China 2007

Our wake-up call was brutal - at 6 in the morning. I neglected breakfast and slept in, throwing much of the junk that should have been in my suticase into my carryon. We had to catch the pandas at the "Chengdu Research Center for Panda Breeding" while the weather was still cool, and they were out and about engorging themselves.

Our first impression was after a long and sweaty walk, first through vender's stalls where nothing but panda things could be seen for miles around, and then through the thick, decorative bamboo forests of the breeding center. The lush forests hardly parted way: large, open-air "enclosures" placed the tourists in a cage and the pandas running happily free.

While we were at the Panda Breeding Center, the first panda in 2007 was born. From the movie we saw, crowded into a hot, muggy room like the rest of the reserve, the baby pandas are little, ruddy runts that can fit in the palm of one's hand and look more like worms than bears. For lunch we had a delicious feast of panda meat. Just kidding! We scurried to the airport and ate in a secluded downstairs restaurant. The food wasn't spectacular, and the airport didn't have much to offer, including an ATM machine, especially after our flight was delayed for nearly an hour.

The plane was luxurious. Mrs. James took my seat until I needed it to videotape the landing. We came in on a wide valley, lush green for miles, then barren, shady mountains in the distance. We were served a decent meal, which fell, on our schedule, somewhere between lunch and dinner as we would feast on Tibetan delicacies many hours later as well. One of these such things was "pig's ear" - let's just say Air China was a bit more reserved. Our A330 was equipped with two outside camera, so we all watched the take-off and had a wonderful vantage point as we approached one of the longest and highest runways in the world. The touchdown was smooth as Chinese silk, and although we bulleted in around 200 knots, it was our best domestic landing so far.

When we stepped on the bus, silk scarves as a Tibetan goodwill gesture were passed out to us. Our guide declared that Lhasa was becoming too modern, so he pointed out many traditional Tibetan dwellings. They were built up on jagged stones and bricks, with small towers a few feet high accentuating the corners of each roof. Many colorful flags stuck out of these structures, as we drove through bumpy countryside for two hours to a village about 40 kilometers out of Lhasa, and 150 from the airport. Our guide, Nutu, explained the preparation and uses of Tibetan food, and taught us a few phrases. From the few airport signs I saw, the Tibetan scripture was very beautiful.

Prayer flags spotted the countryside. At every peak and hill in sign, flags were strung out above the valley. When we arrived the remote town of Tsedang, consisting of one long main avenue and a few residential alleys, we definitely got some strange looks. One old Tibetan lady grabbed the breasts of some of our group who were taking a picture with her. It was an 'interesting' form of greeting.

When I entered a China Mobile store to inquire about international calling, I got nowhere until Mr. Kozden started speaking Mandarin with the man. Tibetan is certainly the first language, and Chinese a close second. The extent of English, however, is "hello", "thank you", and "goodbye." I tried different SIMs, all under fifteen dollars (things are very inexpensive here,despite the remoteness), but none of them worked. By the time I had given up, a crowd had gathered of maybe ten to twenty people. They were a motley assortment, from middle-aged to ancient, all in it for the fun of watching. When I pulled out my camera and started videotaping, they swarmed with excitement. The smiles on their faces as I played back the recording were truly unforgettable.

As we walked past a government compound, the inside nearly reduced to rubble, two statues stood haunch on either side of the gate. Brightly colored, perfectly still - wait! These were real guards. I was across a vastly large street, with six lanes total for cars and rickshaws, under the shade of a tree, amongst a crowd and not standing out particularly. I lifted up my camera to take a picture, but before I had the chance to even turn it on, the guards started waving violent gestures from far across the street. Mr. Kozden immediately pulled me away, and I slunk into the shadows, embarrassed and scared. Mrs. James exclaimed, "You got pwned!"

I tried my best to get money exchanged, but the banks opened late and the exchange counter wouldn't take my "old-looking" hundred dollar bills. I now had fifty cents to my name, and I was in about five dollars debt already. The ATM down the street told me how much money was in my account, but wouldn't let me withdraw any of it. Besides the friendly Tibetan people, the Chinese side of this region seemed out to get me.

We were granted a late morning, but our flight was at 3 so it wasn't too late. I decided to try having breakfast this morning, and got out to the lobby with my carryon just in time.

We didn't have much of a day planned, but it never feels like that. Whether or not there's something interesting to talk about, the guide always talks on the bus. Today we would bid farewell to Helen, our guide throughout all of our excursions through the capital of the Shanxi province, Xian. We took the bus to one of the best museums in the country (we're always going to the biggest or the best; they have awards for everything, like baseball statistics: our next stop, Chengdu, is one of the top three Chinese tourist city destinations). It was a historical museum - two buildings spread out over a rather large, artistic grounds. We followed the signs through galleries arranged by dynasty. First, primitive villages and caveman-like tools of stone and bone. Most of the displays were pottery, progressing to weapons and eventually imperial relics or those with religious significance. For instance, one bowl was meant to instruct one on the moral significance of avoiding greediness. If the bowl was filled to a certain point, the level would remain; if the bowl was filled above that point, the entire contents would drain.

When the group I was with - Willie, Nishta, and Peter - got tired of the galleries, we sat outside in an open corridor. Peter played his egg-shaped flute-like instrument, quite poorly, while begging for "money for college". Nishta and Willie attempted to help him, by "donating" their own money, but nobody bought it.

We were looking forward to lunch, but Mrs. James requested that we stop at a local library, just to see what it looked like. It was nothing exciting, besides huge, and we spent much of our time sifting through the "foreign literature" to comment on the classics they had that nobody had ever touched. The archives ascended tens of stories into the air - this place had only been built a few years ago, and was the primary library of Xian.

We were hungry beyond reckoning by now. We took the bus back to the dinner theater, and ate lunch there - this time in the second row of tables - but there was no show to be seen. The skies opened up briefly, and a few of us wandered the streets aimlessly in the aftermath. There wasn't much to see along this high-class strip of travel agencies and fancy tourist hotels and theaters.

We boarded a strange airline that none of us had ever heard of, and sunk into deep blue seats. Our food for the hour flight was a package of dried apple chunks. I sat next to Christina; she slept most of the flight. I stole her Cosmo Girl and laughed at the stupid parts... but I mostly videotaped the scenery outside the window. We came into land low and fast, on our tiny A319, the brilliant green streets and streets and cars well-defined under blue sky close enough to touch. The plane seemed devoid of air as we passed the threshold, then - BANG! We touched down so hard, no, smashed down. People in the back screamed. Then, as the pilot engaged reverse thrust, with the sound of thousands of horses in pain, the whole plane shook like I've never seen before. Thank you, folks, for flying on this decrepid Airbus.

We drove through the quiet expressways of Chengdu, one of the spiciest cities in China, our first stop the hotel. The first thing we saw: a giant Starbucks. There has been a Starbucks everywhere we've gone. There was even one hidden in The Forbidden City. The only other consistency has been watermelon, served in solid and liquid forms at every meal.

Our hotel was the fanciest place on the block. While we waited to check in, a world-class violinist entertained the lobby audience, and when she took a break, two amazing dancers spun around to every corner of the room. The rooms themselves featured modern furniture, high definition television (on which I looked forward to reviewing my tape thus far), and many useless amenities. After a spicy dinner, we took to the pool and massage/sauna while another group hiked to a Mao monument and a burger bar ("Dave's Oasis"). At the massage place, we needed Peter to translate what we were getting for our money. Winn was with us, and he asked about the advertised 80 dollar "full VIP in-room service". We didn't need Peter's translation when they told us that one - a prostitute. Definitely a high-class hotel.

I got a massage after swimming. It was kind of a scary experience at first (I thought Peter was going to pull a prank on me, and get the 680¥ service, leaving me helplessly lost in translation), but it was relaxing and I got back to my room just in time for check-in. Some of the other boys got massages in their room, to the dismay of their roommates who wanted to sleep. Still, the young Asian girls in short-cut skirts were an interesting spectacle for everyone, even the girls, to sit around and laugh about. I was dead, though; I fell asleep before I even had a chance to plug my appliances in to charge, while Will was downstairs getting his massage.

We had been granted an extra thirty minutes to recover from a long day prior, and I sucked it up. In fact, I didn't even bother with breakfast. Our first long, bumpy drive dropped us in a small, government-run terra cotta warrior reproduction factory. Everything there was much too big and expensive to buy, but we listened to an interesting explanation about how the sculptures were molded and fired. Someone pointed out the kiln, which was a gigantic stone building that rose far above the display room. We were advised to buy these things at the museum, where we could barter the price down much lower.

Sometime that morning, also in the middle of nowhere, we pulled up to a small sign that said "Banpo Neolithic Village", a museum and archeological site in one. We entered a large, dark building. In the sections of dirt that lay exposed, surrounded by pathway and railings, were imprinted footstep, post holes, kilns, bones, and other remnants of a lost civilization, many thousand years old. There wasn't much action, but, hey, that was saved for the evening. We read signs referring to cards placed around (like a crime scene) and listened to our guide explain the way of life of these people, as assumed by the findings. It was pretty amazing what they could reconstruct from a few holes in the ground, a little pottery, and some skulls.

After some lunch, we were ready for the big thing. The Terra Cotta Warriors - nearly eight-thousand standing six feet tall, devoid of any un-earthy color - are the pride of Xian. We started small, with "pit three": a small, exclusive room of the emperor's tomb for the generals and commanders. Most of the terra cotta figures had been damaged, and only a few that had been fully reconstructed stood facing the once-sealed doorway. We watched a panoramic movie next, that told us how the warriors had been damaged by a peasant uprising shorty after their seclusion, and also how they had been discovered by a local farmer. Also, they had once sported colorful suits and shiny weapons, but those had long since gone. We moved onto the second pit, the cavalry men. The room was dark and dry, not good for observing much. There were horses and chariots, for the lead men, and a few display cases showed off remnants of color. Finally...

We worked our way through a swarming "museum", past the mobs clogging the doorway. Guards and cameras were everywhere. Finally, we broke through: line after line of well-lit, but dull, terra cotta warriors lined up into the distance. It was so... real. As we neared the back of the room, a five-minute walk, full warriors turned to broken pieces half-excavated, and finally just into piles of dirt. The place was so hot and so crowded that I didn't feel like sticking around any longer than the camera required, so I sat outside and watched people mess around with their instruments. We caught up with the bus and set off the the hotel.

After a few of hours of napping, basking in the sun of a gazebo by the lake, and so forth, we got dressed for dinner. I tried on a Chinese silk jacket I had bought in Beijing, but it was too hot and didn't go well with my pants and shoes. I donned something more appropriate but still fairly traditional, and went out into the lobby. Unknowingly, Mollie had dressed up with Mrs. James' reward of one dollar in mind, but I no longer matched. Still, we went on. We boarded the bus in slightly fancier clothes than usual and went downtown. We were ushered into the dinner theater by doormen in full Tang royal guard garb, helmets and all. Our tables, to our astonishment and happiness, were right at the front, right up against the stage. Dish after dish was served to us in pure bliss. We slopped down the rice wine until Mrs. James wouldn't let us get any more. After an orchestral prelude, the acts came on with a bang. Hundreds of lights illuminated dance after dance, song after song with crazy instruments. It could have been a show choir act, for all the glamour.

We returned to the hotel a little tipsy, and some people got more food. But most of us packed and slipped off to bed, as we had gotten back very late from the show.

Why do I walk around lugging a giant, several-pound camera that will hardly fit in any bag? And why do I pay so much of my attention to it? I don't think it's my lack of sociability or dislike for a foreign atmosphere. It's a comfort, to be sure, but not a necessary one. Everybody in our groups carries a recording device of some kind. One's mother will never send her son or daughter on a trip halfway around the world, and then say, "You can forget a camera." I don't want to feel like a stupid tourist, is the thing. I want to record what's going on. I wan't to capture what I have seen through my own eyes, and perhaps try to enlighten others who haven't seen such images ever before - thought that's quite hard to effectively pass on. I want to show things how they are, the truest picture from the most aesthetic perspective, and get a lot of it from a lot of places. I take pride in the facts that I'm never there to intrude with a flash, that my batteries/tapes last comparatively forever so I'm not constantly changing them, and I don't obsess over tourist spots. Sometimes they're necessary, but I enjoy diversity.

I've always been told to take as much footage as necessary, so the bad stuff can be thrown away in postproduction. Still, I like to review my pictures and video right away, critiquing the fine points and scolding myself for stupid mistakes: like thinking I'm recording when the camera is stopped, and letting it record at all other times. I have already ruined a portion of my Great Wall footage by doing that.

But back to the subject at hand: why I expend so much effort on something that isn't really necessary. I could be looking out the bus windown right now, soaking up the blue-and-yellow-striped apartment buildings ascending hundreds of feet, or the winding, marshy river under the bridge. Why does that need to be on a tape, when it can be found anywhere on the internet, in a pamphlet, or on somebody else's camera. Why bother, why follow the actions of the masses? It's China, to be sure... but the colors and perfect moments captured on the big screen will never exist right in front of us. Even the glory of the Great Wall was diminished in person. Maybe, just maybe - this gives me a chance to relive my footstep, the memories that weren't even mine, and make the sights and sounds seem better than they ever, once did.

Our morning was spent in the air - a 4:45 wake-up call, a 6:00 meeting time, at the airport before our 8:30 flight. After we got through the painful security line and people spread out to buy food, the airline pulled a surprise gate change on us. Peter, who could speak the language, almost missed the flight.

I settled into my window seat in relative comfort, until I heard an "Oh!" from down the aisle. Mrs. James had to sit next to me. We chatted for most of the flight until she became more interested in the Chinese man sitting next to her. Our takeoff was delayed by about an hour, as hundreds of planes landed and took off in front of us. Mrs. James told me that she had never had a flight that left on time throughout her personal excursions in China. We landed with a huge bang (we all thought the plane had lost a few wheels) - I happily picked up my bag, about the fourth one on the belt - and we got on a very "hutong" bus (our equivalent for "ghetto"), so named because we had to double up.

Xian was much cooler, slightly less humid, and very quiet. Our guide, now Helen, told us that there had not been any skyscrapers until just a few years ago, and Xian only sported a population of six million. I thought the airport was just in the countryside, but we followed an empty and equally "country" expressway to the city walls, which were almost as deserted. Once inside the city, things were busy but not packed. It was quite a relaxing change, and since we were through our "gateway" city, Beijing, it felt like we were really in China now. We pulled through a huge arch into an empty courtyard, with wall on all sides rising up at least fifty feet. This was the city wall, much wider and flatter than the Great Wall, but only about sixteen kilometers long. We climbed a huge watchtower, getting a great view of the city, and then we walked down a bit of the wall (or one could bike the length in 100 minutes). As I stared down the perfectly straight wall, bikers and pedestrians about a mile away disappeared into the smog. Until just three years ago, only farms had been outside the city walls.

Before stopping at the hotel, we toured an ancient Buddhist pagoda, about 14 stories high, that had been damaged by an earthquake. For about seventy cents, we could ring a giant gong three times. A few people from our group rang it politely, and then Collin tried riding on top of the wooden thing, causing an uproar from tourists and locals alike. Most of us climbed the pagoda after a long, pointless argument between our tour guide and the officials. However, there wasn't much to see as this was not an active place of worship. As we got ready to leave, a full-blown Chinese orchestra came out and warmed up. After waiting a while, they played part of a song and then broke into argument. We sauntered away chuckling.

We arrived at our hotel, the Xian Garden Hotel. Mrs. James had warned us that it would likely be a dump, but when we were greeted with cold towels, doormen and a sparkling gold lobby, we thought otherwise. After an hour of getting settled in nice ground-floor rooms with patios looking out onto the peacock-infested grounds, we left for the Muslim quarters of the city, and the Great Mosque. The mosque had some interesting architecture, but unlike the Buddhist temple we explored earlier, we didn't get any background on the religion and weren't allowed in any of the buildings. After a slight introduction to the area, we were released into rows and rows of alleys full of tiny shops selling the same things. Christina pointed out a 120-year old unique camera, and I got swarmed because they thought I was interested. They offered to trade for my HD camera, but I figured the size of film in that camera wasn't even made anymore. I also took a look at a cheap, fake 8 GB iPod for $45. After playing around with it, I figured I could do everything it could do on my phone - except it was smaller. Still, I didn't know in what way(s) I was getting ripped off. So I dragged Gina down some more primitive streets - no shops, but really where people lived and worked. I was the only Westerner, but surprisingly my camera drew little attention. We passed a little carefree kid who was just spinning around, enjoying the shade until he noticed my camera. I felt bad, and wanted to slip him 5 yuan to see if he would cheer up, but by the time I found the money he had run off.

We had dinner in the area, at a dumpling restaurant. We got our own private room with two tables on the fourth floor - and for the first time this trip, free refills. The dumplings came in all shapes and sizes, basket after basket. The chicken dumplings looked like miniature chickens, and the walnut dumplings looked like little nuts. There was every combination of food possible packed into these things: pumpkinfish, ham, vegetables - everything. All this for a meager fifteen dollars.

Once back at the hotel, I explored the "garden" aspect of the place, the gym and massage/sauna place, but didn't find much intriguing. It was disappointing that our group was spread all over the hotel. Our neighbors and my roommate usurped my bed and the room for long into the night, so I didn't get very much sleep. Finally they took a walk, and I immediately dropped off. The early morning flight had definitely cut into my delicate sleep schedule.

Out of batteries, running low on clothes, I was prepared for a day of disappointment. As I prepared for the day, I didn't need to look out the window to know that the low white fog/smog covered the city for many hundreds of miles, and perpetual traffic clogged the streets our bus would soon be aggressively driving through. Our driver, by the name of Tao, was certainly very efficient. As I scooped out my usual breakfast of Corn Flakes, I looked down at my phone to see "Cathay Pacific Airways Ltd" calling. God, I love caller ID. We were about twenty minutes away from leaving, but I was still overjoyed to hear that my bag would arrive that day. It was at least a twenty-five minute drive from the airport. Ah, the irony. Anyway, I had managed thus far - I put all my resources together and discovered that I had 11 minutes of battery power in all. I proclaimed it would be a "damn good eleven minutes."

We first drove to the Temple of Heaven: once an ancient tribute to the gods, now a popular park for the elderly to exercise in. Hordes of old Chinese people occupied corners of concrete, waltzing, waving flags in decorative patterns, waving swords around, playing hacky-sack, singing dischordantly, musing over the next move in a checkers-like game feature circular pieces the size of one's fist, each engraved with a different character, and performing many other diligent activities. Some of them invited us to join: the flag-waving, the dancing, and a few others. Many ladies walking around insisted that we buy a Chinese hacky-sack for one US dollar. I told them if they could keep it going fifty times in a row, I'd buy it. They sombered away, only managing five or six kicks.

We ran to catch up with our speedy guide - who we all know as 'Lee' - through a long corridor filled with people claiming a bit of personal space for exercise. We rose through some steps and another gate (don't step on the thresholds; your soul might be trapped in hell eternally) until this magnificent building, much more dome-shaped and circular than most Chinese architecture, supported by twenty-one pillars, rose up into the sky. It was colorful beyond the usual splendor of gold, so the reflectiveness of the roof and of the rings of stone surrounding the structure were not so dull as previous monuments. We passed through another threshold to come upon a similar structure, but open. There were no pillars and no dome in the middle. There were nine rings of stone, each containing 81, 72, 63, until the middle ring contained 9, and then, there, it lay - the center of the universe. It was a small block of stone, slightly elevated above the rest, where people lined up to take pictures. The whole circular deal rose up from a barren square area, and in one corner a huge steel tripod rose up even higher. We inquired into its purpose, and apparently a giant lantern was sometimes hung there. Not surprising, as Mr. Kozden remarked - very like the Chinese to not conserve empty sky. I thought I also spotted a security camera staring down at the center of the universe from there.

Then we were off to eat lunch with a local family. I ate about five thousand cherry tomatoes, and a bunch of common food. The "common food" was a green bean mixture of many fascinating spices, and our guide claimed that it could be eaten at all meals of the day. We were also presented with a gigantic platter of dumplings and given a tour of the cramped courtyard, shared by eleven families. These historic, tiny, one-room houses were worth hundreds of thousands of dollars for being in the remaining Hutong district of Beijing. And our host actually owned three. If she sold them, she would have no place to live - but she would be rich.

We took a vote as to where to go next on the rickshaws. It was a choice between watchtower (spectacular vista) or tea garden. I was with Mollie on a richshaw with a very old man as we rode through cramped alleys to the garden. We were supposed to tip our cyclists/drivers a few bucks, but we found our driver to be somewhat poor - he had no stamina and kept falling behind the group, going over unnecessary bumps and not paying any attention.

The garden itself was much better than anybody (specifically Mrs. James; she was the loudest) expected. After a tour of the same old holey-rocks and shrubs, we entered a tea house. We got the full treatment - a formal tea ceremony and explanation of everything. First, the smelling cup, which we rolled between our palms and absorbed the scent. Next, we tried three types of tea, each replacing the previous as the group's favorite. First, green; next, jasmin; finally, black (or red). The green was strong, the jasmin was smooth and refreshing, and the black tea was sweet. Paulina's mother bought a whole $400 set to ship to the U.S., and we were immediately on our best behavior to try for a chance at its use.

Our final stop for the day was at a working Buddhist temple, one of the oldest and most famous in Beijing, the Lama Temple. Gina showed me how to pray without incense, although most of the natives horded the stuff, and Mrs. James declared herself to be Buddhist. We encountered a monument to Buddhist art in the form of sand - a huge square, flat tapestry constructed entirely of sand, and redone at each ceremony. It was encased in glass in a dark temple where no photography was allowed, but it was truly a spectacle. Layer upon layer of free sand was built up to form intricate, symmetrical patterns, covering at least 4 square feet in the most minute detail. Contained in each temple building was a Buddha, surrounded by paintings or statues of "deities" or disciples. As we progressed through the the complex, the main statue in each building because bigger and bigger, from almost human-size to nearly four stories high - a giant in any terms. Sadly, no photography of these great works was allowed.

We hit the markets ready to spend. Everybody returned to the bus with bags full. Our first market of the day was the Xiu Shui Pearl Market, featuring many fake brand-name products - shoes, bags, suits, ties, and clothing - cheap pearls, and ridiculously expensive pearls. I bought very little until we got to the Panjiayuan Silk Market, where I succumbed to the beauty of several silk outfits. I was nabbed by two ladies in a jacket shop for at least twenty minutes, and we debated the merits of buying jackets in the hot, humid weather. I tried to use my sensational humor to escape, but it took a lot of time and pleading. I still bought quite a lot by my standards, putting my bag over the limit by a few pounds.

At our standard group dinner, I sat at Mrs. James' table. When we had mostly finished, she suggested we leave one by one, inconspicuously, to see if the other table would notice. We had gotten rid of most of the table when the other started asking why we were going to the bathroom all together, and in the wrong direction. So the remaining few people just ran for it. That's Mrs. James for you.

We had a small bit of free time before bed and packing, which I used (along with Gina, Paulina and Peter) to go ice skating. It took us thirty minutes to find the ice-skating rink, on the heels of Gina, who had even been there before. The shoes were painful, but I managed to make quite a few circuits around the arena, beating out Paulina but not coming close to Peter's tricks - one-foot turns, skating backwards, and spins. I stayed a little late to check out a China Mobile store, or at least a sign that suggested one, but got lost on my way out (which involved simply crossing the street). Peter had to come back and resue me. As I settled in to our messy room, admiring the batteries charging on the sink, I dreaded the 4:45 wake-up call ahead of us.

The glory of this place is in its unexpectedness. The monuments themselves are nothing to gasp at, but the stark reality of their existance, and how much they mean to the common people, is pleasing. And of course, everything seems impossible, fake, Disney. It feels like it's put there for us to stare at, walk on, just absorb. While in reality, it's just a wall... a pile of stones, that goes on for a while. The blazing sun, never leaving us to mope at its absence, makes everything seem a bit more dreamy. But in general, it's nothing like the colorful pictures we see. The one thing I hope - that my painstaking effort in taking an HD camera up to the top of the Great Wall in loafers and long pants will pay off on the big screen.

I was up with the sun. In Beijing, that's way before 5. We had a whole new city to explore, Beijing from the perspective of ancient history... no longer the glory of Chairman Mao and Tian'anmen Square, but the splendor of the Ming dynasty. We grow accustomed to bargaining, transportation and adjust our composure in this foreign atmosphere with a rapid pace. Our morning adventure was one of the seven manmade wonders of the world, and we were lucky to explore a section that was largely unpopulated because of its distance from the few hundred square-kilometers of 'downtown' Beijing. We spent more than an hour driving through windy country roads, mountains narrowing in to a rocky ridge ascending a few thousand feet into a sky that was rapidly becoming blue and clear. Wild horses roamed through the brilliantly green fields, and other packs of animals were herded by shepards as we sped through the dozens of kilometers of countryside. Fields were often broken up by rogue trees, however, and the shade made it appear cool outside. But no, it was far from cool, and the heat seemed to rise into the mountains. The wall stretched on up and down for a few miles; every other watchtower was accessible on multiple levels. The wall finally turned steeply upwards, presenting a menacing 500 steps. In this short stretch of wall, we must have climbed at least 500 feet. Some Webbies attempted to run this all, but stopped short of halfway. The trail back down was even more painful on the legs; I took off my loud shoes for much of the way and showered my head in recently-boiled drinking water. After taking the cable car back down, legs aching, vendors pestering and bodies cooling, we piled into the bus with a much happier perception of the world. Not only had we conquered the amazing wall, we had returned to civilization with an understanding of our priveledged state of being. We followed the small road back partway, the bus storming down in between both sides of the road, horn sounding much of the way. We pulled into a restaurant next to a large craft warehouse ("factory", in someone's words). We ate a traditonal Chinese lunch and toured ourselves around the warehouse, getting some spectacular pictures of pottery, jewelry, jade sculptures and more.

Our next destination was the tomb of the Ming Emperor Chung, one of the few exhibits excavated and open to the public. We avoided the seven kilometer walk that the gods once required of the ancients, and quickly spread through the tomb - not too colorful except for some "spectacular red paint" in the terms of Will Stecher. It looked a lot like the Forbidden City, but much less crowded. There were some cool benches, carved to represent barrels or elephants. But the heat, somewhere in the nineties and humid, was unbearable.

We came to a five-story restaurant - the Peking Duck Restaurant, aptly named. We were greeted by a bright statue of a duck, one of the 1,000 killed here every day. Our meals have been simplified so we can soak up the senses and leave the brain - choice - out of it. That's one thing I love about this trip. So we were served duck, of course, on the third floor, along with many of the traditional side dishes. The duck was carved and served in front of us by a chef. We wrapped the duck in a tiny, thin "tortilla" (in the words of Kozden) and applied plum sauce and other dressings, then chomped. It was a really great mix of sweet sauce and vegetables, and moist, crunchy, slightly-meaty duck.

That evening we had a "free night," an excuse for me to go shopping and everybody else to go ice-skating. I visited the brand-name mall next door, as I had nowhere else to go at this time of night, and bought some shoes, shorts, and a shirt. The biggest shoes in the mall were size 11, so they hurt - but less so than my formal shoes. Tomorrow would be a flat day of walking. I realized I was running out of money, so I tried to pay with a credit card. Getting that to work was a nightmare, taking about thirty minutes. Once I had finished my necessary shopping (I had called Cathay to find they actually had no information on the whereabouts of my luggage after all), I had no time for fun.

My new phone number is 15910582430 (append Chinese country code). This post was submitted by a mobile device; please excuse spelling errors.

 

Pork balls, with rice and some other vegetables. Don't ask me what that means. As such begin my experiences in China. I enjoy Cathay's business class service to Beijing, passing the time by speaking to an Australian woman - discussing, among things, travel, dogs, the aboriginals of Australia, genealogy, and the wonders of China. It would have been wonderful that by the time we exited customs, after she grabbed her bag and we parted with a friendly Aussie farewell, my simple brown bag would have plopped onto the belt. But alas, I waited and waited, fruitlessly. I was shown to a dingy office in a back room, with what looked like bullet holes in the walls, and sat in front of a lady who could barely form the hand signals to communicate. As opposed to most international tourist destinations, hardly a soul could speak English. Lucky for paperwork (as my phone was nearing its deathbed) I had an itinerary and hotel information to send the bag to. I even knew the weight, by chance. This all didn't seem necessary - just take the tracking number, and track it already! - but when I saw the sheet that noted my bag had left LAX three hours after I had, two days ago, and never arrived in London, I realized this might be harder than I first imagined.

A security guard escorted me outside to meet my driver. I was passed between several hotel representatives, got some cash, and got in a fancy little stick-shift. After a few minutes of silence, arranging my possessions, I spoke.

"First time in China. No bag. Sorry... how are you, Sir? It's very hot this evening."

The driver, a young Chinese man with a narrow face and big smile just turned slightly to the side and gave me a puzzled look.

"Okay... ha ha. That's fine."

We gestured a bit, discussing trivial things. He tried to teach me the names of London, Hong Kong, Beijing and Xian in Mandarin, which I eventually got, but he incorporated them into sentences much too quickly. I think he wanted me to say something like, "I flew from London to Hong Kong to Beijing." He didn't know where Los Angeles was, but eventually he understood that it was a place. Finally, he took me sightseeing as we stopped at intersections of the busy downtown area. Tienemen Square is just two blocks down the road, apparently. He taught me the word for 'blocks' but I immediately forgot. I need to see these things in writing.

We pulled into the hotel, and as a man open the trunk and prompted, "Your luggage, sir?" in a thick accent, I sighed.

Checking in was not a problem, and I was "upgraded" to an executive suite (a room consisting of a bed double the size of a twin, a couch, minibar, safe, and desk). But when I tried to explain "when large group from CITS arrives from airport, call my room" (because my phone was dead) it took quite some time to get through.

I got to my room and found there to be, among other things, plenty of toilet paper. And only two TV channels, CNN and HBO. After answering several calls that asked me when I needed a ride to the airport, I shaved with a rusty Chinese razor (I survived), took some video of the sad view out of my window, and quickly fell asleep. I woke up around 4:30, expecting a call at any time. My alarm was set to 5:30, but I was excited. I showered, got dressed and headed down to breakfast by seven. It took me most of a day to get ahold of anybody by phone, but when I did and found Mrs. James and the gang still at LAX, I lay down with mixed feelings. Well, at least my bag should be here by tomorrow morning, I thought. Pssh. How wrong could I be?

I breakfasted on soggy eggs, crunchy bacon and sour milk. I watched some movies on HBO for the hours to come, until I had to check out. It took about an hour to convince the lady that I was part of a group that had been delayed by a day. "But you just check out... now check in?" Yes, yes... I am that weird. Because my room wasn't ready, I wandered much of the day around the hotel, walking in circles. I wanted to get some more cash from an ATM (I felt highly priveleged at the airport when an HSBC ATM exclusively serviced foreign cards) but the Agricultural, Workers', and Commerical Banks of China don't take my card. They wouldn't even let me in the door to the streetside ATM with that thing.

So I wandered around the mall, full of nothing but shoes. I could use some shoes. But when I got my bag, that would be another pound and a half that I didn't need. I wandered through a food court, daring myself to eat something. But not a single sign had a single English letter. I was about to leave, and a lady called out to me. "Musige?" What? Had I found food, at last? "Hmm?" I inquired. "Massage," she exclaimed. Boy, I could have used a massage - that backpack was weighing me down, and along with sweating like a pig, I was exhausted. "No thank you. Maybe later." I went into a small booth in a corner of the mall, which sold Motorola phones and such. I walked past, into a more general computer store, pulled out my phone, and said "charger". I had to be more specific, so I showed her how the phone was dead, the battery, an outlet in the wall, and produced some worthy sound effects. "Ahh," she finally said, happy at the prospect of business. She pulled out a charger that fit loosely in my phone. I wrinkled my forehead in dissatisfaction, but she plugged it into the wall and proved to me that it worked like a charm. Satisfied at last, she had her young daughter come over to tell me the price in english. "One hundred and twenty one," she proudly pronounced. What a rip-off, I thought, but I was happy to hear English for the first time in days, so I parted with my money. Besides, I didn't have much of a choice. It was my lifeline.

I decided to point at pictures after all. I went to a McDonald's stand, and pointed at an ice-cream like thing. Gratefully, this was only about a dollar and some, but a break from the heat. After walking in circles for a few more minutes, I decided to sit down in the hotel lobby lounge. I got a sandwich and enjoyed the cool air. Satisfied, I got settled into my room and fell asleep by about 6, after watching two more movies and some news.

Will Baker enlightened me to the fact that we also received a music TV channel, which featured a mix of Chinese and British hits. He knocked on my door around 4 in the morning, and we chatted for a while as our - excuse me, his - bags arrived. The plane had stopped in Anchorage, God knows why. We were ready for bed by 5, but I couldn't fall asleep quite yet. So I stared out the window at the city that already looked like noon. But still, not a single glimpse of blue, blue sky.