Xian to Shanghai

I woke up and headed down to the hostel restaurant for breakfast. For four bucks I got eggs, toast, bacon, sausage, hashbrown. It was good, it was cheap, and it was near a plug socket where I could hook up my laptop and check my email.

In only one day away from the web I had a substantial amount of messages to deal with. Most of these were from the Aussies and Kiwi that I'd be meeting up with in a months time. Getting that set up seemed a high priority.

E-mail taken care of, I packed my gear, and checked out of the hostel. Still – I would sit in that booth by the electrical socket for the next great number of hours. The guy from yesterday came by, and we chatted for a long while – and someone he knew dropped by after that. He had a laptop, and I was able to pick up the Usual Suspects from him. It's high time I watch that. I grabbed Boondock Saints too (again, I need to see that I'm told.) Lastly I picked up Ip man. Apparently this is wonderful and all should watch it. Who am I to argue with that?

Anchorman may have also made its way to my datastick.

At some point I realized that I needed an ice cream. One of the ice cream bars with raisins in them. This may sound odd, but it's quite a good fit. It's basically a frozen bar of yogurt covered raisins, and it's wonderful! I want more. And for one yuan? Yesterday they cost two. Which means I was screwed yesterday. Still – this left me with an extra to buy that frozen corn thing I'd seen in the freezer since getting to China.

I wondered what it was – was it just frozen corn?

No. It was not, I discovered. It was far stranger, and far more terrible. It was cream corn flavoured ice cream, surrounded by ice cream cone, imprinted with corn patterns. It was so terrible that I couldn't bring myself to finish it. I finish many things for the simple reason that I feel I must.

While the drunk guys outside the hostel playing checkers with hockey pucks may have liked it or the small newborn kitties that roam the hostel grounds, I knew that it was far too awful to subject anyone to. And so it was dropped in the garbage (you can tell it's for garbage and not recycling as the three recycle arrows have decided they're no longer friends, and refuse to face one another.

I pointed out to the guy across from me that there is no way his camera could take two hundred pictures, as he claimed it did. He just bought a film based camera. He showed me the film – 200 it read. I pointed out that was the iso, and that it only took 36 shots. But he'd taken so many, he said. And to prove it he opened the back. I may have screamed in terror at that. But no, it was fine – because the film hadn't been threaded through. So while the film wasn't ruined no shots had been taken.

I threaded it for him, and then took off to take the 603 bus to the train station. On my way out I saw a sad little book exchange. Three English books were on it – Richard Branson's Business Techniques, Sophie's World (read it in Italy), and a book from the Wheel of Time series. Book Four of Eleven, I think it said. Ugh. I hate fantasy. Sure I dug LotR but that was different, wasn't it? Still – 1000 pages. And I was running low on books. And this cryptic Jewish self-help book I've been reading isn't all that magical. So who was I to turn my nose up at anything?

The dude whose camera was now working offered me a novel called Vlad (historical fiction about the “real Dracula”) in exchange for How to Lose Friends and Alienate people. Then, leaving, I grabbed the business book too. You never know.

So with four new texts for the reading, I am secure in my ability to not go insane from lack of reading any time soon. And it was getting quite close too.

One hard stop on the bus, leading me to stomp on some poor guys foot, and I was at the train station. This one did have a soft seat waiting room, and beside the seat was a plug socket. And it was because of that that I was able to type up today and yesterday's post. Heck I could probably predict the future – I boarded the train, and read more of the terrible self help fiction book before finally giving up and falling asleep – but why predict? Who knows. Maybe something AMAZING will happen.

So for now, I pause.

I really need to write that Great Wall entry. It's the only missing link left.

But the Talking Heads album is about to end, and I'm not in the writing mood any more, so best to just take a wee break. That's what Professor Parker would order.

Oh what the hell is this?! A little girl is being held, no pants, above a spread out news paper over the floor. Two Chinese women hold her on one side, and another holds her sitting on my bed. I did not pay the soft seat premium for this. I throw my bag onto my bed so that there's no room for the lady to sit back down on my side once I move. I also throw it there because I can't can't put it under the bed as that would mean rolling over the little girls paper training area.

Now that I'm here they put a plastic bag under her as well, and feed her juice. What the bloody hell is going on here? Is it supposed to be a clear stream. Well I can't look anywhere but at my computer screen, but there is no battery power to really keep this up for long. On top of that – what the hell is going on here?!

Look, cultural whatever and all that. I'm down with kids peeing in streets – fine – but in a train? In my train car?! Held over some bloody spread out news paper?! No – this is not o.k. Well I guess she just doesn't have to go. Great. This may be a long trip.

And now I'm in a room down the hall. The woman who was sitting on my bed must have ran around trying to find someone who spoke English and finally found one. He asked me if I'd trade places. I did not want to. I had my sweet lower bunk and that was great. But, after being asked again - “she has a child.” (look I'm not a terrible person, but so what? I have my seat. I bought it yesterday. Surely she could have bought it a day earlier and got the whole room to herself.) I finally gave in. Whatever. No sense being hated for twelve hours. I'm now on the top bunk, not the super sweet sofa bottom bunk that I bought.

Did I do a straight across trade? No. I did insist on the twenty one yen difference. Fair is fair after all. And now I'm in a room with loud Chinese men, who probably snore, and who seem to insist on closing the door, trapping all the heat in and allowing no flow through.

I miss my bottom bunk. And all my gear doesn't fit in the shelf, as I got here late not expecting to be in this room. But fine, very well, mother and daughter together (not the baby – oh no – it's some eleven year old. I wouldn't want her with these creepy old men either, but still...)

And why insist on the 21 yen? Because I was originally offered a trade for a hard sleeper, or something – all I'm saying is I'm not trading my 500Y ticket for a 340Y ticket. That's not smart.

And in case anything does go down I still have my original to hold on to.

Ugh. Good-bye lovely lower seat, hello top bunk again. Whatever. That's almost a McDonald's meal when I get to Shanghai. And really, I'd have taken a hard sleeper if I could. It's just irksome is all.

So who woulda guessed it? Stuff did happen. And from that point on, all I had to do was sleep amongst three Snorflogs, and one female train employee who kept coming in to snuggle with one of them. Weird.

Oh – it's also of note that I finished “The Traveller's Gift.” The terrible book where self help and god become fiction. The author had the audacity to put words into Anne Frank's mouth but didn't stop there. Nope he knows what Archangel Gabriel thinks too. It was just awful. I am thankful for having it. I needed something to read. And I feel I spared my Beijing host from the pain of going through it.

Here's what really bothered me though – he tips off people about things when he's travelling in the past. Lets folks know who wins the civil war and what not. But not once does he say, “By the way Mr. Lincoln, you probably don't wanna go to the theatre anymore.” And Anne? he couldn't have tipped her off? Honestly? Couldn't have said – hey, maybe this day coming up soon, you wanna risk being out on the streets?

All the moral brainwashing, and heavy handed cliches compare nothing to these flaws. Ohh except for where he says that Anne is the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, next to his own daughter. The thing is, Anne was not attractive. Just because she was killed in the holocaust does not make you beautiful or a hero. Yes she was brave, but brave due to circumstances. Do you know how many people died during the holocaust? Are they all heroes? No. A good number were criminals. A number of them became thieves and rapists once they entered the camps. It doesn't make you a hero.

Look – you could call her an influential person, and you'd get no argument from me – but... ugh. Never mind. I probably come off sounding antisemitic now, not that I've said anything to that effect, but... just let it pass. Do yourself a favour, don't read this book. And never mind that some of the self help sections struck a cord and area being considered by me. God I hate that it worked.

Anyway – I'm reading a book on Richard Branson's business style now, so off I go.

Entry 300: The Terracotta Warrirors

Not that it means anything, but this is my three hundredth entry since I started this trip way back when. Don't let that fool you into thinking it's day three hundred though – some days got more than one.

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251 – day two hundred and fifty one. Wow. How did I end up with three hundred entries in only two hundred and fifty one days?

RIGHT! All those wrap up entries I used to write where I broke down my week into best ofs, and people I met, and all that jazz. Yeah, that stopped pretty early on didn't it? it was never a good idea – and I'm glad that it has faded beyond my memory.

Well then – day two hundred and fifty one. That means yesterday was day two fifty (provided my calculations make any sense at all, and that I really did start my trip on September second.)

I'll have to check that out – surely that information is contained somewhere. Not on anything I have on me at the moment, mind you – and checking my early entries I didn't seem to make records of that then either. But, you know, in an email I'll have information about my Iceland flight, and that date will tell me what I need to know.

So, today, I rolled out of bed. Well, I didn't really roll out of bed. If I did, it would have hurt. A lot. I would have fallen down from the top bunk to the small area between the two bunks. I got out of bed via a little foot rest that pulls out of the wall and acts like a ladder. Once out of bed, I grabbed my gear and headed out to the platform to meet the people from my hostel ready to pick me up.

Now, what I could have done – should have done – was see the person holding a sign with my name on it, and go talk to them. But that wouldn't have worked out in my favour, so what I did was walk right by them and head to the ticket counter. Three failed starts later, and I was in a good line. Line one failed as – I don't know, it said ticket office? But they sent me down the line. Line two was for platform tickets, apparently. I do not know what that is. Line three, I got all the way to the front before a girl put up a line closed sign. But then – then – I was in a good line, and I was able to ask for a ticket to Shanghai for tomorrow afternoon.

Once more I was told there were no hard sleepers or seats, and that I would have to take a soft sleeper. I think I'm starting to see what's going on here (as I've met people who booked hard seats and sleepers after I did.) I think that they see white travellers and think – this guy can afford it, leaving space open for the Chinese travellers.

Now if that is what happens, I can hardly fault them. After all, what's forty dollars? It's a bloody video game when I get home, or two if they're Lego games (and my lord are those some sweet as – spelling is correct here – games.)

Still, with the train leaving the next day, and me aboard it, I can't complain all that much. I was worried I'd need to spend an extra day in the city, and that would mess up my hostel booking over in Shanghai.

With ticket now in hand, I headed back to the girls holding my name and let them lead me to a group of others waiting to take the free transfer to the hostel. [authors note: it strikes me that I have a ticket for a free beer in my pocket that I forgot all about... the beers are 10yuan (a buck sixty?) now that may not sound like a lot. But the hostel itself was only 20yuan for the night – so had I drank the beer that would have been half the price recouped. Man, this is why they say China is cheap to travel – it's practically free to sleep here. I'm sad about that unused beer.]

For what it's worth I wasn't the last to join the waiting group, so I didn't waste any time. In fact I used the time I was given wisely. Not that I knew that jumping from line to line waiting to book my ticket.

In the minibus I started talking to some folks, and learned that they booked their hard seat after I booked my soft sleeper on the train from Beijing to Xi'an. More evidence about the selling tactics.

I was thinking of how wonderful a shower, after so long on a train, would be. But as soon as I checked into the hostel, 9:15, I noticed a tour headed to the Terracotta Warriors that was to leave at 9:30. Terrible! I purchased a ticket, threw my stuff in my room, and headed back down just in time to jump on the minibus.

The tour ran just about forty dollars, and while I knew I could do it cheaper on my own, I wasn't sure if I'd be active enough to do it, or if I'd just be lazy. So, not taking chances – I came here to see these things after all – I headed out.

There were more stops than just the warriors and we would explore them all. Stop the first was the Bampo museum, which was a building built around an old settlement where holes and pits in the ground showed where the buildings once stood many many centuries past. There were also clay fragments, and pots which once contained the dead, buried within.

An old kiln dug out of the earth showed how the clay items were made and fired, and a final room held the remains of some of the one-time residents.

More than any of the things within the museum, I found the museum itself of interest. Here they did not bring the artifacts to a building to be shown off, but rather they built the building around the settlement. There would be no taking artifacts piece by piece, instead we were tourists allowed to walk around in, what is essentially, an ongoing archaeological dig.

From there we headed to a clay workshop where reproductions of the terracotta warriors were made, and fired, and painted. I learned long ago that these “factories” claiming to offer good prices offered anything but. Things which sold here for eighty yuan could be purchased for ten outside the museum. Well, they could probably have been purchased two for ten, or cheaper – but I settled on ten.

Still, out front there was a half warrior without its head that you were meant to kneel on and take a picture of. An advanced hole in cardboard, is what it was. And good fun too. Unfortunately I didn't take a picture of myself as the emperor. But to be fair, I thought it was a woman at first. No more on that.

Inside the selling room I was followed by the female employee like I have not been since I was sixteen. Just like those times when trench coat wearing me led Zellers employees through a maze of criss crossing aisles, I did the same with her. Step one to see if you're being followed, make four left turns in a row. Yup, I had her hooked. For the next five minutes I just crisscrossed around looking at nothing in particular. Just seeing if she'd stay behind me. Finally she approached, fearful of my potential thieving ways, I guess, and asked if I wanted to buy anything. I said no – I couldn't carry it. Without joking she said if I bought the life sized warriors (there are some in Pacific Mall in Markham, by the by, hidden away at the back of the food court near the magic couch) they would ship in home free. This warrior was just under ten thousand dollars.

After that I headed off walking some more, and still she followed. There were all number of other people here that could have been pocketing goods. Finally she came up to me saying, “the exit is over there.” Fine – alright. I'll let her relax. Out I went.

What made me the one most likely to rob the clay workshop? I mean honestly -

Then we went to a museum that recreates the first emperor of China's tomb. The real one was a mound that could be seen from the road. It is the largest tomb in the world apparently. And, it is said, that it can not be excavated for two reasons. None of which are for respect of the emperor, mind you. One is that there are Indiana Jones styled booby traps – cross bows waiting to fire. And the other is that the coffin rests in a pool of Mercury, said to represent the two powerful rivers in China.

I find both of these things hard to believe – but then this guy did have workers taken from all over the new China that he unified, and forced them to make thousands of individual warriors out of clay – so, really, anything is possible.

Still – robots could go in and check things out, strap a camera to them, modify a bomb disposal droid. Err... drone. And all will be well.

Here inside the 1970s sex party-esque room (Christmas cord lights, and flashing neons everywhere, I guess being the sun and stars?) we could see what it looks like. Which begs the question – who got in there to see if it's so dangerous? But never mind that.

Because now we were off to see the museum. Right after lunch. Which we all rebelled against, and did not have. So straight to see the Terracotta warriors. This was what we had all come to see. This was the reason that we were all in Xi'an. This is the reason everyone comes to Xi'an.

We toured from pit II, to III, to I. Pit one is the biggest, and better left until the end, else the others will be even more disappointing that they actually are. First in pit II we saw aisles where the warriors would be assumed to rest. However, fires caused the roofs over the warriors to collapse, and thus they were destroyed. Basically this room is over looking a few shattered warriors, and a number of covered halls. If you really want to break it down, you're looking at a room of clay speed bumps. This is all. Keep moving.

Pit III held some artifacts in cases, and that was the most impressive area. You could get up close and see the detail and strands of hair, and various armour styles that went into each piece. No two warriors look alike. Each is a different height, and weight. Their clothes are not the same as others. They are unique as two people. And it is here that you can see it. Still, in the pit itself is mostly broken fragments. On to pit I.

Walking in you will first notice that you can not see over the edge, as it is blocked by hundreds of people all trying to get a good look. And most of these people are Chinese, which means if you wait your turn you'll never get anywhere. They have no problem shoving in front of you. This means just one thing – elbows out!

Push your way to the edge by any means. That old woman you shoved aside, don't feel guilty, in just a few seconds she'll be throwing fists at your skull, and if you stand your ground to that, she'll respect you. It's the Chinese way. That's what I've gathered anyway. Heck, why not hork up some flem and spit at her feet just for good measure. Show her you know the ropes here. Start acting like a local.

Finally once you have your position at the front you will look forward at what is said to be the most spectacular thing in all of China. I've read that visiting China and not seeing them is like visiting Egypt and not seeing the pyramids. Not that this makes any sense. More logically it would be not seeing the Great Wall that would be analogous, but even that fails as there are so many different things in China, and as a country it is far too big – whereas most people going to Egypt simply go to Cairo, and that's that. Still – the point is, well I'll get to it.

So there you are looking down at the warriors. A good fifteen hundred or so of them. My first thought? Huh – is that all?

Look, I know I come off jaded some times. I took a lot of flack for not visiting the Louvre (it's just an art gallery – who cares) when i was in Paris. But it's not that things don't impress me. Impressive things impress me.

This? This was looking down on a bunch of store mannequins. Yes the mannequins in Xi'an are modeled after the warriors. You're high above, and they do not stretch on forever as television has led me to believe. I'm part of the problem – I took photos that framed it to make them seem endless. Thousands strong, a full army. But they are not. There are a few of them standing together, looking wholly unimpressive.

And then you must fight your way through more crowds to walk around to the back where a few more stand, and workers glue pieces together still creating more. But – that's it. It's not this never ending expanse nor is it something that will change your life and make you shrink back in awe – the way the Great Wall did for me.) It's just a bunch of white statues.

White – because the Chinese up them up without caring for the process, and within three days the brilliant colours of paint that covered and detailed each piece – lasting two thousands years undisturbed – faded to nothing.

i know I should be saying how great they are, and how everyone should see them. But that's just not the way they struck me. I talked to others, and they were equally unimpressed. This site had been so built up by everything that there was just no way that it could possibly deliver.

Now, let me tell you why it is impressive. Logically I know I should be wowed, but my heard cares not for logic.

Each warrior was made individually, sculpted to be unique. This is very impressive. And it required a force of workers stolen from their homes and forced to work on them for the rest of their lives (they were buried alive at the completion of the process so that none could reveal the location of this underground army. Not that it helped – it was found and burned not long after it was completed.) It took years to complete, and was ordered by China's first emperor (a not so nice guy who unified the six kingdoms through the most terrible of ways) and once more the museum was built around the site, rather than the artifacts being moved.

I couldn't help but think that Katherine would have enjoyed this – being interested in museums, and their architecture. And I did enjoy the buildings – but...

Were you allowed to walk amongst them, and see them from the first person perspective, rather than over head, they may have looked endless, their scale, scope, and awe may have come across. Surely we can't have people walk by such things, you think. But you are wrong. I could have thrown objects and smashed them. The danger exists for destruction here. All that would need to be done is to build glass/plastic halls that walk amongst the statues, much like at an aquarium.

Yes, that's a good analogy. Imagine an aquarium containing some of the most impressive fish in the world – but you are only allowed to watch from the top of the tank. Sure you'd see the fish – but would it really be the same as walking through the tunnels that put you amongst them? Would it be the same as watching from underwater level through large windows? It would not.

Terracotta warriors. Yes – they're impressive. Yes, I'm glad I saw them. But do you need to?

No.

And that's the way it is.

The tour continued on for half of us – taking them to some hot springs. I'd seen hot springs and decided not to spend one hundred more to check them out. For forty minutes I waited in the car with two other travellers, and we chatted about our journeys. They told me that you could just walk up to the Shanghai Expo entrance and buy tickets to get in there. It has been decided, if that is fact, that I will go to the expo. My time was best spent in the car, I do believe.

Back at the hostel I spent an hour resting and chattin' with a guy in my room. From Van City as a youth, he now lives in England. We talked hockey, and I informed him as a Torontonian I can not wish good things upon the Canucks as they continue through the playoffs.

Then, as the sun fell, I headed back outside to wander past the bell tower, the drum tower, and the Muslim quarter. Once more, little children were encouraged to pee in the middle of the street.

The bright lights and the city once more brought me to a feeling that I was where I was supposed to be. After many nights out of a city centre it was wonderful to be back out at night, secure that I'll get safely home when I need to.

After spending some time wandering, reading, enjoying the warm night, and having a mother take a picture of me with her baby (this doesn't even phase me anymore) I headed back with all intents to grab a drink at the bar with the guy I'd met earlier – but at 9pm, resting on my bed, that was it. I was out. Time for sleep.

It had been a good, well used, twelve hour day.

Off To Xian

As part of my resolve to wash my hands of Beijing, I didn't take this day to explore. But again, not because I don't love the city, but because I have so many things to do. Today was a – shudder – planning day.

I know I've been doing this for eight months now (longer if you count before I left) but I still get nervous when I book flights, and such. Not as bad as it used to be – but that irrational fear that I might book it for the wrong day, or year, or whatever still haunts me. It's hard to spend hundreds of dollars in one go for something intangible (the promise of a flight later on down the road) and just be cool with it.

But that's what I had to do today, and it took hours. I woke up at eight, and then was finally done at 11. Sure there was half an hour of magical free long distance phone calling, but that was it.

What did I need to book? More than I got done, unfortunately – but I have some more stops to do the rest. There was a printer here, and that made it a crucial place to get things going. New Zealand was on the docket. And it took care of itself in some marvelous ways.

I now have a flight in, a place to stay in Auckland, a bus to Wellington (where I confirmed I could stay with a buddy of mine), a flight from Wellington to Queenstown – as it was cheaper than the ferry ordeal... well, close to it, for the distance I want to cover and my time frame – and then a bus to Christchurch, as well as hostels for both those places. I then figured out my flight from Christchurch to Melbourne, and arranged for my Australian visa-ish thing. Not to mention I had to plot out the cheapest ways to traverse New Zealand and then bridge to Australia.

But – yawn – I'm done now, and it seems so much simpler after every thing's planned, printed, and pasted in my book of future travel stuff.

I still need to figure out Australia, and then plot my way to Buffalo in America, where the final stretch of this trip will take place. And – while, yes it is America, it should be a good one. Road Tripping, here I come.

So – planning done I killed time until noon when I could call my mom and wish her a Happy Mother's Day (just flipping past midnight her time). And with that done – I wouldn't want to call while it was still May 8th there, never mind that it's the 9th here – I was treated to a lovely lunch.

One of my host's Chinese friends was here and he cooked up a storm. A tasty delicious storm of stormy goodness.

He also taught me a few things about the written language. I keep trying to pick up pieces of it wherever I can. The more you know, and all that. Also, as I want to learn Japanese, this helps. The characters are the same, though they are pronounced in different ways.

Now I'm just writing emails, surfing some internets, and running down the clock . At five in the afternoon, I'll head to a taxi downstairs, get a ride to the train station, and then spend three hours there waiting for my train to come. Apparently I have a soft sleeper for this trip (that was what the woman at the station, the words of which I could not make out, must have said. She must have said only Soft Sleepers were left.) So I will have a tv in my room. Look the hard sleeper was good enough, this soft one sounds creepy and weird. But there is said to be a better waiting room, and perhaps a plug socket for every bed? If that's the case I'll perhaps get caught up on blog writing – that Great Wall entry you've read? It's not yet written.

Out of order blogging! Crazy!

Well that's that. Time to wait for the train.

Well, there was no lovely seating area – that would have cost extra. But I did discover that for less than a dollar I could get five McNuggets. Many McNuggets were devoured, as was a strawberry sundae. The McIce Cream tastes different and better, over here. I recommend it. I know, I know – more McFood – but it's cheap, and it's there. I had a beef bowl (rice and beef) as well, see so that counts.

On the train I finished reading “Can You Keep a Secret.” Indeed that is another novel by the Shopaholic author (different character) – this book didn't make me angry like the others one do, however, as this character isn't a complete and utter screw up. This one you feel sorry for, and doesn't deserve all the terrible things that happen to her.

With that book done, I was down to one more that I had just picked up from the person whom I was staying with in Beijing. Let me break it down for you – it's about someone who loses their job, and travels back in time meeting up with famous people throughout history. Heroes such as, Harry Truman, King Solomon, and Anne Frank. Uh huh. Anne Frank the hero. Not Anne Frank the annoying little girl who steals boys from her sister and is an all around pain – but because she died during the holocaust and happened to write a book (many people who died during the holocaust wrote books – in fact Anne knew her book was going to be published while she was writing it – that's why she wrote and re-wrote various entries) she is a hero. Don't get me wrong, she's a good character, and had a hard life – but hero? Like Harry Truman (wait why's he a hero?) and King Solomon (uhh... pattern...)

The book itself is painfully written, but it's all I have so I press on. But it's so awful, and laden with religious BS with the dad telling his family they'll make it, and a tear falling by his cheek when he noticed it was 12:01am and that he'd just missed his daughters birthday by being at work and blah blah blah... I tell you, it's as if it were written by the authors of The Watchtower – or whatever the Jewish equivalent of that is.

And having Harry Truman appear as if he was making a good and noble decision for the betterment of all, before eradicating the lives of hundreds of thousands of innocent civilians – well that was too much.

Still, read on I will. I want to see how he's going to deal with the fact that he has to tell Anne she's gonna die – or if she'll 'already know,' and that she must just, 'be strong.'

I also wonder if he'll run into her in the camps, or in the annex.

Well time will tell.

And the book could only annoy me for so long, as – after a pleasant chat with an Australian couple sharing my car – a Chinese man came in, lay in his bed, and promptly started to snore.

All through the night.

Curse you Snorflog! Curse you!