It was 7:30 (or 0730 Chinese/military time) and the baritone voice on the other end cracked “good morning.” It was another anti-climatic start to another interesting day in the People’s Republic of China. After being startled by a half-made statute that vaguely resembled rapper Eminem, we woofed down bacon, eggs, french toast, watermelon and meatloaf. It was game-time. We had a full schedule ahead of us. First we entered the Wild Goose temple and pagoda- a Buddhist temple that incorporated multiple smaller temples into a compound resembling the Branch-Davidians’s fortress at Waco Texas, minus the assault rifles, grenades and raiding U.S. federal authorities.
Our tour guide, Robin, told us that visiting monks had to pay their respects at the smaller temples before they could enter the main temple, which resembled the Leaning Tower of Pisa because of the recent earthquakes. At the bookstore, vendors hawked zodiac sign books that, in 102 pages or less, promised to explain your success, love life and ultimate downfall. I gave into the urge and bought the sign book, the snake (year 1989), for 80 yuan. (15 ish dollars).
After learning that I will be a jealous lover, plagued by lawsuits and die at age 80, we went to the jade factory. The factory, which was run by the government, which guaranteed quality, processed raw jade into polished gems. The jade is found in either the mountains or in rivers and comes in lavender and “apple-green.” We watched the technicians, who are educated for two years in jade cutting, cut the jade before our eyes into intricate patterns. After pitching a 40% discount for us, the factory spokesperson racked up a large amount of sales as each member of the team bought two or three jade pieces.
Next were the Terracotta warriors. Situated in the hills around Xi’an, the burial sight, for a Chinese emperor, contained thousands of clay soldiers, horses and weapons. The sight consisted of four large open pits that were covered by a large overhead dome and went 20 feet into the ground. Each clay soldier was unique because it was designed after a specific person and stood in formation, as he guarded the emperor into the after-life.
After lunch, and Kevin breaking a record –setting ten bowls of soup, we went to an art gallery. Now this wasn’t an ordinary gallery. It was a “farmer-painter” gallery. This particularly genera of art originally start off as a mouthpiece for pro- communist- Mao propaganda, but since the 1980s, has evolved into a place for modern art. The art glorified the farming class and encouraged workers to produce enough food for all Chinese.
Along the way, as we drove through a neighborhood the resembled a scene from Black Hawk Down the Bakara market in Mogadishu Somalia, I saw something. It was a Direct T.V. satellite dish that was mounted on house that appeared to have been hit by a Hell-fire anti-tank missile. I guess when you don’t have running water, you can always watch MTV’s The OC or the Home Shopping Network.
Now dinner. After being told we were eating at a “western restaurant,” we were in high spirits. Next to the fried cod, an apparent Chinese specialty, was the spaghetti. Yes spaghetti, like Pasqaule’s. American, I mean Italian, cuisine never tasted so good.
After deciding to go “clubbin”, aka walking around Xi’an, we found ourselves in the Chinese equivalent of Nordstrom’s cross-bred with Meijers. We busied ourselves with Chinese moon-pies, Tang juice and the fact that the store security made us put our backpacks into locked bags so we couldn’t steal. L
-Chris Photiades
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