Advertisement
Published: August 6th 2007
Gina and I typically avoid group tours at all costs due to our general disdain for others and the fact that we find ourselves on someone else’s timeline. Unfortunately, we were between a rock and a hard spot being car-less in Xi’an, as our sole purpose in stopping in the city was to visit the Army of Terracotta Warriors museum located 40 km outside of town. Having consulted with the hotel concierge, I was assured that the 300 Yuan ($40) per person group tour was top notch and stopped not only at the Army of Terracotta Warriors museum, but also the Big Wild Goose Pagoda and 6000 year-old buried village.
The morning of our tour started on a cheery note, with me doubled-over while pantomiming illness to the waitress
gatekeeper of the breakfast buffet so that she’d let me leave with some toast for my hung over wife. Luckily, Gina’s color returned after only a few chomps of bread and a quick shower. We arrived to the hotel lobby five minutes before our scheduled pick-up and patiently waited. Twenty minutes later, our tour mini-bus arrived.
Already off on the wrong foot, our tour guide bobbed and weaved through traffic
for the next half hour picking up various unsuspecting tourists from other city hotels before finally merging onto the highway out of Xi’an. The constant cry of the mini-bus’ horn all but drowned out the detailed explanation of the English-speaking guide on our way to the Big Wild Goose Pagoda. The only two discernable words other than the name of the attraction were
brick and
porridge. Only after our arrival at the 5-story 1300 year-old temple did we gather that the construction predated mortar and instead relied on mud bricks adhered with porridge. Having visited our fair share of temples prior to Xi’an, Gina and I instead opted to walk the grounds of the pagoda where we ran into a well- dressed Aussie from our tour group. After the formality of introductions, we quickly learned that he too had very little interest in the temple after many years of travel throughout Asia; we became instant friends.
Gathering at the predetermined meeting spot some 45 minutes later, our Aussie friend in tow, we watched as the guide herded the tour group and led us back to the minibus with her powder blue flag and parasol. As we approached, the driver
appeared irritated by our slight tardiness and decided to relieve his stress by practicing racecar driving skills while behind the wheel of the minibus en route to our next destination. The 30-minute drive to our next stop, the terracotta warrior replica factory, was done in World Record time.
Exiting the bus a bit white-knuckled, we refrained from kissing the ground. The factory, one of several around Xi’an, specializes in terracotta replications of the warriors in various scale sizes ranging from full size to 1:100. A representative met our tour group at the curb and proceeded to explain the process of molding and firing the lifelike statues while leading us around the factory floor. Before long, the
tour morphed into a sales exhibition with a long parade through rooms of furniture, art and terracotta warriors. Thankfully, Gina convinced me that while a full size warrior was an awesome souvenir, we had absolutely no place to store the superhuman caricature - I reluctantly settled for the 1:30 scale.
The other nine tourists congregated back at the bus after purchasing their mementos and began quizzing one another on their country of origin, reason for visiting China and overall feel for Xi’an. We
discovered that a majority of the group was Australian, with an English couple and another American couple mixed in for good measure. Expectedly, all eyes turned to me and Gina once we divulged our around-the-World adventure. The explanation was cut short, however, as the driver motioned for everyone to board the bus.
Again finding ourselves weaving through traffic at tremendous speeds, I was convinced our wreck would be a fleeting headline on CNN. Trying our best to ignore the body roll of the minibus with every jerky lane change, we listened intently as the guide started to describe the next destination on our whirlwind tour of Xi’an, the 6000 year-old buried village of Banpo. Purportedly, the earliest example of Yangshao culture, archeologists claim that the Neolithic village appears to have been occupied from 4500 B.C. until around 3750 B.C.
The history lesson continued upon arrival at the enclosed excavation. As the group wandered around the elevated platform above the village site, our guide explained that villagers embraced a matriarchal society. Women in the village would typically have several husbands and any offspring born wouldn’t know their sire. Furthermore, while unearthing the village, archeologists discovered several burial sites and
determined that men were buried separate from women and that children were buried separate from adults, often in clay pots. The burial pots for children would have holes fashioned in their lids because the villagers thought this would enable the child’s spirit to leave the pot and visit their parents after death.
While Gina and I contemplated how archeologists determine the facets of ancient societies without written record, our tour guide proceeded to lead the group to a separate excavation. We stood in awe peering down into the 5-meter-deep pit as the reality of village burials came to fruition. A human skeleton, still interned in the hardened dirt, stared back at us.
Conscious of the time, our guide didn’t let the group scrutinize the excavation for long and ushered us back toward the minibus. By this point, we were convinced the driver didn’t have a license and learned his maneuvers from late nights playing
Grand Theft Auto. Zigzagging through bumper-to-bumper traffic, the driver did his best to give new meaning to the phrase, “Drive it like it’s stolen.”
Earlier in the day, we were informed that our tour included complimentary lunch, which made us arrive at two
possible conclusions - either the food would be terrible or we’d be asked to buy something. Unluckily, both were correct assumptions.
Our group’s procession past the gauntlet of vendor booths was met with little fanfare as the charlatans busied themselves with other tourists leaving the restaurant. Gina and I exchanged a look of,
not again, before ascending the stairs to the second floor establishment. Having spotted several minibuses in the parking lot, it came as little surprise that the restaurant seemed to service every tour passing on their way to the terracotta warriors. I scanned the room and counted about 30 large round tables occupied with tourists of every shape and size. A waitress quickly motioned our group to an empty table and began placing an assortment of communal dishes on a centrally located Lazy Susan.
The meal started out very orderly as guests took turns filling their small plates with the shared utensils. Unfortunately, all niceties evaporated by the second course when the slovenly couple from Kansas decided that the best way to ensure another year at Jenny Craig was to begin using their hands while scooping food from the community chest. Disgusted with their lack of
tact, I put my chopsticks down and announced to Gina that I was no longer hungry. Having missed the uncouth behavior herself, it took Gina another few minutes to notice the human garbage disposals consuming everything in sight. As the couple’s gorge continued from plate to plate, I watched the faces of the other tourists seated at our table contort in repulsion.
Happy to separate ourselves from the gluttonous pair, Gina and I made our way downstairs to peruse the overpriced wares guaranteed at a “good price.” In no mood to barter after weeks in Asia, we simply killed time until our guide reappeared and shuttled everyone to the minibus for our ride to the Army of Terracotta Warriors museum. We inched through the Golden Week gridlock for almost 45 minutes before pulling alongside another thousand minibuses in the museum parking lot. Warned in advance of the swarm of tourists, Chinese and otherwise, who flock to see the warriors, Gina and I braced ourselves for an afternoon of impatience.
Convinced that the entire population of China decided to visit the museum along with us, Gina and I elbowed our way to the entry gate while trying our best
not to lose sight of the guide’s
follow me flag. Tickets in hand, the guide marched our group through the turnstiles and toward a film exhibition detailing the history, discovery and excavation of the terracotta warriors.
During our earlier traffic impasse, the guide had explained that the 3 farmers who originally discovered the warriors while digging a well were only compensated 49 Yuan by the Government for their property in the late 1970s. Disgruntled for almost twenty years, two of the farmers died and the remaining one was eventually offered a job signing books at the museum. It wasn’t too hard to spot the fan-wielding, grumpy looking man once we entered the documentary film hall. While he willingly accepted the job signing books, he despises having his photo taken and berates anyone who attempts. Of course, we had other plans.
While I purchased the book, Gina assumed a tangential position, concealing her camera. As I slid the book across to the man, he lowered his fan momentarily while penning his name. He then grunted and haphazardly tossed the book back in my direction, immediately raising the fan to conceal his withered image. I retreated to find Gina inspecting
her camera to no avail and we simultaneously turned in the direction of the farmer who was giving us the evil eye, somehow knowing we had failed in our task.
At the conclusion of the dramatized documentary, our guide instructed us to meet at the tea house two hours later and gave us free reign of the museum grounds. Gina and I started at the largest of the three excavations which houses a majority of the reconstructed warriors. Commissioned in 246 B.C. as a mausoleum for the ruthless Emperor Qin Shi Huang, the terracotta warriors were meant to ward off conquerors in the afterlife. The near ten-thousand strong army was molded, fired and painted by thousands of artisans over the course of 50 years before they were eventually entombed with their creation and the then dead emperor.
Within 20 years of its completion, feuding warlords stumbled upon the crypt and pillaged the useable weapons held by each terracotta warrior before setting the subterranean burial chamber ablaze, collapsing and concealing the amazing display of craft for nearly 2000 years. As a result of the plunder, only one warrior has been unearthed fully intact with the remainder reconstructed from fragments
by archeologists. Nearly fifty percent of the site remains concealed for future generations to excavate.
The sheer size of the first excavation took us by surprise. Warriors in formation stretched the length of nearly two football fields with crowded gangways flanking their sides. Gina and I failed to spy an empty piece of railing and decided to resort to the local tactics of pushing and shoving. Luckily, we found easy prey in some kids and maneuvered our way in for a better view.
Neither in the mood for the banter of Mandarin nor the people who were speaking it, I was at my wit’s end in no time. As I attempted to snap a few photos, a guide sporting a
follow me flag began waving and pointing the pennant in my line of sight, undermining my every shot. Annoyed, I finally lost it. “Stop waving the fucking flag in my face.”
Immediately, I heard a hearty chuckle from behind me and turned to find a tall Chinese man grinning in my direction.
Obviously, he spoke English. Over the course of the next hour, Gina and I covered the remaining excavation while alternating between intrigue and irritation.
Ultimately, we arrived at the tea house half an hour early only to find our Australian friends just as indifferent and eager to leave.
Several near misses on the ride home that evening made the trip nothing short of harrowing. Happy to make it back to the hotel in one piece, we pulled out our prized souvenir only to discover it had been warped by a broken water bottle in our bag.
Fucking China.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.136s; Tpl: 0.024s; cc: 8; qc: 23; dbt: 0.0548s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb
darby
non-member comment
and now they make...
70% of the worlds neckties. how warrior like. glad you guys made it out of there alive.