China

Our flight out of JG was delayed, which left us with more than five hours to kill at the airport on Thursday with only noisy Chinese tourists for entertainment, a few muffins and pieces of banana bread ‘liberated’ from the breakfast buffet for lunch, and too many smelly Chinese toilets to count. We caught up on some blog entries and played UNO while bus-load after bus-load of Chinese engaged in hand-to-hand combat to get to the front of the check-in or security lines. The terribly smart armed Chinese soldiers patrolling the airport have long since given up trying to induce any kind of order, so it must be a relief for them when they see some western folk! When it was finally time for us to proceed through security, we did of course have to execute our now-perfected three-person body-block to defend our position at the front of the line from the natives.

We did invite these observers to play UNO with us, but they seemed happier watching!

We arrived in Xi’an at about six o’clock, which left us with less than 24 hours before Martin would leave us on the first leg of his journey back to the UK. Only 24 hours and five things on our Xi’an ‘to-do’ list: visit the Terracotta Warriors (of course!), cycle around the city wall, eat an 18 course dumpling lunch, visit the Giant Goose Pagoda, and take in a ‘culture’ show highly recommended by my trusty Frommer’s. We’ve become quite expert at identifying logistical requirements when we arrive in each new location, and as soon as we had checked in we set about enabling our ‘to-do’s’. We first secured tickets for the dinner/culture show that would start almost imminently, and then engaged a driver to move us from place to place on Friday.

Logistics arranged, we arrived at the Tang Dynasty Theatre Restaurant and enjoyed some tea before being taken to our table in the huge, cabaret style theatre. The Theatre was apparently built by a Hong Kong entrepreneur who realized that masses of western tourists travel significant distances to Xi'an to see the Warriors, but have little else to do in the smog-intense city. And even though the show was primarily targeted at western tourists (and - for the first time since we arrived China - we were surrounded by them!), I have to say that it was extremely well done. The food (chicken in 'special' sauce, mushroom consomme, crispy fresh king prawns etc) was really rather good, and the entertainment was lavish and of a high quality. While few Chinese paid for dinner among the western groups, there were perhaps almost a hundred or so sitting at the back of the theatre enjoying the show with a drink and snack.

In an attempt to avoid the crowds, we headed out early on Friday, arriving at the Terracotta Warriors (about an hour’s drive out of Xi’an) shortly after opening at 8am. To get the most out of the experience, we hired a tour guide for 100 yuan (about US$13), and headed for the first of three pits. The Warriors are more than 2000 years old, but were discovered quite recently; by a farmer, in fact, who stumbled across them while digging a well in 1974. As an aside, the farmer is doing well, and was signing autographs in the gift shop was anyone who would pay the required fee.

The Warriors did not fail to impress.

When the Warriors were discovered, they were nearly all in various states of disrepair. Five feet underground, the wooden ceiling above the Warriors had collapsed. Some say the chambers were deliberately sabotaged, and the wooden ceilings were burnt. Either way, the ceilings had collapsed, breaking the 6,000 terracotta artworks.

According to our guide, only one kneeling archer has so far been found intact due the fact that he was shorter than the standing Warriors. The fact that there are any standing Warriors at all is testament to thousands and thousands of painstaking hours of restoration: literally a massive 2000 year old jigsaw.

Aside from being the only intact Warrior to date, the kneeling archer is also notable because of the color on his back. Originally, all the Warriors were painted in vivid colors. However, the paint fades very quickly when exposed to natural light and, for this reason, many of the pits have been deliberately left untouched – or even refilled - until the appropriate technologies can be developed to ensure that the magnificent blues, yellows and reds can be conserved. The Terracotta Warriors are a World Heritage Site, so no doubt that effort is international (the Germans were named as key partners). In the meantime, restoration continues on the Warriors already uncovered.

At the back of Pit 1, there is an entire area dedicated to ongoing restorations. These are some of the recent graduates.

Anyway, the Warriors were built by Emperor Qin Shi Huang during his 37 year reign (247-210 BC) to protect him during the afterlife. The first pit – now only partially excavated – contains eleven columns each more than 500 feet long. Each column’s width accommodates four soldiers, and the whole display is laid out in the battle formation of the time. Soldiers are distinguishable from Officers according to their hairstyle and, though we didn’t check it out, we’re told that every face is different as it was prepared individually. This was possible as the heads are separate from the hollow bodies; an air vent was essential so that the bodies didn’t explode in the kiln! Once complete, the head plugs into the neck socket. Even though the bodies may have been more ‘standardised’, the detail is staggering: from the armour worn by each Warrior, to the hairstyles and even the weapons. This wasn’t a mock up of an army. This was the real deal, just with oversized Terracotta soldiers. I guess it might have been cruel to entomb more than 6,000 real Warriors to protect the Emperor, although you could argue that it was equally cruel to have more than 720,000 workers toil for more than 30 years to build the replica!

After the Warriors, we headed back to Xi'an. We had planned to have some Dumplings for lunch, but had enjoyed enough dumplings at the Show last night, so we all agreed to remove that from the to-do list. That left the Pagoda and the City Wall.

Perhaps it was because we could scarcely see the Pagoda through smog so thick our breathing was laboured, or maybe the masses of Chinese tourists, but we weren't too impressed by the actual Pagoda itself (even if it was started in 652!). At least now we can say we visited the set of the infamous TV series 'Monkey'! Actually, I preferred the brightly painted buldings that surrounded the pagoda.

We were soon off to the City Wall to rent some bikes to ride the 9 mile loop. Our guide book suggested two hours, but we only had one and a half hours to complete the ride (and get back to the hotel in time for Martin's transfer to the airport), so we set off at a furious pace. The Wall is rectangular in layout, with four Gates. Atop the Wall, we were surprised to find a very wide - maybe 50 feet or so - stone path. We rented the bikes - for about US$2.50 each - and set about bumping our way around the very uneven stone path. The chain kept falling off my bike, and the bike stand was happier down than up, but we had a lot of fun on our bone-breakers, and greatly enjoyed the ride.

Unfortunately, shortly before we reached the half-way point, we came across a section of wall undergoing maintenance which meant it was impossible to ride all the way round. We bumped our way back, and then found a taxi to get us back to the hotel.

A little later, it was time to say 'farewell' to Martin so he could fly to Beijing where he will pick up his return flight to the UK. Martin is a superb travel companion who added much to our China experience (including British biccies, an improved itinerary, and a wicked sense of humour). We miss you already, Martin!

Getting a later start on day two (we did after all overnight in the Sheraton where we ate a tremendous buffet dinner the night before and therefore had neither intention nor motivation to rise as early as the morning before) we headed up the western expanse of the park to the highest area in the park at Long Lake, a bit obscured by grey clouds hanging low over the mountains. The entire western side of the “Y” as we have come to call the park layout, consists of Long Lake at the top, with 3-4 seasonal lakes (hence relatively empty with no flowing rivers between them on the way down) and a windy road with steep paths. Upon reaching the top, we had passed a couple bus stops absolutely overwhelmed with throngs of Chinese, and so instead of exiting the bus, we simply observed Long Lake from the bus, as it looped the parking lot. The lake is relatively scenic, but our hike the day before – sun shining on stunning waters with warm air and pristine streams, pools and procession of lakes – more than adequately showed us the full beauty of the park. We decided to head straight back to the middle of the “Y” where we could depart the bus, view some terrific falls, and then spend a bit of time in one of the Tibetan villages.

Having scouted the villages on day one, we chose our village without regard to any other factors than “Gee that one looks nicer”. High standards set, we had a quick hike, then crossed the two-lane motor speedway (the primary conveyance route of thousands of buses per hour traveling at breakneck speeds around viciously blind corners, hoping Buddha, Tao or your deity of choice – was on the driver’s side) to venture into the village, a throng of snap happy Chinese tourists all around.

The village, “Shuzheng Village of Folkway Culture” is quite quaint, with a traditional Tibetan gated approach, painted in vivid colors, with details of animals like tigers and dragons, and adorned with detailed patterns from creative zig-zags to a multiplicity of reverse swastikas. To get the mental image of the village, just imagine an explosion of the brightest reds, yellows, and greens painted on pagoda-roof styled buildings, with myriad 30-foot tall banner clad poles of white, blue, red, green (all scribed with tiny detailed Tibetan writing) flapping rigid in the breeze, spilling out of a steep draw from high mountain peaks behind to the east, with the village gate looking downhill like a floodgate for the village high-strret over a Tibetan ritual temple (the Lotus Buddha Pagoda) itself encircled by prayer wheels with numerous shrines on the downhill slope leading (across the expressway) toward the prisitine running waters with further mountains stretching out beyond to the south and west. Truly a breathtaking setting (beyond the encroachment of the modern wheeled-beast-bearing-conveyances which continually rumble past like huge green dragons of myth) that one would be hard pressed to match.

And so, having hiked on the nearby river and forayed about within the village walls, with minor stops to have Jacquie's picture taken with FIVE separate Chinese men (Martin and I were only photographed once!), we felt we had seen the best the village had to offer (sneaking our own shots of uniquely dressed “authentic” Tibetans) and decided to make our way back down the hill to the gate for and exit back to the wonders of the nearby natural settings. However, upon approaching the gate, large numbers of Tibetans began to appear, all in native garb.

The costumes were much like the village, with bright colors bejeweled with ornate sashes of silk and cotton, hemmed by plush fur, held in place by leather and sterling silver belts encrusted with stones topped off by different types of hats from leather “cowboy” type hats, to full fur crowns of red or silver fox, to simple red or blue felt. The convergence of natives in traditional garb seemed a boon, and we camped just outside the gates, seated in grass overlooking the temple and hurriedly snapped pictures, figuring we had happened across a couple groups dressed from some minor random event. But then monks in red robes lined with yellow sashes appeared, as did mini buses of Tibetan men in different uniform costumes, some looking oddly like extras from a bad Kung-fu movie with hairsprayed coiffures reminiscent of “Kiss” in the 1970’s. Such hair seeming odd enough on these men, the hairdressers accompanying them and spritzing their do’s was all the more concerning.

As a crowd formed, a small incense laden altar was set up just 10 meters down the hill from the gate, between it and the temple. Chinese music blared over an impromptu sound system (speaker cables running over grass and across pavement to speakers conspicuaously camoflauged by fresh cut branches) as police cordons were set up, keeping us (and the hordes) off the main thouroughfare between the village gates, and the temple). With the lighting of the incense on the small altar, the dozens of costumed women lined the street just ahead of us in a cordon, each bearing a small wooden cup filled with either clear liquid (assumedly rotgut moonshine of some sort) or a tea looking mixture. What we presumed to be the village master (only because he was the fattest most ornately dressed man, and he was carrying a wireless microphone!) opened some sort of ceremony, which prompted a procession of 20-odd men clad in white silk tops, with red pajama bottoms adorned by bull heads on their backs, bearing a 50-foot dragon to dance (as dragons do) from the village, down the road, around the temple and back toward the gate of the village.

What a show! What amazing luck on our part (we thought) to be witness to this ornate, native and revered rituals. Monks, brightly costumed local men and women, excited children, all thronging toward the gate. And behind, a procession, throwing confetti into the air, marching proudly (at first). We strained for a closer look, as a tight crowd of Chinese men encircled the confetti bearers, marching their way up the hill, approaching the cup-bearing ladies. As the crowd approached our position close to the gates, we readied cameras with lively anticipation. Could it be the “Chinese” appointed dalai lama?? Perhaps a diplomatic procession? The local Chinese Communist party leader? A wedding procession??? Unable to resist, I broke headed (video camera in hand) shortly down the hill to break through and use my superior height to catch a glimpse of these highly anticipated and much-celebrated guests of honor.

And then they appeared. Clad in sashes, faux-Chanel sunglasses with over done make-up, limpid humidity-affected hair-dos and the odd oxygen canister in hand, a procession of . . . beauty queens?? With sudden stunned silence we looked on in momentary disbelief before laughing out loud, as much at the crowd’s excitement as our own disbelieving reaction. Miss Serbia, Miss Georgia, Miss Uzbekistan, Miss Kenya, Miss Estonia, Miss Latvia, Miss Bulgaria fought their way through a crush of Chinese men, and alternatively fended off attempts by the Tibetan cordon-ladies to ply them with the wooden cupfuls of random elixir! Their faces alternated smiles and shudders as they attempted to sip (what would seem to be from their culturally-unaware reactions) the horrific liquid being poured onto their lips.

As “Miss USA” passed by (so stated on her sash), Jacquie called out “Miss America!” to get her attention and ask, “Who are you?” Startled by both the perfect English diction, as well as our anglo features, she told us the reason for the entire event. “We’re Beauties of World!” Astonished by the sudden appearance of, well, us, a few of the girls reacted with smiles and surprise, and one even took OUR picture! Quite nice to become the star attraction of the star attraction – we await the production of our photos on the “Beauties of the world Blog”! A final few stragglers approaching, I realized Miss Sweden was trapped by a throng of Chinese men, converging on her to get pictures with her golden locks and icy blue eyes. Seeing an opportunity to help out a poor Swede, I pushed into the crowd, and asked her to send regards to our favorite Swede, Emma (our sister-law-to-be).

After the entourage passed, we were able to spend some time with a number of the local Tibetan women – mostly elderly – as they sat and smiled at all the excitement, not so much interested by the passing procession, as with chatting to one another and continuing in costumed grandiosity to mind simple tasks like making woolen yarn. I saw a chance to interact, and within second, a smiling old woman offered me a cup of the aforementioned potion. Unsure of the contents, I sipped, and found a surprisingly sweet taste with a hint of alcohol, and an unsightly oil-like slick floating on top. After my sip I offered the remains back to the lady, who motioned for me to down the entire cup! I offered it to another woman, who demurred with knowing smile and thoughtful chuckle. Not wanting to be alone in misery in case the offering was as unsavory as my imagination could muster, I had Jacquie and Martin try a bit, before downing the remaining liquid and handing the cup back.

Through all the amazing ritual we had just witnessed, even with its seemingly ridiculous purpose (Beauties of the World) the moments we seized to interact, share a drink and the amazing photos and images (both captured vividly on film and in our memories) were priceless. A case of being in the right place at the right time, we decided to count ourselves very lucky to see this type of event and make our way on foot along the last few miles we would walk within Jiu Zhai Gou: truly a fairyland park of impossible blue waters that will leave is with memories of wonderful shared moments.

And so we found ourselves first in line for tickets at JG. The office was scheduled to open at 7am, and there were four neatly marked lines for tickets. This being China, we weren’t actually expecting the Chinese to line up, so we each took up position at one desk. The funny thing was that when the Chinese starting to arrive, they did line up – neatly – behind us. True – Lloyd had to put one Chinese lady back in line, but she got the hang of it and was soon reprimanding another Chinese lady for trying to cut in front. We haven’t seen that before – anywhere – despite some blatant and aggressive line-cutting behaviour.

At 6.56 am, a line of navy-and-white uniformed ladies marched into the building and took up their positions. We felt sure that the one line we hadn’t been able to head up would be served first, so we were surprised when we were able to buy our tickets first. The second we had done so, the very neat lines that had formed behind us collapsed as fifty Chinese pushed forward to try and improve their position. Using full body weight, we squeezed our way out of the throng and – after a few more formalities – found ourselves on one of the first buses going into the park at 7.10 am. We were headed to the top of the right arm of the Y, which allegedly offered the most scenic parts of the park. The very windy, half-hour ride offered our first glimpses of clear – and I mean clear-like-you’ve-never-seen – water, and idyllic mountainous terrain. Our plan was to take the bus as far as it went, and then hike back as far as either the day or our legs would allow.

Early Morning Mist; For Lloyd, JG was reminiscent of the Alps

And hike we did. We’re not quite sure how far we walked – we think at least ten miles - during our 7 hour day. For the first several hours, we had the trail practically to ourselves. Turns out that the majority of the visitors to the park choose to ride the bus to each stop, and only walk around the most famous scenic spots if it’s not too far! After three hours or so, we started to see the swarms of Chinese ahead. In the distance, they looked like colorful ants with tiny umbrellas scuttering up the path to take their photo from the designated viewpoint, before finding the shortest possible route back to the bus.

Water so clear you could see fallen trees in the bottoms of the lakes; the Blues and Greens were simply spectacular!

While the natural beauty of JG could not fail but impress (as you can see above), the scene at several of these viewpoints was not pretty. Groups practically glued together moved through like molasses, taking snapshots of everything in their path (including me on several occasions). The Chinese don’t really shout – but that’s only because their voices are so loud they don’t need to. It was only at the very largest waterfalls that nature succeeded in drowning them out. But the worst thing of all? The loud, hocking sound as some Chinese men internally scrape their throats and prepare to spit. In public. Anywhere. Vulgar.

Lloyd Smiles in the Midst of Madness (Top Left!)

So, while our pictures may look impressive, you should understand that many of them were taken in the most un-natural of circumstances. Happily, the Chinese groups (and to be fair, most of the ‘bad’ behaviour we have seen has been restricted to groups), do have very short attention spans and move through quickly, so a little patience was often all that was needed to capture JG sans-Chinese. We wondered what the Tibetan villagers thought of the Chinese visitors. And while the park has been very well put together, we regretted that the ‘traditional’ Tibetan villages have been turned into quaint tourist attractions to appeal to the Chinese audience. JG literally means valley of nine villages, but – unfortunately – not the villages that are here today. The Tibetans are subsidized by the Chinese government and not permitted to farm. Their job is simply to ‘act Tibetan’ so that the Chinese can get closer to the curiosity that is Tibet.

Anyway, I digress. We did make it back to the centre of the three pronged Y by mid-afternoon and, probably more exhausted by battling groups than by the walking, we decided to call it a day. We bussed out of the park, and checked into our distinctly cleaner hotel and a well-earned night's sleep. Not quite sure I'll be dreaming of fairies tonight, but there's no doubt that JG's spectacular waterfalls will be with me for a long, long time...