Xi'an

Xi’an left Seabass and me with some mixed feelings. Xi’an was no Shanghai, and it’s certainly fair to point out that Shanghai was no Xi’an. Basically, we went to Xi’an because it's very old and had a hell of a heyday, on the scale of Cairo, Egypt or Rome, Italy.

In fact, the city sits in an area considered by many the other cradle of civilization, the one in the Middle East being far from civilized as of late. In other words, the area of Xi’an was one of the first places in the world to have humans cover their dongxi (that’s Chinese for your thingy) and produce food, writing and art.

While it’s tough to critique Xi’an when it comes to significance within the course of human events, regretfully, the same can’t be said for those wishing to have drunken blast here. There are bars and clubs to socialize in and have a good time, but they are too contrived and leave little to creativity, which is what gimmicky bastards like us are all about. The establishments we saw cost too much money, the women were likely on the clock and there were five-foot bouncers at every table eager to glare your fun away. Obviously, we could have overlooked the best bar in the world, but I have my doubts.


I say this to warn those hoping to find paragraphs dedicated to drunken madness. If that’s the only thing you are looking for, stop reading, or perhaps reread Seabass’s Shanghai story because it’s so good. In Xi’an, we got drunk and had some fun, but it wasn’t up to standard. Instead, we got an unavoidable history lesson. If you want to learn a bit about our trip and how old this place is, read on…











—The hole-tel

Before I get into what we did, I want to point out that our first night in Xi’an went badly. Our hotel offered all the amenities to make a hotel disturbing and uncomfortable. When we first walked in, things seemed passable. The counters and lounge were clean, a bit outdated, but not unkempt. The one hint of the hotel being a lesser establishment was the fact that 40-something men were sleeping on the lounge couches, some with their feet higher than their heads and cigarettes dangling out of their mouths. Yet, we shrugged this off and checked in.

On the way to our room, the halls were leak-stained, gloomy and smoky. In fact, a thick smoke sat throughout the city. The smoke turned brilliant reds and yellows into black and white and gray. Apparently, it was due to dead, immovable air and the fact that the region’s farmers burn their leftover crops during the fall. Yet, while we had an explanation for the unhealthy haze, it was strange to see the smoke indoors. In the states, smoke alarms would have been blaring. This hotel didn’t have any so there was nothing to worry about.

The smoke became the least of our concerns, however, once we stepped inside our room. When we opened the door, a horrendous stench wafted into the hall. It smelled like industrial strength cat piss. The odor brought tears to our eyes. I, amazingly, was about to accept the stench. I think because I was afraid to walk back through the long, eerily smoky hallways.

Seabass trumped my fear though with one simple, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

The front desk gave us a new room, this time with red-stained sheets. Optimistically, I assumed this was rust. Then, there was the bathroom that we were afraid to enter…and the carpet that was dry yet felt wet if you stepped on it barefoot (I found this inexplicable and kept trying to prove it was wet, but never succeeded)…and outside our window, some machine, something along the lines of an antique HEMI engine, that rattled noisily around the clock. But, at least we could breath.

—Outnumbered


Seabass and I eagerly left the hotel first thing in the morning and caught a bus to the Terracotta Warriors. Both books and people told us we should visit the archeological site. There, Qin Shi Huang, the first emperor of the Qin dynasty, apparently wouldn’t be caught dead without an army. So he had more than 8,000 mud-baked warriors, horses and chariots buried with him. The site is over two thousand years old.


Well, it turned out China had the same trip in mind as us, which made sense because we were traveling during a Chinese national holiday. Every family and their allotted kid decided to visit the Terracotta Warriors for their vacation. This was not a problem for us, we love our fellow man, but the terracotta army stood no chance against such an army of tourists.

The only thing that maybe prevented a complete route of the terracotta army was the third great force at the museum: the vendors. The vendors numbered in the hundreds.

As you approach the archeological site, the path includes city blocks of vacant, new brick buildings with no sign of ever being put to use. The vendors stood outside of these buildings, each one selling the exact same shoddy wares. They hounded us with hellos and “buy, buy, buy.” Someday, I imagine, these country folk will be pushed away by middle-class vendors investing in the new storefronts. Then, the middle-class vendors will sell the exact same things, block after block after block, just like the poor vendors do today.

When we finally arrived at the museum, sure enough, the life-size soldiers stood frozen in rows, impressing the world with their eternal immobility. I was as impressed as the next guy. However, the structure that housed the site was notable too. The day-lit warehouse easily outstretched the length of two football fields to protect the terracotta soldiers, as well as the endless stream of Chinese tourists.

—The rest of the Xi’an affair


Suffice it say, the next day Seabass and I abandoned the miserable slum and upgraded to a place within the city center. We explored the city with more ease and, during the evenings, drank in the town square between two impressive poly-dynastic structures, one called the Bell Tower and the other the Drum Tower.

Also, we befriended a Chinese couple named Xin and Sam. Sam, we would later learn, is a great dancer. An accountant, he wears skin tight turtlenecks and peach t-shirts. Watching him dance in a club is a site worth coming to China for in itself. He flops and flips around like Pinocchio under the strings of Geppetto. Xin joined Sam for a vacation in Xi’an, I think to see if he was worth a long term relationship. I hope it works out for them.

At one point we four rented bikes and rode around the walls of Xi’an. The walls, built during the early Ming dynasty, are about 50 feet high and 60 feet wide. The structure is about 9 miles around. For a few bucks you can give yourself an ass-massage, bumping over the bricks that make the 1400 year-old wall. This experience was definitely worth every yuan.


On a different day, Seabass developed a very close relationship with our toilet because he ate (we think) rotten dog that he bought on the street. I decided to leave Seabass at the hotel so Sam and I could head for a famous mountain a couple hours outside Xi’an called Hua Shan. Hua Shan is a sacred Chinese mountain with a reputation for being both a breathtaking and somewhat dangerous climb. Sam couldn’t do it, but I managed to convince a phobic, and perhaps lazy, Xin to make an attempt for Hua Shan too. We embarked for the mountain before dawn.

When you travel in China to tourist sites, there are two methods: the hard to find and difficult to use city and provincial buses; and the private buses that can’t wait to pull you inside their vehicle and prey on your foreigner vulnerabilities. I try my damnedest to avoid the latter, but Sam and Xin climbed onto one of these sharks because the legitimate way was too much trouble to figure out.

For a little less than five bucks we caught a ride to the town below the base of Hua Shan. Then we paid another 10 bucks for a tram up the first half of the mountain, and another couple bucks for a ride to the base of the mountain. This is typical in China, no one thing is expensive, but you get nickel and dimed until you end up spending a day’s paycheck.

The ride up the gondola was awesome. Hua Shan surprised me with its ruggedness and height, especially since the area around Xi’an is flat. The granite cliffs are a few thousand feet high and cut sharply to the base of the mountain. The gondola takes you up to the North Peak, the lowest of the five peaks. From there we hiked up toward the West Peak using an iron chain which serves as a guide. Looking up the mountain from the North Peak, the trail stretched almost vertically to the higher West Peak. On the path, thousands of Chinese pilgrims trudged toward the sky.

No matter the height or difficulty of the path, the vendors, sure enough, were there to sell trinkets. Also, on Hua Shan, there are several Daoist temples as well as a couple hotels. The cost I think would be worth it if you had the time to stay because the mountain is so unusual and beautiful.


I don’t know any statistics, but I imagine more than a few Chinese took a step in the wrong direction during a photo op on Hua Shan. One spot actually made my throat dry from fear. On the East Peak, there exists a path that is no more than two feet wide. The mountain side brushes one shoulder and falls away a thousand feet from the other. At the end of the 150 foot path, a cave ensconces a Daoist shrine. There, before the shrine, a monk sat on a swinging chain that separated sky from mountain. He was relaxed and indifferent to the drastic nothingness below him. I tried to talk to him but failed. The only information I managed to gather was that I shouldn’t take a picture of the shrine.

By nightfall Xin, Sam and I returned to Xi’an. Seabass recovered from his illness and we all went out to drink beer in the streets. Seabass brought his guitar and played for some crowds and even befriended a 15 year-old boy that probably hadn’t seen a bath in weeks, or longer. Seabass gave him a sticker of his band Cast of Characters and sang for him. He wouldn't accept anything else. What he did take, he seemed overjoyed with, and I think was conscious of meeting a person who acknowledged him with sincerity.

Later on, Seabass and I were drunk, I didn’t have the camera securely held, and he accidentally kicked it from my hand when I was about to take a picture of his funny pose. The camera broke and we were both bummed. That more or less concluded our time in Xi’an. Again, it was no Shanghai, but then again, Shanghai is no Xi’an. Now, we need to get his camera fixed. Peace.