021008 – Xi'an

My alarm got me out of bed at a suitably early hour. This morning we would be visiting the Terracotta Warriors, reputed to be the EIGHTH WONDER OF THE WORLD!!! I quickly refreshed myself and went out looking for breakfast and something to carry for lunch.

Having done a little surveillance from the hotel room, I crossed the street and picked up two little fried parcels. The first was filled with a fried egg. Though tasty, I was still a little spent on eggs after the middle east.. The first bite of the second parcel was heavenly, it was filled with a type of chopped and cooked spinach mixed with spring onions, chives and various other leafy greens. However, my exclamation of WOW quickly turned. The first bite was delightful, put the flavour of the morsel quickly became burdensome.

Breakfast partially completed, I reversed the steps of the orientation walk. Heading back towards one of the connecting streets, away from the main strip, I found the part of the city where all of the locals ate. Running into Petra and Anna on the way, we joined forces and chatted while selecting fruit and snacks for lunch. Failing to find any break in the little supermarkets, we each bought banana's and apples, the girls picking some more fruit, from the little trailers on the street. Prices were negotiated in sign language, I'd managed to start being able to hear the sounds of the different numbers but was still an awfully long way off of haggling.

The final victory of the morning was at a hot plate towed behind a bike. Happily paying the 2 or 3 Yuan, I watched with hungry eyes as the gentleman prepared a crepe. Smearing an egg across one side along with some chopped greens and then flipping it as soon as it had hardened, he filled what would become the interior with a crunchy type of deep-fried bread and a dark paste that had been spread across the thin batter. I'd seen these being cooked yesterday and had heard about them from Lillian. Now one of them was mine!

Breakfast was finished with the Swedish girls on the way back to the hotel. We chatted for the length of the little walk and then waited out the front for the rest of the group. Finally everyone had assembled and Lillian introduced the local guide for the day for giving a brief farewell along with instructions for the rest of the day. Boarding the bus, we had at least 1.5 hours each way to the Terracotta warriors.

While heading away from the city centre, our guide gave us some information about the warriors, the area they were in, the history and significance and the option to go to the “government factory”. She had the particular gift to talk no matter what and I could see that it would be a very long ride. The group agreed as a whole to go to the “government factory”, though the amount that the guide elaborated on “.. very good quality, very cheap, you should buy there..” made it sound like a Carpet Tour. At the least, we would learn how the great ceramic warriors were made and it would offer us a toilet break.

Arriving at the factory, we disembarked and waited for our guide to get us on a little tour. Most of us spent the wait by getting silly photos in the partial statues out the front. Missing the heads and hands, we got to “wear” half of the statue in each photo. I got a couple of photos while pulling “angry eyes” at the camera.

Inside the factory, we watches as ladies prepared the miniature figures for firing. The guide talked us through the process as the workers stuffed clay into moulds before pulling them apart and lining up the little brown soldiers to dry. The rate that they were fabricating them was fantastic, combined with the price that they were asking must give this factory a licence to print money!

We saw the kilns and some partially completed full-sized statues, but did not get to see the craftsmen working on them. Instead we were directed past some pretty girls painting figurine. At least the fabrication process was explained to us. The great statues were all made by hand, the body and the head separately, before drying and then being fired at somewhere between 900-1100 degrees. The heads were made separately and then mounted in the cavity that was the neck in the main body. This allowed the gas within the hollow statues to expand during firing, preventing the statues from exploding or sagging. Also assuming, the heads required more detail and were more fragile, the bodies would have been more suitable for mass-production.

Into another section, we watched what I would assume were master-craftsmen creating the detailed and colourful furniture tops. Mother of Pearl and lacquered finishes covered paper and wooden surfaces with impressively detailed stories and scenes of significant characters.

The short tour was finished in the maze of what was the sales room. Starting with a supply of the great statues, everyone stopped for photos with the Emperor, Generals, Officers, Soldiers and Archers. The were horses that were still lacking tails (assumedly they were somewhat fragile and the “tail hole” was necessary for the firing process). The three great chambers required traversing its entire stockpile in order to escape. Getting lost once and requiring directions twice, I was able to find a western toilet and even a cafe within the show-room before fleeing out the exit. They really wanted to sell. All of the prices were extortionate, somewhere between double or ten-fold what I would have been prepared to pay. They still REALLY wanted to sell something.

Waiting out the front for the rest of the group to assemble and go hunting for the bus, I wished that the show-room had been more reasonable in its prices. I would have loved to have bought a little terracotta statue for Mum and Dad, or even myself, but the prices were ten to twenty times more than what was on offer at the markets. I really could not have justified spending $40-60AUD on a 15cm figurine..

Many of us dozed for the rest of the way to the historical site. Mercifully, the local guide had tired of the sound of her own voice and left us undisturbed. With the first day of the National Holiday in full swing, the traffic snarls sprouted, reared and bared teeth while I snoozed. Finally waking within a kilometre of the museum, I stared out the window for the next 20 minutes before it was unanimously decided that we would walk the remaining 700 metres.

Joining the crowds of pedestrians ricochetting between the stationary cars, we quickly made it to the great statue overlooking the museum parking lot. A short but pointless wait later, we followed the guide as she purchased out tickets and began the long walk through the gardens that had once been farmland, all the way to the main complex of buildings.

The story of the Terracotta warriors is that there was an Emperor who, on turning 13 years of age, began to have his tomb constructed. Eventually it was completed and he had all of the surviving workers executed, in order to keep its location a secret. Due to this and other decisions, that particular Emperor was not overly popular. Some years later, soldiers broke into the great pits housing the soldiers, stealing the weapons, smashing the statues and setting fire to the structure. The pits had been dug as rows with columns of dirt supporting the roof. The roof was made of thick logs covered with reed mats and then several layers of soil and rocks. The actions of the looters caused the complete collapse, destruction and burying of the ceramic army.

The legacy of this particular, unpopular, emperor was lost. The few who had known forgot or died. The secret of the builder and the shame of the looters was never passed on.

Time passed. The world above grew and shrank. Life, death, wars and change all took their turn.

For the next 3000 years, farmland grew above. No one knew of the 6000 graves of a Terracotta Army.

One day, three farmers decided to dig a well. Perhaps there was a reason for the particular place in the farmland where they would dig. I'm sure there was no reason for the exact, specific, precise location that they chose.

This place was in the very corner of the Number One pit, the largest feature of the archaeological site. Some metres down from the surface, one of the farmers uncovered a vibrantly painted terracotta head. Several days later, one of the farmers notified the authorities and officials made their way out to investigate. If you pick the day right, you can meet the farmer who called the government. He lost his farm to what is one of the most significant historical finds in China. He will even sign your gift book of the museum.

Had they dug the well even one metre away from where fate had dictated, these planes would be unnoticeable, indistinguishable farmland. What was forgotten would still be lost.

Entering into the museum complex, we were taken to see a movie outlining the history of the place. Unfortunately, our guide either mistimed, or didn't care, and we got to see the 10 minute documentary in Chinese rather than English. Still, we got the salient facts. Taking this time to suck down drinks and ice-creams, we followed on to the No. 1 pit which houses the vast majority of the statues.

I'll take this time to air an observation. Whenever somebody says “the Chinese Terracotta Soldiers”, almost everyone things of long dark trenches, illuminated by wooden torches. Off into the distance, a vast army of thousands upon thousands of dark statues stand a silent guard in the shadows. The only sound in this place is your frightened breathing as you creep along rank and file. If your submissive respect falters for even a second, they might animate, come-at-arms and bring you down for your dishonour to their emperor...

The No. 1 pit of the Terracotta Warriors is instead housed in what appears to be a fair sized hangar (a couple of hundred metres long), you are about 5 metres above the pit at all times and surrounded by about 10,000 of the loudest and most obnoxious Chinese tourists you could ever imagine. You wish that you only had to tolerate the screaming kids, instead your entire experience has the sound-track of the adults bellowing, chattering and screaming at each other. While on the street, the vast and overwhelming majority of Chinese Citizens are pleasant and friendly, here they were rude, pushing and shoving or even walking over or through you. If you have ever heard of the term “Little Emperor Syndrome” imagine a couple of thousand adults that need some manners back-handed into them.
Below you, at the front of the pit, there are a half-dozen rows of assembled and restored statues. There is then a long stretch of smashed pottery to show the discovered state of the site. Behind, for the rest of the dig, is mostly untouched earth. This is a work in progress, there is still a LOT of work to be done.
While I'm sure it must be something like a thousand rebuilt statues on display here, in the scope and size of the place it feels like you are looking at less than a dozen.
Once again, like Egypt, I'm sure that the grandeur and magnitude of this place would hit you if you were able to wander around alone for a couple of hours. Exploring this place in solitude.
Unfortunately, that was NOT my experience.

With everyone a little jaded by the main pit, we were guided on to the site that had been determined to be the “Command Centre” for this silent army. On display around on the walkway at the top of the pit, there were weapons and statues in glass cases. Battling through the crowd, I succeeded in getting some snaps of the main artefacts. The pit itself appeared to be even less established than the main pit. Almost the entire site looked like it was untouched.

Though the stage of development of all of the digs was more than a little disappointing, it is important to remember the state that most of the artefacts were found in. Smashed, stolen and burned. I made the continual point of reminding myself that the archaeologists are taking their time. The restoration process is being done properly, not roughshod. Additionally, exposing the statues to oxygen causes the mineral paints to begin to fade and chip. Originally coming out of the ground in full, vibrant, life-like colour, the pieces quickly lose their colour and appear to be just pottery. When digging to within range of the pits, the release of the soil is meant to result in about a dozen different types of mould to start growing, further damaging the remains. As our guide said several times, we don't have the technology to properly preserve and protect these findings.

Requiring a break from the angry, spoiled, childish crowd, I joined the Swedish girls in stilling under a small monument and having some drinks. We talked about uni while snacking on the various provisions we'd brought for lunch. Feeling better, I left them writing post-cards, steeling myself to enter the “Carriage Museum”.

Fighting through the crowd, I only had about 10-15 minutes to view the main pieces before meeting the others for the walk back to the bus. The crowd was bordering on “Sheep-Yard” density. I've seen rugby scrums that are less packed than this building.
Making my way down to the level with the two carriages on it, I finally made it around the corner to the first glass case. Trying to see through the reflected camera flashes, I spotted the 150kg of bronze and 10kg of gold that made up the first of the Emperors carriages. Complete with driver, the whole thing was about 1:2 or 1:3 scale and a little bit of a disappointment. I managed to get some photos on an angle that is free of flash and glare, but I had no chance to inspect the workmanship or be impressed by any other feature. In a place about the length of my living room, a good foot taller than anyone around me, I couldn't get within 2 metres of the glass case.

Moving onto the next case, the Emperor's Private Personal Carriage, this vehicle was also miniature. Whereas the first carriage had been the “herald carriage”, featuring bell and notices that “the Emperor is coming!!!”, the private carriage was designed to keep His Worship from public view. Including features such as little windows to regulate the internal temperature without exposing one-self to public view, it was all an effort of dodging attracted attention..

You may as well give a Steer the equipment for breastfeed a calf... you get the idea...

Anyways, I got some more snaps and managed to get close enough to see a little of the detail on this second carriage. I'm sure I'll be suitably impressed when I blow-up the image at full-resolution back in Australia.

Fighting through the Zombie Horde, I made it out the exit and glared my way across to the meeting point. Once arriving at the entrance flag-poles, the group chattered and slouched around until the full number was present. The walk out to the bus felt twice as far as the trip in, our local guide taking the liberty of walking us through the entire length and breadth of the souvenir district that has been built as a satellite suburb to the museum complex.

I don't think any of us bought anything, on principle.
The trip back to the hotel was mercifully silent and most of us snoozed or listened to music. On the way into and out of the museum complex, we all noticed literally hundreds of locals selling pomegranates. Some had stalls, some sat of the floor. Regardless, it was certainly a saturated market. As we got further along the road, I noticed that more of them had stalls operating out of tents. I'd seen similar tents on the road to the Great Wall, here I had the chance to see into the little structures as the bus drove past. Table full of fruit, chair, bed... is this where these people live? competing with hundreds of others to sell their fruit between working in the adjacent fields? I really know nothing of the economy or culture of this part of the world, but I was absolutely astounded by this entire situation. Is it normal to have a bunk there, for a midday nap? I'd noticed that most of the stalls in the alleyways of the Muslim quarter had stairs or back rooms. The tea-house had said much of their complex was not accessible as it was still residential or commercial. Did the people selling cheap bags and watches live above their little store?

Once back in town, the four of us boys went to the 24 hour restaurant for lunch. Being seated fairly promptly, the staff were extremely helpful and got every english speaking waitress in the building to make sure that we had everything that we needed. Opting to order straight away from the menu, we were all a little stung with what came out. Not exactly matching what we expected, the extremely fishy soup and what we thought was custard but actually had crab in it, mostly went untouched.
The actual main dish was nice enough, but unremarkable. Noticing Dim Sum carts being pushed around, I got everyone to grab something off of it. SUCCESS!
Having a handful of the more tasty Dim Sum cuisine, it was agreed that we would have to eat back here again later. NOT ordering off of the menu.
We were all very happy with the service and most definitely with the dishes that we enjoyed.

Feeling pretty average, I joined the others in wandering to the market but branched off by my own not long into the trip. My tummy was definitely getting the gribblies, as Jenny calls it. I'd decided that I would start dosing myself with Norfloxacin again. This would be the fourth time since I left Australia that I'd needed Antibiotic Assistance. I'm suspect that it was a combination of the snake I ate in Beijing mixed with a heavy night out. I'm sure if I was more conservative in what I ate, I'd not have any of these problems, but the local food is what has been the most noticeable and remarkable feature of the trip to me..

Exploring through the markets, I delved deeper and deeper into the alleyways of vendors and stalls. I was trying to do my best to get lost in the crowd and the culture. I found little connecting alleys back to the main square, a girl busking from a wheel-chair, multitudes of stores selling a wealth of items that time was not allowed to forget. Wrist-watches with images of Chairman Mao, mechanical arm waving at your cuff-links, an ancient Engineer's compass with built-in slide-rule computer. Priced far into the excessive, it had been released from service in a time that had been forgotten and it didn't even occur to me to try and haggle it down to a price I might have been prepared to accept. Oceans of polo-shirts neighboured onto small continents of fake Rolex's and walking sticks. Mountain ranges of artwork and calligraphy dividing the forests of handbags, a thin column of silk book-bags offering a pass through the terrain.
I followed one little road of stalls at the back of the market all the way to its end. Here it intersected with another much larger road that had little eateries and restaurants its entire length. The buildings were of the old architecture, houses and hidden courtyards, alleys and eateries, butchers next door to a window that had a chef stirring a giant pot or a Chinese herbalist selling medicine. There were hardware stores selling globes and building supplies and little newsagents with batteries and pens. The eves overhead were shadowed by the branches of the trees that were almost invisible on the street and there was a string of red lanterns flying far above head-height, watching down on the life in the street and the single foreigner who had come to visit.

Finding myself back on the main road between the Bell Tower and the South Gate, I slowly made my way back to the hotel. The local part of the city had been manageable and pleasant while still bustling. Back on the main strip it was once again chaos of tourists and traffic that seemed out for blood and fresh human flesh. I got onto a now-familiar route and headed for the hostel, pausing by an older gentleman who might have been a beggar. He had a box in front of him that was stuffed with notes, a look of pride in his eyes and no right arm below the elbow. Instead of prostrating himself across as much foot-path as possible and looking miserable and pitiful, like almost every other beggar I had seen, he was sitting upright with legs crossed and a great deal of purpose. Strapped to his amputated fore-arm, he had a special little harness that kept a little brush in place. With deliberate and careful intent, this little brush was blossoming the most astounding and delicate calligraphy onto a scroll of rice-paper on the little platform table in front of him. Leaving him with the handful of small denomination notes that I hadn't been able to get rid of, I continued back to the hotel with a bit of a smile. I'd made the rule of not giving money to beggars on my travels, especially after all of the warnings I'd been given before leaving home, I would never have called this gentleman anything less than an artist.

The group met for dinner, almost all of us going to the restaurant for Dim Sum. Having learnt from our previous experience, we only took dishes from the cart and ate like kings. On one of the other tables, some of the girls insisted on ordering from the menu and were a little less than happy before figuring out how to use the carts. Having eaten and drunk our fill, and then some more, we all emerged from the eatery with very full tummies. Once again the staff had been fantastic, I think most of the employees had come out to see the westerners, a rarity in this place that was full of locals.

Outside, we diverged into groups. Seeking cigarettes or phone cards, snacks or drinks. I followed the group up the main commercial mall to a department store where we wandered around Wal-Mart. Realising there wasn't really anything I needed, I excused myself and went back to the hotel the long way. The mall was full of scaffold stalls and vendors selling expensive equivalents of what could be found in the street markets I'd been exploring earlier. Getting back to the hotel having only purchased some water at the entrance, I read and typed a little bit. Finally able to take the antibiotics for my tummy, I got ready for an early night, hoping to feel a bit better in the morning and missing everyone at home a little bit more than I'd care to admit.