Gotta Terracotta

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  Xi'an, Shaanxi, China
Thursday, August 28, 2008

The flight from Newark to Beijing took 12 hours and flew across an entire ocean. The train ride from Beijing to Xian took 10 hours and felt three times as long. Unable to get sleeper seats, the three of us were relegated to soft seats. In this case, the word "soft" serves more as an optimistic euphemism than any reference to the truth. Sleep was like the fruit dangling over Tantalus' head, which, by the way, would place me squarely in Greek hell.

But that is just my overdramatic American-self complaining. Many Chinese sit in hard seats that are little more than benches. Even worse, if you can imagine, a handful even stand the entire way. In honor of these enduring souls, Adam and I want to write a book called "Chinese People Sleep Everywhere." On newspapers between cars, underneath rows of seats, and even standing - the Chinese do it all. I think a pop-up book would work best.

After leaving our packs at a surprisingly nice hostel (Bell Tower Hostel) and eating a delicious bowl of Xian noodles, we set off for the Terracotta Warriors. The megalomaniacal Emperor Huang Di built an 8,000 strong ceramic army to wage war in the afterlife. Looking down upon the archers, swordsmen, chariots, and halberdiers, the army certainly appeared formidable enough for the man who first unified China and began the Qin Dynasty. The soldiers are incredibly detailed and even feature unique facial features. Without a doubt, the Army will be one of the coolest sites I will see in China - second only to the Great Wall.

Yet apparently the Chinese are not so sure. For some odd reason, the Terracotta Museum featured a display of the Olympic torch. This glaring anachronism did not detract from the experience, but does allow me to digress for one paragraph. In short, the Chinese have what I call Olympomania. While certainly hosting the Olympics is a big deal, the Chinese have taken the task to unprecedented levels. The pressure to impress permeates the entire country. I once heard an unsettling scream to discover the women's volleyball team had lost a set. I thought someone had died. It is as if the Chinese place their entire self-esteem on the success of their Olympic team and ignore their own rich 5,000-year history. Quite frankly, I'm not sure what they will do once the Olympics are over and the mania has subsided.

After a McDonald's breakfast the next morning (so nice!), we began our day by visiting the Muslim quarter of the city. Because Xian served as the last stop on the Silk Road, many Muslims and other minorities have left their mark on the city. The mosque we visited was founded in the year 742. Half-Chinese and half-Middle Eastern, the buildings on the complex were stunning. Arabic calligraphy decorated the walls next to Chinese inscriptions. Wandering through the mosque, taking pictures and attempting to decipher the Arabic etchings, I stumbled open the prayer hall. Peering inside, I saw several men prostrate on the ground deep in prayer. For nearly 1,300 years, the devout had submitted their will to Allah in the same way on that very spot.

On our way to the exit, Adam struck up a conversation with several of the members. We quickly failed our feeble attempt to communicate in Arabic. All of the members (and me) speak broken Arabic, but their accents were impenetrable to me. At one point, I even looked to Adam for a translation not realizing they were attempting to speak Arabic. We quickly changed languages to Chinese.

After the usual exhortation of American basketball, one of the Muslims suddenly crossed his arms, pouted, and complained about Bush with an emphatic thumbs-down to underline his point. Most Chinese like America and even more surprisingly, like President Bush. His approval rating in China is nearly twice that in the States. They are largely indifferent to the war in Iraq, but praise Bush for his support of China's ascension to the World Trade Organization. But Muslim Chinese take a different perspective. Like many Muslims around the world, they look at recent American foreign policy and rhetoric and feel threatened. Unwarranted and unfair to my eyes, nonetheless that is the growing Muslim consensus. Quickly changing the mood, the same man then smiled and exonerated Adam and me. With a quick thumbs-up, he said Americans who learn Chinese and Arabic are a-ok with him. I was then given a discount at the gift shop where I bought a dual Chinese-Arabic Qur'an.

After a quick visit to the Great Wild Goose Pagoda, our time in Xi'an came to a close. Gathering our luggage, we searched in vain for a taxi. Lacking other options and short on time, we were forced to hire two rickshaws. Weaving through congested traffic, dodging sardine-packed buses, passing luggage-laden bicycles, breazing by staring pedestrians, absorbing the cacaphony of China, and gripping our packs white-knuckled with the polluted air in our hair, we reached the train station. Next stop, Nanjing.
 

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