Pristine in Xi'an ( Travel Log of The Solitary Arc at www.d332.com )

Travel: Asia :Xi'an, China

Xi'an

Dec 26, 2001, 8:01pm Arrival at Xi'an

I could not have asked for a better night to arrive at the Xi'an Airport. We were on a small passenger plane where once you landed, you had to get out and walk onto the runway and take a bus to the terminal. The moment we looked out and saw the landing lights of the airport, we tried to determine whether it was fog or snow that was airborne throughout the nightsky. It was neither.

Walking out onto the runway, the oppressive smog of burnt concrete or coal blanketed us. After going through an immigration gate that said "Warm Service," we filed into another bus leaving the airport. After an hour long drive, a looming fortress wall suddenly appeared from the smoky night. We passed under this wall opening as I looked out the bus window. Men and women in bicycles and surgical masks pedaled by with an air of lament. Neon signs of petrified calligraphy on hotel buildings and restaurants named after macabre cuisine bowed a sanguine note.

In the heart of town, a bell tower from the Ming dynasty hovered over its subjects.  We circle around its base, the chill of a knife's blade carved down our spines, and sure as the dead moan, the sight of terror rose before us:

A McDonald's golden arches

Dec 27, 2001, 8:01am Dacien Temple and the Dayan Pagoda

Next morning we were bright and bushy-tailed, tour-bussing over to the Dacien Temple with one of the oldest pagodas in Buddhist history: legend has it that three geese dropped right in front of this temple, and since Buddhist monks are not allowed to eat livestock, they ate them when no one was looking and told tour guides that they buried the poor geese under the Pagoda. Here is our first shot together: A perfect example of the contradiction of looks. Observe if you will, the jovial, carefree countenance on Dennis's face: In reality, he would have strangled Mother Theresa if she had walked on by at that moment. His professional camera was malfunctioning in the cold weather. He cursed it as "the Malaysian Camera," meaning it would only work when the weather was warm. Having lived in Malaysia, I can safely say that such a hideous generalization was grossly incorrect.

Malaysians don't work in any weather.

I try to capture the austerity of the surface of the temple grounds. How, could people live so simply, you may ask?

In order to discover the answer, you only need to look inside: Your soul must be luxuriant.

Dec 27, 2001, 1:01pm Lunch by the Imperial Bath House

Next time someone tells you, "I'm feeling like, Chinese" when you are deciding on what to have for dinner, do them a favor and tell them, "You mean, uh, you are feeling like, American Chinese, fer sure!"  I have heard so many stories about non-Asians rushing out to China because they thought the Pu-Pu Platter there would be a cosmic Garcia apocalypse. I must admit that I would have found myself stumbling through chicken bones, fish scales, and duck tendons were it not for the fact that Xi'an is a farming area noted for vegetation. Therefore, I happily popped mushrooms, lotus soup, baq choi, and Chinese spinach in my mouth along with our fellow tour members. While they attacked the food like Planet of the Apes at a banana-split cookoff, the table next to us had the solemn atmosphere of a wake as Caucasian families stared mournfully at full, untouched plates of fried chicken embryos with scallions from Ramulac.

If you inhale Big Mac's, you wouldn't necessarily consider yourself a baked haggis aficionado.

Dec 27, 2001, 3:01pm The Imperial Bath House

Okay, it's time for a pop quiz.

Here's a snap of the Imperial Bath at Huaqing Hot Springs, home to historical downfalls of leaders from Xuanzong to Chiang-Hai Shek Here is your question of the day:

What is the name of the Xi'an beauty depicted in the picture?

If your answer is "I dunno?" Then you are correct.

The statue on the right is the depiction of Yang Guifei (Lady Yang, one of the four Asian beauties in the history of China) who put the voodoo on Tang emperor Xuanzong's mojo in the 8th century AD. In an uncharacteristic flash of art history ecstasy, my mother (when she visited this site a few years ago) forcefully pointed out that the sculpture was chronologically erroneous. First off, the gratuitous nudity seems more in line with western sculpture than anything from the Tang period. Secondly, pleasantly plump, as Dennis pointed out, was more the vogue in Yang's time of existence, not "bodacious ta-tas," as we have here. Anyhow, my mother eventually got the tour guide to admit that the sculpture was a very recent addition to the Huaqing Baths.

Now, back to the pop quiz answer. The Xi'an beauty depicted in this picture is the shopkeeper standing on the porch in the background. While tourists anxiously snapped pictures of a statue that looked nothing like the paintings of Yang Guifei - thus a twice removed representation - there was an actual Xi'an resident standing unnoticed behind them. Why do we adore stoney representations that are a figment of our imagination when there are breathing real life beauties in the immediate vicinity? You may protest: "But we don't know who the anonymous shopkeeper is!"

I ask you then, gentle reader, would you really recognize who that statue was if you had seen it on the streets of Xi'an?

So, the next time you are admiring a representation of a representation at the fashion magazine rack, please take a moment and look around you. There may be a true beauty nearby.

Dec 27, 2001, 4:01pm Terracotta Soldiers

According to the tour guide, there are some 33 basic molds from which artisans of the first emperor of Qin derived these terracotta soldiers. The combination of these base molds produce over 7000 figures in his burial tombs, all life-sized. The genius of the unknown artists who created these figures lies in the many different personalities they accounted for.   Look closely and you may find a representation of yourself. On the left picture below (detail right) is my favourite guy: Out of line with everyone else, he has a questioning pose: "What are we doing here?" Evidently the artisans snuck in some metatext while they were hard at work.

Dec 27, 2001, 6:01pm Outside the Terracotta Soldiers Mausoleum

I am astounded, saddened, and inspired by the abject poverty outside the mausoleum grounds. On the roadside, small houses the size of half an American garage with loose bricks filling up gutted windows sit on mud and clay dirt. Corn stalks and coal burn for heat while children play on the moist earth. Adults gather at an open-air "club" where three well-worn pool tables have been dragged out onto a cement square, marked by four poles at each corner to support a roof that is no longer there. Squatting Xi'an men smoke cigarettes and gaze at us as our bus honks our way through streets filled with bicycle riders.

When I see people who are able to survive in these conditions, I ask myself this: What is the difference between a luxury and a deluxe luxury car? You still get to work at the same time in either (or a 3 cylinder sub-compact). The luxury sedan is built for comfort on long distance drives, but you won't be needing that, because you will be too busy working 60 hour weeks to upgrade from a 30 inch television to a 33 inch television. Will that extra 500 mhz make a difference? Extra whitening toothpaste? Premium merlot? Eurosports sunglasses? One less carat? 200 more channels? One box closer to the field?

Dec 28, 2001, 1:01am Huashan Mountains

We stay at one of the good hotels in town at the base of the Huashan mountains. It is on the tour itinerary, but I assure you it would rank as a half-star by American standards. Customary in many parts of mainland China are hotels that include a list of monetary charges incurred by wear-and-tear to anything from the room remote control to a stain in the rug. The toilet rolls in this particular establishment were 1/3 the amount of a standard roll. While one tries to sleep in near freezing temperature, a scrape of a shovel is heard outside the window as the resident hotel coal man shovels coal into the central heater. The thermostat gives you a choice between cold, or colder.

"What keeps the coal man shoveling?" Dennis and I discuss this as we hide under the comforters. "Listen to him shoveling - It's Sisyphus. His work is never done." It's the classic question that has plagued humanity from the beginning of time. What makes people get up in the morning to push the gravity-happy boulder call work up the mountain till their retirement day? We throw the dice when the statistics of losing are overwhelming. We get married in a sea of divorces. We plan for that magic retirement date of winnebagoes and metamucil across Kansas while slotting through our prime healthy years. Someone sold us hope.

And we bought it.

I try to go to sleep staring at Dennis's back as we huddle for warmth. I am happy and don't want to let go of this moment. As he turns around, I reach to turn off the light, just in time for the tears to roll off my cheeks, and land on the pillow, in darkness.

I wake up in the middle of the night feeling chilled. Dennis had been having problems falling asleep due to allergies and massive sinus problems. He's been miserable around bedtime. I feel around for the down comforter and realise I only have a corner the size of a tortilla chip over my chest. Where did it all go? I turn gingerly to my side and see my babboo sound asleep in the sheaf of the nightlight. It's too cold to fall asleep and I don't want to risk waking him up. So I turn on my side and watch my loved one sound asleep.

Eventually I fall asleep.

and sweetly, I dream.

Dec 28, 2001, 8:01am Huashan Peak

We take the swiss-made cable car up the Huashan mountain. The rest of the way to the peak had to be done on foot. These mountains are well-known as retreat places for Taoist monks, who still have small temples and retreat monasteries scattered throughout the mountains. To continue to the peak, one had to go on foot. Legend has it that a famous (and acrophobic) Chinese poet - among many other poets who had gone through the Green Dragon Ridge - was so captivated by the breathtaking view of his ascent that by the time he reached near peak, he turned around, took one look at the treacherous path, and refused to go back down. Eventual nearby monks at the retreat had to go up with a jug of wine, get him soaked, and piggyback him down to their monastery.

Really, I mean what's the big deal one may ask?. There's nothing to fear but fear itself. It's all in his mind. A few years ago, on a national holiday, tourists flocked to the Huashan peak in record number. It was so busy, along the path, three people fell to their deaths.

I hope you know a lawyer.

Dec 28, 2001 "I've always wanted my son to grow up to be a lawyer."
Well, if you ever need a lawyer when in Xi'an, look these guys up. The one on the left is a divorce settlement lawyer, the one in the middle is accident claims.

One of the oldest civilizations in the world, and here is what they think of lawyers.
Are you falling in love with this city yet?

Dec 28, 2001 4:00pm Xi'an Forest of Stone Stele Tablets Museum (Calligraphy)

Here, a collection of well-known steles (public monuments featuring topics ranging from religion to ancestral history) of master calligraphers are housed. Inside, I turned the corner and found three very suspicious, shabbily dressed guys with ruffled hair huddling around a rickety table by a stele. I wondered what they were up to.  When I approached, they turned around and parted: I saw the supposed contraband on the table: inkstone, brushes, and scrolls of paper. They were copying one of the works (a standard academic practice of humanities and arts scholars). They must have been students from one of the thirty-three universities in Xi'an.

I guess university students look the same anywhere you go in the world: Too busy partying and studying to be concerned with vanity.

Here, the establishment's master rubbing man finishes a "rubbing" by gently stamping and hammering a sheet of paper over the stele (on Cao Quan's clerical script from the Han period).  Taken together, the process is somewhat like as a archaic printing press. The process is tedious, and extreme care must be taken, for with each subsequent rubbing, the priceless inscriptions on the stone tablets erode.

One stone tablet, the Daqin Jingjiao written by Lu Xiuyan tells the story of Christianity disseminating throughout China. The tour guide states that some Christian man from the West came over many years ago and offered to buy this stone tablet for an astronomical sum of money. Why is it that these religious people always have an urge to collect objects of their successes? Can't one just bring this story back verbally and repeat it, as I am doing now? The answer the good people of the museum gave to this man:

"It is not for sale."

And it's just as well. In any condition, in any language, in any circumstances, the phrase "it's not for sale," always rings sweetly as a church hymn for gentiles like myself.

When money is not accepted....

The Six Steeds of Zhao Mausoleum has 6 large life-sized stone tablets depicting lions who guard the emperor's tomb. It turns out that two of these six tablets are replicas and the real ones have been stolen by someone who then smuggled it out of the country.  The caption and the tour guide informs us that it is currently the property of the Art Museum of the University of Pennsylvania.

I wondered why the university has not yet returned it. Then again, why hasn't the Royal Museum in London return all the loot, columns, and sphinxes they plundered from ancient Egypt?

Maybe we'll address the problem one day when colonnades of the Jefferson Memorial ends up at a town square in Uzbekistan.

Dec 29, 2001 9:00am The Museum of Xi'an

I was astonished, charmed, and delighted, most of all, by this piece of work. To be honest, I was so carried away by looking at these stone tablets that I temporarily neglected my duty as your fearless lj journalist, thereby forgetting to write down the title and engraver of the piece. (It is located on the ground floor of the Xi'an museum.)

How often have you seen depiction in the ancient Chinese arts of Chinese folks gettin' down and shaking that good thang? Eyes close, feeling the soul in them bones, and getting jiggy with it. Finding pieces like this confirms the fact that life in ancient China wasn't as straightlaced and dull as Merchant Ivory movies want you to believe.

Dec 29, 2001 The Great Eastern Mosque of Xi'an 4:00pm

Look at the Ming period roof and the oriental architecture in the picture below. Now look at the inscription over the doorway. Established in 742 AD, it houses an original hand copy version of the Koran and is also considered by many to be the oldest mosque in China. Do they understand Arabic? That was my first question when I saw Muslim-garbed Chinese men and women walking around the grounds and lining the bazaar outside. Then the call to prayer came over the speakers and for some reason or another, a warm feeling washed over me. I guess it is the subdued rendition issued from the lips of an Asian chanter. The Arabic calls to prayer have a serpentine complexity, much like the Umayyad Thuluth script. The Chinese rendition of the call, in Arabic, is in the unornamented strokes of the seal script.

"No, they don't understand Arabic." the tour guide answered. "They repeat it, but they go by the translation."

Oh well. I shrugged. People didn't quite understand Jesus's Aramaic either.

Prayers are held inside this main hall at the Xi'an Mosque.

Dec 30, 2001 1:00 pm Xi'an City Center

I can't stress this enough: If one is planning to visit places like Xi'an, or Beijing, one of the first advice one gets is this one: "Do it now while you still can." When you look at pictures of Xi'an city center, the travel pics show you all the trees and leaves framing the bell tower (below background). But the truth is this: Xi'an is catching up fast, and the modern is quickly swallowing up the old. Pretty soon, it's going to look like just another exit off I-80.

Dec 30, 2001 6:30pm The Xi'an City WatchTower Wall

At the watchtower gateway of the Xi'an city wall, two kids are hawking coal-heated yams on sticks. I am walking out the tower when amidst a swirl of tourist buses, one of the dusty, soot-faced boy of nine (or ten) appear. He is teary-eyed and desperate. He runs past me as I try to figure out what is going on. After I boarded the bus, the other tourists, speaking in Cantonese, then translated by Dennis, say that the guards at the tower, constantly having to chase away these soliciting kids had playfully grabbed one stick of yam from their little cart and ran into the fortress tower behind protected doors.

One of the problems of traveling in a country without knowing the language is that one always gets the news in delayed time. It'd be so natural really. One would walk up to the kid, grab his dusty jacket by the shoulder and say, "what's wrong little brother, why aren't you taking care of your cart? I'm hungry. I could use a few sticks of these things, how about two of 'em? Here I'll take three...here's the money. Actually, I can't take this on the bus, so you just keep these two - I already bought them- and I'll eat this one before I get on."

Times like these, I really wish I knew how to speak Mandarin.

When our bus is pulling away, I see the two kids standing by their carts looking at us. Apparently the situation has been resolved. In a Magnum - Reuters journalist fervor, I think about snapping a picture of their sooty sad faces.   But you know, these kids are have it hard enough already. They can sure use a break: After standing on a dusty traffic circle all day long, they don't need to look into another camera of another clean-faced tourist inside a warm comfortable bus. It wouldn't be right.

Besides, you wouldn't do that to your little brother.

Dec 30, 2001 8:30pm The Performance at the Xi'an People's Hotel

This is the first time I've ever attended a dinner-performance. It is just a simple in-house dance troupe performing dances and music from past centuries. The place is at a banquet hall in the Xi'an People's Hotel, built in the Russian style by the Russians. At the big hall, we wolf down approximately 800 dumplings in 800 varieties in increasingly diminishing sizes. Call it integral dining.

The troupe performs one piece after another, alternating between traditional instrumental pieces performed on the Pi'pa and bamboo flutes, and dancing. They are performing right in front of Dennis and I, since we have stage-side tables. Dennis is so close to the stage that when the dancers swirl their elongated sleeves in spirals all the incidental dust kicked up make a bee-line for his nostrils. On one of the ornate pieces, all ten female dancers are employed. During a moment of frozen repose, the prettiest-looking dancer, with a swan like neck steals a side-long glance at Dennis.

It is the innocence and magic of that first crush in high school all over again.

We went back to Xi'an's oldest and most established hotel, the Shangri-La hotel. A string quartet is performing Mozart K575 to perfection.

And it hurts my ears.

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