My Life in China

5 Days in Chengdu: Day 1; March 5, 2005

There’s a big difference between 5:30am and 6:00am, the difference being that with one, you get to the airport on time and can check in your luggage. With the other, the check-in counter closes about a minute after you arrive, thus you are not allowed to actually check in your luggage, and you have to leave your Swiss Army knife at the security desk (will you ever see it again? Who knows?). On top of that, you then have to push your way onto the plane with a big swath of blue stain-resistant all-weather all-terrain dufflitude. On the bright side you also don’t have to go through baggage claim upon your arrival, so you trade one hassle for another.

At the onset Chengdu looks like any other Chinese city: the airport is bright and shiny, while the most other things are, shall we say, not. There’s a new building being erected on every street corner, glass and steel being the building material of choice. Ah yes, glass and steel, I know thee well. However at the moment these future centers of finance and commerce look more like really tall parking garages. Downtown people are, well, EVERYWHERE.

We transfer from the bus to the bustling sidewalk, then are immediately accosted, *ahem* ‘approached,’ by a bike-taxi. I automatically wave it off, as both my nervous system and my body have been conditioned over these past ten months to do so. But Phil decides walking to the bus station (bus station? Again?) will take too long, so we accept our biker’s offer.

Phil and I climb onto the passenger compartment. We rest our backpacks on our laps, and my leather briefcase goes on top of that. Then our suitcases are crammed in front of us, our “driver” gets on the bike, and we are off. Two guys on a bicycle-rickshaw thing that would barley fit a, as it is now, normal-sized American, two sizeable pieces of luggage, a driver oblivious to traffic conditions, and the eternally-oblivious Traffic of China. You do the math, cuz I’m too busy praying try.

The bus station. The bus. Isaac sitting next to a rather drowsy and scruffy-looking fellow who thinks Isaac’s shoulder is a Westin Heavenly Pillow. Seriously, how come I never get to sit next to attractive women? Hell right now I’d even settle for a good-looking man.

Our final destination: Emei Shan. A little background info: In English, Emei Shan means, “Some-Chinese-word-I-can’t-translate” Shan. The city is so named for the imposing and famous mountain that dominates the landscape. Or so the brochures told me. Keeping this in mind, my first reaction after getting off the bus is, “Uhh…I don’t see it…” Turns out you have to go a little ways away before you can actually see the mountain.

In most cities I’ve been to, if you want to know what’s happening, you go downtown. The lights! The restaurants! The excitement! Downtown, everything’s waiting for you! Yes, well, downtown Emei is quite sprawling and sparse. I don’t see many cars or people, even at the bus station. There are a few billboards advertising said mountain (still don’t see it), a large circular road, and some peddlers here and there. We catch a taxi (or rather, the taxi catches us) and head for our hotel.
The Emei Shan Hotel is rather nice, a four-star hotel near its namesake. The design reminds me of a villa-style resort, meaning there’s a main building, and then clusters of four-story buildings nearby. Restaurants and the “entertainment center” are also in separate buildings. After dropping our stuff in our room, we do some exploring.

Every Chinese city (actually, most cities, period) has that special street that everyone goes to for a good time. Beijing has Wangfujing, Shanghai has Nanjing Lu; even Guangzhou has Tian He Lu. And Emei has…Hao Chi Jie. This literally means “Good Eat Street,” and our taxi driver tells us that whatever we want, we can find it at Hao Chi Jie. Great food? Check. Beer? Check. Women? Do you even need to ask?

Yeah, well, in real life, no, no, and yes, but you really don’t want any of that. What they do have is a few food stalls, all with the same kind of stuff, like, say, crawfish. Now, I love crawfish, but the ones I saw writhing around in wide blue buckets of shallow mud made me pretty sick. In fact, some of them looked like they WANTED to just die and get it over with. Suffice to say, we decided to go somewhere else.

I think it’s mostly that this place really doesn’t see many tourists in its actual town, foreign or otherwise, so there isn’t that much to do, and there aren’t many people around anyway. But about after an hour, we FINALLY find a restaurant. So we go inside. Upstairs, mahjong. Downstairs, a few tables by the windows. And so my foray into Sichuan cuisine begins.

I read in a magazine that you really don’t know a type of food until you try it in its place of origin. Ok, so I read it in an in-flight tourist mag advertising Chengdu, but oh, how those words ring true. First up: thinly sliced beef in chili oil. “If you want to know how good a restaurant is,” Phil tells me, “this is the dish you use to test it.” At first bite, the beef’s inherent flavor slightly grazes the tongue. Then a hint of saltiness and spice spreads across the mouth, followed by a slowly building burning sensation that ultimately envelops you. And they said I couldn’t write for “Iron Chef.”

Pork riblets, tofu, and some veggies come next, all generously prepared with a variety of chilies or chili oils. After a while, I just can’t take another bite. I mean, my heart wants to but my heartburn won’t let me.

As it turns out, there’s a five-star hotel near our four-star hotel, complete with nice facilities. This our taxi driver tells us as we head back after dinner. Best of all, they have an outdoor hot spring. So we go. Half an hour in the hot spring (you can drink the water!), a quick swim in the pool, and then twenty minutes in the sauna. Now this is not to be confused with the steam rooms you see on TV. I am not, however, prepared for just exactly how HOT a sauna really is. Just imagine sitting on a rock in the Sahara, and that’s pretty much it. Oh, and some advice: even though it’s neat to hear the ‘Ssssss!’ sound when you pour water on the hot rocks, I really don’t recommend it. Because then it’s like you’re sitting on a rock in the Sahara, right smack during noontime. And you’re naked. Still, it’s a nice way to end a promising start. I could find worse ways to spend my time.

As we walk back to our hotel, my left food starts to get pangs of sharp pain. Let’s hope nothing comes of that.

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