We planned to go to Nanjing and train seemed the best way to get there from Hangzhou. Taking it for granted that the hostel could book tickets for us (as our book suggested) and assuming there would be frequent direct services there,we got up late to find ourselves rushing like our lives depended on it to get to the station by midday or else be in for an eight hour wait for the next one. Well, after sitting in heavy traffic for a good half hour we well and truly missed it.
That's not to say that we necessarily would have caught it if we had got there two hours hour before. Not only were the queues in the ticket office phenomenally long (yes, they were sort of queuing) and the huge walls of signage completely unintelligible to us, but no one seemed able or willing to help or to understand what the hell I was trying in vain to communicate. I must have asked at least twenty people for assistance but they all just looked blankly at me or averted their eyes!
Exasperated, hot, defeated and increasingly eager to get away from this chaotic, confusing and grubby place, we decided the best thing to do was to jump in a taxi to the airport and see what flights we could get instead. We felt like failures for bottling it but preferred to risk a long wait at an airport for a suitable flight than hang around there all day.
After much deliberation and some debate with the ticketing staff at the airport, we finally got ourselves a pair of Economy (though not cheap!) tickets to Xi'an, deciding that we had to forgo Nanjing if we were to fly anywhere. It is a shame to cut destinations out of our trip but at least we are happy and settled here now in this historic city and not still travelling across the country on a 24 hour train through the night.
This place is attractive and I like its square lay-out and open spaces which are good gathering points for locals and tourists alike and make it almost impossible for even me to get lost when I wander off on my own.
There are a lot of beggars with their children though, especially in the busier parts of town. They shove their money cups right in to you. My Chinese friend has told me not to believe most of them, that they are con-artists. It's hard not to feel sympathetic when you see the children's dirty little faces and huge dark eyes though. Who's kidding who? I ask myself.
Yesterday we joined an organised tour to see what all the tourists here come for, the magnificent Terracotta Army which is located just a few miles out of the city.
It was an unforgettable day. First we visited the site of an ancient bamboo village which gave us a feel for the surrounding area and then we were given a tour of the factory (and of course the adjoining shops) where all the official Army souvenirs are made. Ric and I, fatigued by the now so familiar tourist traps, could happy have skipped that part out of the day. Then we went on to the three huge pits in which the warriors, their horses and their chariots have been uncovered.
It's amazing to think they lay buried for nearly 2000 years and are still being excavated today. I wonder what Emperor Qin Shi Huang who instructed their creation would say to this, not to mention to the hundreds of tourists flocking to see them today, here and even in London indeed.
It is hard to comprehend how and why this colossal subterranean life-size army was exclusively built to stand guard over his soul. What staggering egocentricity and extravagance!
It is an impressive sight that's for sure and one I won't forget in a hurry.
Today we are off to do a lap of the ancient (but mostly restored) City Walls, built in 1370 during the Ming dynasty. They are 12 metres high and 18 metres deep!
We've booked our train to Beijing and have decided to brave the sleeper. It will be our last train ride before we go to Australia so we're up for the experience.
There's a teenage girl staying here with her family (who brings their kids to youth hostels?) who appears to have swallowed a harmonica as she is wearing one of those externally fitted mouth braces. Poor thing. It's looks frightful. She must get such grief at school. I thought those things had long been replaced by more advanced gear.
As I type, Pamela Anderson and Jack Nicholson are speaking Mandarin at us from the telly (I wish they didn't dub English language films here!) and I'm eating a delicious Halo-Halo; a crushed ice, jelly, pulses and fruit dessert. We have found them all over Asia in various forms.
An old Enya album is playing on the stereo at the bar, one I haven't heard for ages and a favorite of my brilliant cousin who tragically died a few years ago in a car accident when she was only 19. I feel so lucky to have had the chance to do this trip. I should never moan.
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