too and in the end, we found that the brash cult of the modern blcoked our view of the old culture somewhat. A pity, but it is fascinating to see a country in transition.

Part 1 - From Beijing to Yichang | Part 2 - The Great River - Travels Along The Yangtze | Part 3 - Xian and the Terracotta Warriors