Chongqing and Xi'an

We only spent an afternoon in Chongqing, which was more than enough—it was disgustingly hot. It is often known as oven city, with temperatures in the summer reaching 110 degrees. Other names are mountain city, fog city and artist city. As Chongqing was the WWII capital of China, it was heavily bombed by the Japanese and otherwise damaged; artists flocked there to document the events, and stayed. The bicycles ubiquitous throughout every other part of China are not to be seen in Chongqing, largely because of the hills, temperature and pollution.

Our local guide, Irene, told us that she has failed three times to pass her driving test. She’s been allowed to buy a car, but can’t get a license. Our guide in Guilin told us that it varies a lot from city to city, but that nationwide, people over 60 can no longer drive. It used to be 55, was recently changed. The people in our tour group were horrified.

Our itinerary included a visit with a relocated family, but the lost day on the cruise meant that something had to go, and that something would not be the panda, so off we went to the zoo. Irene told us that decades ago, local zookeepers were slow to catch on to pandas’ vegetarianism. When pandas refused pork, they were fed pork fried with Szechuan ingredients. A couple of them starved to death. We were told not to be alarmed by their dirty-looking fur: they have a skin disease activated by the heat. If some are not outside, they may be inside—I $hit you not—watching panda porn. Apparently they’re not very interested in mating and have to be encouraged.

We walked passed the lesser pandas (which are really glorified raccoons, but very cute) to the giant pandas (which are also very cute, even though they’re the #1 threat). We had a few minutes, so I walked around to the amphibians cage and saw the cutest hippopotami ever. One swam up to chat, cuddle. I extended my arm and took a picture.

From the zoo, onto the Stillwell and Flying Tiger Museums, where we barely had time to look around because the lecture (of information we already heard on the way over) took up most of the time. On the way to the airport, we passed a bunch of converted air raid shelters, which apparently dot the whole city. They’re now shops, other things that work well in urban caves.

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You’ll never believe what was behind me on the flight to Xi’an: a screaming, kicking toddler. I zenned out and told myself it was a short flight, and she stopped kicking and screaming after about twenty minutes.

Our dinner was at the airport restaurant, which was pretty bad, but not bad enough to merit the endless complaining it sparked. The majority of us willing to let it go were more annoyed over the complaining than the bad food. I was just happy to be somewhere clear and dry. Even my allergies were milder.

Xi’an’s population in the 1950s was 200,000 people; it has since expanded to 8.2 million. Mao had moved factories there—away from the sea—for security reasons, and people followed. The evening ride from the airport revealed almost as much neon as in Wuhan. The odd thing about all this neon in Chinese cities is that it illuminates not strip clubs but banks and other such buildings. Couldn’t all this electricity be preserved for better use?

Since we would spend a couple of nights there, I decided to once again do laundry, and mom decided once again to not shut up about it. "Idiocy, idiocy!" and "Do you wash your coat every day?" My coat is wool and doesn't take to smelling the way this polyester fleece does, and who's washing anything every day? Other people on the trip have been handwashing their stuff regularly and don't have to hear about it every two minutes.

The hotel in Xi’an is the best of the trip, and I think the city is my favorite as well. I love the city wall, love the parks. If I understood correctly, Xi'an, in addition to having been the ancient capital, was sort of the crossroads between northern and southern China, which were separated by the Qingling mountain range and less formally by the Yangtze. The first silk road had opened from Xi'an, originally for military purposes and only later for business.

The first stop would be the terracotta warriors. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I was in awe—the size, the detail, the organization in units—it was just amazing. Then again, I suppose if you're an emperor and you'll have built an army to guide your grave, you may as well go all-out. Even having to watch the cheesy history-channelesque battle reenactment and play defense against the school kids run amok couldn't detract from the overall experience. In the pits, flash was not allowed, but this stopped no one from using it. The guards certainly didn’t say anything to anyone.

After seeing the soldiers, we had a noodle lunch nearby, complete with noodle-making demonstration. It was impressive—I thought the chef must have had some sort of cutting device in his hands, but it was all manual. After that, we visited a local elementary school and then a farmer’s house. The farmer talked about how much his family’s life has improved over the last few years.

The guide, Mark, told us he was a Confucionist and told us a bit about his philosophy. Confucius says, do not give to others what you do not want for yourself.
He also told us that although his family was persecuted by the Red Guard, he still loved Mao.

That evening, we skipped the optional Tang Dynasty Dinner Show and walked around the city. I wanted to get going earlier, but mom ignored my pleas as she spent almost an hour reshuffling her suitcase. If I was ever on a corner looking at the map, within seconds people offered help. We walked the city’s wide boulevards, past all sorts of shops and eateries. At one intersection, we found a large mall-like complex where mom said she would look for a washroom. She emerged less than a minute later to tell me to look at the underwear for sale inside (and to help her find the washroom). Mostly to move us along, I bought some underwear. The vendor examined the 50Y note carefully, and I likewise examined the 40Y in change, as if I could tell the difference. I spotted the WC sign and led the way. On the way out, we passed a few restaurants where we couples and families could be found sharing hotpots.

We reached the city wall and walked a few blocks along the river. It was already dark, but lots of people were doing their tai chi and other exercises.

Our last day in any city was characterized by putting our checked luggage out the door first thing in the morning and grabbing our carry-ons, which we would leave on the bus. This meant packing the night before. Mom couldn’t stand to see anything left out.

A.: Don’t toss that wrapper please, I’m going to put the soap in it.
Mom: There will be soap at the next hotel.
A.: It’s just wasteful, I can’t stand opening new bars of soap all the time.

The next morning, she had tossed the wrapper. I took it out of the (clean) trash, asked her to leave it. The next time I went to wash my hands, the wrapper was gone again.

A.: Mom!
Mom: What? So you told me, I forgot.
A.: I told you twice now. Why not just leave things alone?

We passed a gauntlet of vendors as we boarded the bus. There used to be a law against it, or rather, one permitting authorities to arrest aggressive vendors and take them to a shelter. A few years ago it changed and only those requesting shelter could be taken away. I couldn’t tell you whether or not ‘shelter’ was euphemism.

I bought a pack of postcards, muttered something along the lines of many being too low-quality to send.

Mom: Send the low-quality ones. Keep the good ones.
A.: What did Confucius say??
Mom: You can’t send those, look how nice they are.
A.: [Sigh].
I was again without postcards to send.

The factory visits were getting old, but this one- lacquerware- was okay because we didn’t have to spend an inordinate amount of time in the showroom and we got a helpful furniture-cleaning tip out of it (make a doughball of oil and refined flower, massage furniture with it, rub with flour to remove excess).

Off to the idyllic Wild Goose Pagoda park, where we were given ample time to explore before heading to the city center. We were given about an hour before lunch to walk around, which we took to see the bustling market. We made a few turns, but I had a good sense of where we were in relation to where we’d started. It was getting close to lunch, and Mom wanted to go the wrong way. She must have not counted a turn. I asked a vendor to point us to the drum tower, she pointed the way I wanted to go. Mom threw her hands up and stomped the other way.

A.: Mom, drum tower is that way.

A chorus of vendors said, “drum tower!” “drum tower!” and pointed the way dad and I had turned. She cautiously turned around and followed us.

Dad: This isn’t the time for your antics.

Which I was thinking, but didn’t think it was helpful. Thankfully, she didn’t escalate. We got to our dumpling lunch just in time. Kathy had even called ahead to arrange vegetarian dumplings for me. The walnut dessert dumpling was the best. After lunch, we had a little bit of time to walk the city wall before heading to the airport. I could have spent days there.