Great Leap Northward IV – I left it behind through carelessness

Greetings from two tired travellers,

Today for my birthday we climbed up to JinShanLing, one of the oldest sections of the Great Wall and trundled about in fine fashion.

But since I’m not quite caught up to this point, I’ll return with you now to the eastern end of the Silk Road, where I longed to find a caravanserai and set out camelback, just a scant few days ago. Short a camel, a 5 hour bullet train took us West to the ancient city of Xi’an, the ancient capital of classical China and a fascinating walled city that seems smaller than Beijing, but also more diverse.

Another easy, modern, expansive (circa 2008 don’t you know) subway system took us from the rail station into town and from there we walked to the Seven Sages Bell Tower youth hostel. What a name!

If you haven’t travelled by hostel before, this one had a good reminder in a poster on the wall. A hostel is not just a budget hotel. Nor it is only for those who wish to sleep in cheap dorms. We stay in comfortable private rooms with a double bed and full facilities (although shared facilities are cheaper, in this I must defer to my partner’s more involved toilette). Youth hostels, this poster proudly invokes “promotes cultural exchange, conservation of the environment, social responsibility, love and care of the nature, simple but quality living, do-it-yourself and help those who help themselves.”

I love hostel travelling. I love the common rooms with backpackers and other travellers everywhere – sometimes to chat and share stories, sometimes just to sit quietly, recovering with a drink from the day’s travails. I love having a host whose aim is not to serve obsequiously but to genuinely assist you with planning your day of adventure. Who can also serve you a beer, or point you in the direction of the shared laundry machine. They can also just sit back and share a beer with you, tell you about a trip they have gone on, or point out someone to ask about that particular place.

I also love Xi’an. At night the whole city is lit up, from the belltower and drumtower pagodas of the town square to the strips of stores and the giant fluorescent Chinese characters on building sides. I love the Muslim quarter, a network of alleyways packed with tourists, hustlers hacking meat from a red hanging carcass, then grilling you a spicy mutton kebab. Bakers and soupmakers ladling out street food to hungry passers-by. I love the shrill whistle of the clean-up crew, who approach behind, industriously sweeping up all the street trash and impatiently brushing anyone in their path aside. The quick and somewhat dirty restaurants with staff who certainly speak no English, but have pictures on their menus that can help foreigners figure out what dumpling, what skewer, what noodle bowl to order.

I loved hopping on one bus, then another to head out of town for an afternoon to visit the terracotta soldiers museum. Going from pit 3 to 1 to see dozens, then scores, then hundreds of clay warriors protecting the tomb of a long-dead king with real bronze weapons and individually rendered faces. Seeing archaeologists work uncovering and re-assembling even more soldiers, horses, chariots, every day.

I even love being delayed an extra day in Xi’an due to a sold out train and spending an extra leisurely day, wandering the alleyways and bartering for souvenirs with merchants whose command of English is limited to pointing to the decorations on bone knife sheaths and declaring over and over again “This is man. This is dragon” as if I didn’t get it (I also love getting her to come down from Y1800 to Y350, although she probably loved getting me to come up from Y50. This is a bit better, by the way, than my first barter of the day for some drawing reference books where I change the price by a piddling Y10).

I love climbing up to the city walls and strolling along the broad parapet, moving aside for the ding of bicycles (yes, they rent bicycles for those who want to really move), and walking in and around the strange giant paper dinosaurs and dogs that have been erected for the New Year/Spring festival.

I love finding yet another German beer hall, complete with lederhosen-clad Chinese server happy to see us and to serve us frothing half-litres of Xi-an brewed German style lager that tastes distinctly of banana. Or a Uigher souphall that brings me a bowl of two “pancakes” of bread to tear up before taking back to the kitchen to cover in spicy mutton soup. Or a Cantonese dim sum place that brings us a dozen dishes while we stack up empty Tsingtao beer bottles on the table in the best boastful fashion.

I also love finally recovering from my blistered toe so I no longer have to limp along or try myriad methods of bandaging that will provide relief from the pain. I don’t love that I recovered this movement just in time to depart Xi’an for our return to Beijing, only to hear about a nearby mountain that is just begging to be climbed.

Zaijan, Chinese mountain. You’ve escaped my footfall this time. But your Great Wall is next, and I will not be denied.

In short, we drank a lot of good beer and had a lot of lovely experiences. And besides, I didn’t like that camera anyway.