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| Journal - |
| October 30th, 2006 > congestion/hard seats/clay figures |
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| As much as I enjoyed Beijing, and I did very much, I was quite looking forward to going somewhere a little more peaceful. Beijingers are quite used to the tourist dollar, and they will go to great lengths to separate them from the owner. I always enjoy spending time simply walking the markets and chatting with folk. I take pleasure in the banter, the noise and the smells. I marvel at the bright lights and the frantic activity day or night. A walk through any such street can be exhausting, but always rewarding. In the west, the concept of advertising usually involves outdoing your competitor by the use of ever more intelligent or witty adverts. In China, the same effect is achieved with the use of noise. The Chinese love it, and can’t get enough. An interesting new technique I have seen this time is a megaphone attached to the wall outside the premises. Every shop, however large or small, has one. The loudhailers store a pre-recorded message of the owner’s choice, performed with urgency and haste to bring in the punters. Each megaphone has only three settings - 1) Very loud 2) Distortion 3) Loop. As you walk along the street, they all merge in to one deafening noise, loud enough to make your ears bleed. From this and other observations, I have come to learn that the Chinese really do have a very high tolerance of noise in general. Many of these traders sit outside their shop all day and night (in fact, a lot of them actually eat and sleep in there too), and seem completely immune to the repetitive din around them. Likewise, at a road junction, should the traffic lights have the audacity to change colour and stop the flow for a minute, drivers lean on their horn. As if this will somehow speed things up, hundreds of vehicles do the same, producing an automotive symphony of the very worst kind. Where I find all this quite funny, if a little painful, locals do not even bat an eyelid. Amid the mayhem of such a bustling place, the city parks are a haven of peace to escape to. At least, you’d hope so. However, I can report that you would be disappointed indeed. For where nature brings peace, the Chinese bring their noise with them. They simply can’t bear to be without it. Mobile phones are set to loud and karaoke machines are wheeled in. The latest trend, I could not possibly fail to notice, is to carry two highly polished oval shaped magnets. They are on sale literally everywhere. When thrown up and caught, they kind of vibrate against each other, producing a loud rattling noise that goes right through me. Wherever I go, I can hear them. So as I was saying, I hopped on a southwest bound train that would take me to a relatively small city called Pingyao. Saving on a night’s accommodation, I opted for an overnight sleeper to cover the 14hr trip. It seems like ages since I was doing the train routine, and it feels good to be on the tracks once more. The class of choice for most is know here as “hard sleeper”. The carriage does not have compartments, just thin dividers and open fronts, in between which are six bunks, three high. They are comfortable, and affordable, sometimes half the price of first class. Often cramped on the busier routes, particularly when full of locals and their staggering amounts of luggage, they are the hardest ticket to obtain. Sometimes it is necessary to book several days in advance, or you will not get on. |
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| So what does it cost in China? |
| The Chinese currency is the Renminbi (RMB). It is divided into ten yuan, which is again divided into ten jiao, the latter having so little value it is rarely used. EXCHANGE RATES GBP 1 - 14.6 RMB USD 1 - 7.9 RMB EUR 1 - 9.8 RMB check latest here Typical daily costs are now around Y20 p/n accommodation. A 630ml bottle of Tsing Tao beer (good) will cost a staggering Y2 (yes, that is true). Bottle of spring water - Y5 Full meal in local eatery Y10 - 20 A local bus ride Y3 Internet use, per hour Y2 I am living well on Y100 per day, obviously this goes up with travel and attractions. |
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| This city seemed a convenient and interesting place to break my journey, with the population a mere 40,000 it is positively a one-horse-town by oriental standards. It also happens to be regarded as one of the country’s best remaining examples of Imperial town planning in the traditional Han Chinese style. During the Ming and Qing dynasties, Pingyao flourished as a merchant town, becoming the financial centre for the whole country. That time has now long gone, but the town has remained unchanged and escaped the attention of modern designers. In fact, in 1997, Pingyao officially became a UNESCO World Heritage Site. |
| I do not think it is known for certain what their purpose was. Many believe it is to stand guard over an ancient imperial necropolis. The warriors, each one wearing a different facial expression, were found with real weapons of the time. Many had retained their sharp edges. Also found were horse-drawn chariots made of wood, that have since disintegrated, though they leave their mark in the earth. Substantial buildings have been erected over each of the three sites, enabling careful control of the atmosphere to ensure preservation of the figures. It is possible to walk all the way around each one, but obviously not among them. The largest and most well known pit averages about 6m deep. The vault was constructed by creating corridors at three-metre intervals, running east to west. The floors where laid with brick, upon which the figures stood. Timber was then laid across the tops, and finally covered with matting and earth. |
| A tour from Xi’an will set you back at least Y180 and many divert to various tourist traps along the way. If you wish to go at your own pace, it is easy to get there independently. Bus No 306 runs constantly from outside the train station, will cost Y7 and take about one hour; the warriors are the last stop on its route. Along with the Great Wall, the warriors are one of the top historical sights in China. Everyone else clearly thinks so too, and you have to accept there will be crowds. We all want to look, and we all make the problem slightly worse. It was worth every bit of effort. |
| Traffic chaos is of course perfectly normal throughout Asia. With all types of vehicles heading in all directions, no lights and horns blaring, it can seem that there simply are no rules. In fact, I am sure there is none. But somehow, they get through, people get where they want to go eventually. One recent night though, I was witness to a gridlock situation where nobody could go any further. It was quite a thing to watch. The streets of the Muslim quarter are narrow, but that does not stop everything from motorbikes to trucks using them. On a crossroad, a perfectly normal situation arose where traffic was meeting from all directions. I happened to be there at the moment when, rather than avoiding each other as normal, two drivers paused for a split second, unsure which way to turn. They were done for. The traffic quickly backed up, a beeping, revving, smoking mass of metal and rubber. Moreover, here happens the next stage of the gridlock situation; rather than easing off, all vehicles slip in to any gap they can, no matter which direction it goes in, for in their eyes any movement is progress. The usual cacophony of horn blowing ensued, but overall I was amazed at how patient everyone was. Many just sat there, accepting their fate, perhaps waiting to die for all I know. While I was enjoying myself immensely (travelled across the world to watch a traffic jam), a few key people got things on the move. They were the bicycle riders; lifting their bikes over other people or onto the sidewalk, creating gaps and saving the day. You see, entertainment is free out here! |
| Traffic Jam Mecca |
| Xi'an |
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| Pingyao – Shanxi Province |
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| Today you will find flagstone streets, traditional Han architecture and a maize of alleyways, all surrounded by a completely intact 6km city wall. I am told that traffic movements are severely restricted during the daytime, within the walls, but I found it difficult to establish exactly when. Nonetheless, the city is relatively free of motorised traffic, a rare thing indeed. |
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| I stayed at a delightful hostel called Yamen, more or less in the very centre. The traditional rooms (Y30 pp/pn) overlook both the street outside and the private courtyard. There is a comfortable social area, and even free internet access. For this reason, I was perfectly happy when I discovered I would have to wait an extra day to secure a hard-sleeper ticket for onward travel. |
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| I was not really in the mood for museums and temples, so I hired a bicycle (Y10 per day) and took to the streets. It was a first for me on two counts; I have never ridden a pre 1930’s bike before, or on Chinese roads. The wheels wobbled side to side, and the steering had other plans altogether, but somehow, we got things together and zigzagged our way through the chaos. Without a plan as such, I left the confines of the city wall and headed west, in the hope of seeing some local countryside. Things could not have been better; the sense of freedom that comes with your own transport, the open road, and The Smashing Pumpkins blaring on my music player. I scared fellow cyclists by passing them and yelling “Ni-hao” (hello) as I zoomed by, for my bike, however wobbly, was now a speed machine. I laughed aloud at the ridiculously overloaded trucks that could barely move faster than I, belching out black smoke as their decrepit engines laboured under the strain. One, loaded with cardboard, was stacked possibly nine metres high and so wide it took up the entire lane. |
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| I whizzed past endless fields of maize, on the point of ripening and being harvested by hand. The countryside was unremarkable, a flat patchwork of fields with Poplar tree shelterbelts; could have been in eastern UK, to be honest. As a guy who has spent much of his working life looking after Pheasants, it was quite novel to see them wondering the maize stubbles in search of spilled grain – for the Pheasant is a native ground dwelling bird of China. I explored a Buddhist temple that I had come across, raced kids on their bikes from a nearby school and talked farming with a local who had blocked the road, drying his crop. It is a normal sight, apparently, anyone who is in the business of growing corn will tell you. They spread out the straw on the road, and keep turning it with their fork until dry. Passing traffic just keeps coming. |
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| Back at Yemen, the lovely Kang Jing had her hands on a hard-sleeper for me, and so it was time to hit the tracks again. (Buying train tickets yourself, while satisfying, is always a challenge in China – if there exists a local to help, use them)! |
| Confusingly, I have moved further south into another province, only distinguishable because it has one extra ‘a’ – I am now in Shaanxi. It is the original and true heartland, the centre of the Chinese universe, a fertile farming area and rich in minerals. As one of the oldest settled regions in the country, signs of human habitation date back to prehistoric times. More that thirty-five thousand historical sites are known to exist in the region, many of them close to the city of Xi’an (pronounced She-an). The ancient city became the gateway to trade with central Asia and Europe, along the Silk Road. Import and export not only brought exotic trade, but also different ways of thinking, Buddhism and Islam. Still evident today, Xi’an is home to Chinas largest Muslim population. I had my own particular pilgrimage to deal with, the Army of Terracotta Warriors. The two thousand year old site is a mere 50 km away, and so Xi’an makes a good base. I stayed at Shuyuan hostel for no particular reason other than it was the first one I had heard about; it would prove a bad choice. My dungeon-like room in the basement was grimy to say the least, as were the communal shower & toilet. The room offered no natural light, so waking in the morning is pure luck. If I had been staying in the city any longer, I would have certainly moved. It struck me that on my last foray into China, five years ago now; I had not seen a single hostel and always stayed in local guesthouses. Hostelling International, a great worldwide organisation that accredits hostels with their name if they meet strict standards, needs to get its act together. The Chinese are an entrepreneurial bunch, and hostels displaying the HI logo are springing up all over the place. I wonder how many are for real. |
| Army of Terrocotta Warriors |
| I was not at all prepared for the scale of the site that the warriors occupy. It took me a half hour to walk from the bus drop to the main building. The ever-present traders work with extra fervour, selling copied warriors ranging from key ring, right up to full life sized versions. Battling through that lot can be tiring, but it is important to save some energy for entering the huge building that covers the burial site; you will need every ounce of power to elbow your way through the seething mass that stands between you and the warriors. |
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| Once you get to the front, stand firm and hold your place. Then marvel at the awesome, incredible sight before you. It really is another wonder of the world. The Terracotta Warriors were first unearthed in 1974, when local peasants, digging a well, discovered fragments of pottery deep down. The original vault has been painstakingly excavated, the caved in earth removed to reveal, so far, six thousand life-sized figures standing in a textbook battle formation of the time. The work is still ongoing, and since another two sites have been opened up. |
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| Muslim quarter... |
| Within the walls to the northwest, Xi’an has a thriving Muslim quarter. The network of streets and alleyways are packed full of markets and colourful characters. I spent a lot of time wondering the area, and noted how friendly and laid back people were, when compared to busier areas such as Beijing; there seems to be far less of the hard sell. I shopped for some new socks (it has taken a while to find some of European size), grazed along the street hawkers for kebabs and marvelled at giant crickets in jars. The locals love to buy them as winter pets; they keep them in their top pockets, keeping them warm under their jacket, and in return, the crickets do their thing with the legs. |
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| With much pointing at my phrase book, I enquired about a hard-sleeper ticket to Chongqing in the next day or two. The news was not good, but I suspected, or hoped, I was not fully understood. Therefore, I tried a few other places, including the rail station, and it seemed I could not get one for five days. It was time to face the situation head-on; I decided to purchase a hard-seat for the fifteen-hour journey. On the upside, it only cost me Y56, a massive saving on a sleeper. Besides, this class is where you meet the interesting people; with a book, my music player and a pot of noodles, I would travel over night, leaving the next day. Xi’an train station is megalithic in size. The process of getting to the platform starts well enough, through security and into neat little departure lounges, one for each platform. But the thing is, after all their admirable efforts to separate passengers, the gates open into a single, narrow passageway that tapers to a bottleneck and one flight of steps. Unluckily for me, three departure lounges and gates were open at the time, funnelling hundreds of people in one miserable direction. We inched forward, as tightly packed as you can imagine, and I prayed that they were not all heading for my train. China has an extensive rail network, approximately 52,000km in length, covering almost every province. Alongside cargo boats, trains are the workhorses of the country. My fact for day, and I want you to read this carefully so you take it in – at any one time in China, it is estimated there are over ten million people travelling on a train. At this moment, I suspect most of them are also starting their journey in Xi’an. It always pays to get on a train early, whatever class, to claim some space for your bag; locals often travel into town to buy goods, and the carriage quickly fills. At the top of those steps, people filtered away, mostly onto other platforms and I was quietly confident that a) I was indeed early and b) my train would not be so full after all. Wrong on both counts. Walking along the length of the train, my heart sank as I counted down the carriages to my own number twelve. It was a full half hour before departure, and people were already hanging out of the windows for air. At carriage twelve, the attendant looked on me as if I had lost my mind; for no doubt in his opinion, I could easily afford to travel first class. As I clambered up to the first step on the carriage, I must admit, the very same thought occurred to me. Why did I choose to do this? Sardines do not appreciate how much space they have… The space immediately at the top of the steps, between carriages, usually regarded as the smoking area and not somewhere to linger, was packed with people. I had initially assumed they were just waiting to filter down into the train. But they were not; they were travelling on a ticket even lower than hard-seat (umm, I wonder how much that cost?), and were going nowhere. I stood for some time, politely grinning and nodding ”ni-hao”, hoping they would move; they didn’t. Not out of bad manners, they simply had nowhere to move to. Unless I wanted to stay here all night, I had to take action, and so with some effort I tunnelled my way through the first barrage of folk, covering a good three metres to the narrow gap where two carriages join. In a similar situation to the gridlocked Muslim quarter mentioned earlier, I met oncoming traffic with luggage, and could go no further. With temperatures rising fast, I seriously began to consider backing out and cancelling the trip altogether. A stout man with harsh features and a thick scruff of hair, wearing a frayed pin-stripe suit, came to my rescue. Between us, we managed to lift the baggage over our heads, which offered just enough space for me to push on through. I was in! Euphoria quickly turned to despair when I realised I now had to negotiate the entire length of the carriage, to reach seat 006. It was no surprise to find there was already an entire family in my allocated seat. Normally, my British sensibilities would have me apologising profusely for disturbing them, I would offer them the seat and scuttle off, spending the night somewhere in extreme discomfort. However, this was a matter of survival, I had nowhere else to go but my seat; all the floor space had gone, and even the air space was beginning to fill up. |
| Go hard, or go home – the longest fifteen hours |
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| My new Lowe Alpine backpack lost its virginal status as I shoved it under a seat, on that oh-so grimy floor. In case I was unaware of how hot I had become, a thermometer hung on the wall, and read 30 degrees. I greeted everyone nearby, making eye contact and smiling. Overall, they have kind faces and seem friendly, if a little perplexed at why I am doing this. The women immediately to my right had a shapely figure and attractive Mongolian features; however, considering I had just kicked her out of her seat, she could only spend the next few hours passing me dirty looks. Next to her, in what I considered to be the prime spot, control of the window went to an inconceivably old woman of at least 146 years. She was tiny, and slumped in her seat she could barely see over the table. She took charge of the trash in our group, jettisoning it all through the window with dedication. Opposite, a young woman with an oval head and big eyes, with her not-so-young husband. He possessed a plump face with rather unfortunate goofy teeth, wearing his once white singlet, together they were not the best looking of couple I have seen; though I am sure they are happy. Across the aisle was a group of girls, perhaps in their early twenties, who, like teenage girls the world over, somehow managed to talk and giggle for fifteen hours straight. Later, they helped me in getting hot water for my noodles, when I simply gave up trying to get at the boiler. I became friendly with a lovely old man nearby, who stood for the entire journey. He had a kind face, and always smiled as if he positively relished the opportunity to stand for fifteen hours. I did occasionally get up to stretch my legs, and we developed a seat sharing agreement where he would sit and guard my seat for me. That old man had special powers. Quite probably a foolish thing, I had consumed two rather large bottles of beer. I waited with dread the moment when my bladder would start to register this fact; for one thing, the loo’s on a hard-seat carriage are never pretty, secondly, just getting there would have been a mission. But somehow, my body had acknowledged my predicament, it rose to the challenge and I did not need to go all night long. Just thought I’d share that with you. The night wore on. We stopped frequently, taking on cargo and mail, and unbelievably, more passengers. It got quite ridiculous. A motley crew of guards bullied their way through the carriage, checking tickets. They pushed people out of the way, and shouted through a loudhailer very aggressively, not a nice bunch of thugs. Every twenty minutes or so, several folk would come through the carriage with trolleys, hawking food and drink. You might think that is a nice gesture, but when there is nowhere for the trolley to go, it can get boring. The driver shouts people to move, but they can’t. Therefore, we have another gridlock situation. People had to climb up onto the seats, stepping over others, or hang from luggage racks. Once, they even lifted the trolley over the people to get through. Passing midnight was a small triumph, the halfway point. There was little sleep, but an uncomfortable drift in and out of consciousness while the minutes ticked by. As daylight broke I at least had some scenery to look at, and in giddy excitement I could sense journeys end. I have never been so happy to put my pack on and walk away from a train. Coming soon, Chongqing and a cruise down the Yangzi River through the Three Gorges. |
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| News on that Bangkok address coming real soon.... |