*This post was originally sent as an email on the 26th September 2011
*Photos will be added soon(ish), I hope
Friends, comrades, etc.
I was approached by my coteacher this morning, who asked me if I minded terribly whether he could take my classes today, since the third graders have midterms this week and he has more material to cover. After going back and forth on the idea, weighing the pros and cons, I finally decided that I would be ok with having a day to relax, but only because I could use it to catch up somewhat on the longest ever to-do list, near the top of which is the necessity of sending a mass email to close out my travelling tales, and catch people up on where I am right now.
A quick scroll down to the bottom of my quoted text tells me that I should be picking up my story from Xian, right before I went to see the Terracotta Warriors...
So I went to see the Terracotta Warriors, and, well, meh. They were interesting, certainly, but more interesting was the sheer scale of the tourism and promotions machine in place around them. Chinese domestic tourism is a massive industry, sending hordes of flag-led tour groups and family units to the government-proscribed tourist destinations around the country, and the Terracotta Army is probably one of the largest, and most hyped of those. It's on par with the Great Wall and the Forbidden City in terms of tourist throughput and yet, unlike those, is rather lacking in payoff. Deep crowds of tourists stand around a pit listening to tour guides and taking flash photography of the hundreds of terracotta figures below. The figures themselves are just that: terracotta figures in a pit, each unique, each individually made, few still intact, probably worth slightly upward of an hour's investment to view properly, once you push through the crowds. I was just as excited about the geocache I found stuck in a wall within the grounds and had to sneak out when no one was watching.
I did love my time in Xian, though, it's probably my favourite city in China, largely due to the food, but also because of the feel and layout of the city. The food though, oh, the food. Xian used to be the Eastern end of the silk road, and as such it has a large population of Chinese Muslims. At night the muslim quarter shakes itself out, puts on its fancy clothes and adds the sweet perfume of roasting meat, baking breads, and a smorgasbord of regional delicacies. Some were pretty awful, to be sure, but most were amazing - and cheap! In the three days I spent there I tried just about everything. There was a row of tiny restaurants selling huge bowls of tasty noodles for 8 Yuan (R8/$1), that meant that eating in Xian was about the cheapest place on my travels. The little restaurant also sold these glass bottled of locally made soft drink, kind of like fanta, only fizzier and better. Everything was spicy and delicious.
Other than the food, in Xian I also spent an afternoon walking the 20km along the city wall, an admittedly rebuilt edifice that nevertheless gave a good indication of the size and wealth of the old capital. It was from Xian that the Qing emperor first unified China, and the city was one of the first in the world to adopt a pre-planned grid system on which other ancient cities in the Far East, such as Kyoto, were later modelled.
One of the last things I saw in Xian was the Big Goose Pagoda, which was slightly less interesting than the massive 100m-long musical fountain in front of it that danced and waved and sprayed in accompaniment to classical and traditional Chinese music. There was a lot of Wagner being played.
After talking over my options with the travel people at my hostel on the first night, I sadly accepted that I wouldn't be able to make it to Tibet. This was particularly unfortunate since I had already bought a "Tintin in Tibet" shirt, to go with my "Tintin and the Blue Lotus" and "Tintin in Vietnam" shirts. It would have taken too long to get the special permit required for entry into Tibet, and my Chinese visa would have expired before I could leave the country unless I flew out from Lhasa, which would mean missing Beijing. So instead I bought a sleeper-train ticket: Xian to Beijing.
Chinese sleeper trains are pretty amazing too. I feel I've now travelled in every way possible: On foot; Bicycle; Rickshaw; Boat; Taxi; Bus; Sleeper Bus; Hard-seat train; Sleeper train; and Airplane. Sleeper train is a very dignified method of travelling. In China's highly stratified society, the difference in travel companions from the hard-seat cabin to the sleeper-cabin is very apparent. I felt like I was moving from first-class to general seating in a Tolstoy novel. In the sleeper cabin, no-one spat on the floor, or even spat at all. Everyone was wearing shirts, and could even be said to be well-dressed. A more refined politeness replaced the gruff, efficient consideration afforded by the spitting, shirtless, kind old man in hard seater.
So the train ride was nice, relaxing even, as it ran through some beautiful countryside. But arriving in Beijing was... mildly unpleasant. The city was how and filthy. Even in Kathmandu I was never tempted to wear a face mask, but Beijing is by far the ugliest most polluted place I've ever been. Downtown Busan or Seoul (especially right now with the clear autumnal air) is fresh and clear and fragrant by comparison to the grey pit of Beijing. My first night in Beijing I went to Tiananmen square, and got caught in a thunderstorm that cleared the air for all of 12 hours before the smog rolled right back in.
But anyway, Tiananmen square was... dramatic. Walking across it sent goosebumps up and down my back. I don't know whether it was the instant recognisability of the place, the monstrous portrait of Mao staring down at it all, the huge flagpole with the Red Flag on it dominating the centre, or the neighboring military barracks, but the whole effect was of a place instantly recognisable. The impression was of Animal Farm, 1984, violence and repression, paranoia and a staggering arrogance. It made me think of the Catholic Church at the height of its influence. The shrine to Mao, proudly displaying his dessicated corpse in a clear coffin on the far side of the square reinforced the religious undertones. Oddly enough I saw no weapons, no threat of violence. Just the sickening subtext that there are weapons far more powerful - and more dangerous - than guns and swords.
Behind Tiananmen was the Forbidden City, a huge complex of temples and gardens, neatly arranged and spottily translated into English. It was interesting, but I couldn't help but compare it to Gyeongbokgung, the royal palace in Seoul. The Forbidden City was larger in terms of buildings and extent of palaces, but more rigidly arranged, and more repetitive. The largest palaces were larger, and more elaborate, but only slightly. The grounds lacked Gyeongbokgung's appeal and natural beauty. The gardens were pretty, and would probably have been less claustrophobic and chaotic had there been fewer tourists, but they were still rather small. Behind the Forbidden city was a pretty park surrounding a hill that afforded excellent views over the Forbidden City and Beijing itself. It was from here that I could see the smog cloud rolling and roiling back in over Beijing after the previous night's cleansing downpour.
I spent a fair amount of time in Embassies getting my Korean work visa sorted, and trying to get a Japanese tourist visa. Japan, it turns out, has some ridiculously strict visa requirements for those not carrying the right kind of passport. The right kind of passport includes American, British, European, Canadian, and... Lesothan? They are aware that Lesotho is a tiny country entirely landlocked inside SA, right? Perhaps it's so small they just include it as a joke, since they don't expect to ever see someone from Lesotho.
The last big thing I did in China, and I'm glad it was the last since it was one of the best, was the Great Wall. What can I say except make the same cheesy pun I have been making since I went? The Great Wall was, well, pretty damn great. I trekked out to a portion of the great wall that the Lonely Planet includes as a lesser known alternative, and tentatively mentions that if you are up to a 20km trek over rough terrain you can make it from that remote spot to the restored section at Badaling. It also adds that the section is technically off-limits and illegal, but that this is rarely enforced. The risk of law troubles is minimal.
The first few hundred metres, closest to the starting point for that section of wall, had been restored, and on it I found maybe 20 people enjoying their cleverness in finding a portion of the wall not soaked in happy-snapping tour groups. I quickly moved past these happy few to find that further on the wall was badly degraded. Places required actual climbing, and the wall tends to follow not contours but the most extreme up-and-down route it possible could, meaning that progress was slow. Parts of it were entirely overgrown, and there were times when the wall wasn't visible except as a slightly rockier part of the mountain side. In other words, it was blissful. Unfortunaly, it was also about 40C outside, and I drank up my 4l of water in the first two hours. Somewhere around the 10km mark, about halfway by my calculations and I started to feel, well, less than ideal. I had to stop a couple times to clear the spots from my eyes, which is when I decided I should probably be making another plan. So I took the next downward path into a random, uninhabited valley, found a road and managed to hitch-hike back to town. Thank god I learned enough Chinese to ask and give directions. Some hours later, back in Beijing, I wolfed down the only McDonalds I allowed myself during my travels, and my body soaked up all that fat and sodium and other lovely essentials like a hunger striker being forced onto an IV.
My adventures in China were almost at an end. The only other happening of note was in trying to find a taxi to the airport at 4 in the morning. I was sharing the taxi with a girl from Portsmouth who was heading home, and we could not find a taxi willing to take us for a reasonable fee. There was some event going on that meant the taxis had plenty of business, and so they had all conspired to set the price at more than twice what it should be. Much arguing and protesting ensued, but eventually we were forced to accept the least sleazy offer or risk missing our flights. Throughout the 20 minute ride to the airport the taxi driver, an incredibly jovial and friendly man, was calling his friends to brag to them about how much he was charging us. Listen, Chinese taxi drivers, we don't understand your language, but we know the word for foreigner, we understand airport, and enough numbers to interpret that your manic laughter is at our expense. We did not tip you, you bastard.
And so I left China.
...
But my travels don't end! Cos I got to Japan see, though I had to wait a while, and the tickets were exorbitant, and we were rushed. My friend wanted to go to Japan, see, and since she's heading home soon, we made it happen. This is what we did:
The biggest holiday in Korea, Chuseok, stretched from the 10th through the 14th September. We had five days to go from Osaka to Fukuoka (these were the cheapest available tickets). So, we spent two and a half days in Kyoto, the old capital of Japan, then took an overnight bus to Hiroshima, then tookanother overnighter to Fukuoka.
Kyoto then, what a place. As the old capital, and a city largely spared from the aerial bombings most other Japanese cities saw in WW2, Kyoto is stuffed with beautiful temples, historical sites, and other places of interest. The 2 1/2 days we spent there could easily have been 2 1/2 weeks. Yet, through some aggressive time-management, we managed to see a surprising amount of places, albeit at the cost of sleep and Julia's feet. The biggest obstacle to sightseeing in Kyoto is simply that everything closes at 5:30. Still, the list of things we saw will swiftly bore you, without pictures. Most notable, The silver pavilion, zen gardens, and a monkey park. Also, some excellent food.
Hiroshima we were visiting so as to visit the Peace Park and the Museum dedicated to the Hiroshima bombing. I don't think I have ever been to a place that is simultaneously so depressing, uplifting, inspirational, and tragic. I really haven't the words to describe it here. Perhaps another time I will try to better convey the sense of gravity and importance that seeps through the place.
Finally, Fukuoka. The best thing that happened in Fukuoka was the best bowl of Ramen ever. Mmm, I would go back to Japan just for those noodles in pork broth. Japan was pretty good to us on the food front all the way, to be honest, and beer too. The beer ranking goes like this:
- Kirin
- Sapporo
- Asahi
- Miyajima
- Suntory
But I would recommend them all.
And now? Now I'm in Seoul. Have been for about a month, still travelling about, seeing things, visiting folks. Went camping on the beach this past weekend, going to a lantern festival this coming weekend. Finally starting to settle into the neighborhood. Life is becoming slightly more regular again. I'm sure it won't last but, for now, my travels have come to a close. I'll let you all know when I set out for the Phillipines, or Cambodia, or Burma.
In the meantime, I'll probably speak to most of you day to day. If I don't, complain to your congressman, then give me a call or an email.
So long,
Anthony
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