The Smoky City of Xi’an
We begin our two week spring seminar with a 2 mile walk toward a large HSBC bank down Nathan Road and a dash back the same way in 10 minutes thinking we would miss our bus to the airport. Someone had said we’d be leaving at 2 pm when in fact, I don’t even think we took off till close to 4. Combined with spending an extra 2-3 hours roaming the little Hong Kong airport, it wasn’t exactly mango sorbet. Not to mention our old ass plane with lights flickering throughout the flight and meals in a flimsy box. But you know, food’s food, can’t complain.
We landed two and a half hours later when the first thing I asked was “Is it me or does it smell like cigarettes in this plane?” Moments later, I got my answer: the Xi’an city is China’s ashtray. You can’t see through the sky, and the top of every car, I’m assuming no matter how recent it’s been washed, are layered with dust and particles. As we exit the terminal and head toward our tour bus to the hotel, I saw a little boy coughing and walking away and I can’t imagine how any child will grow up remotely healthy under this city condition.
Annie and I arrive to our pre-assigned room on the 19th floor of a fancy hotel, quite literally intoxicated by the sights. But here is the closer inspection of our window overlooking the city: nothing but smoke fogging up my view.
The next day we get up bright and early to see the Terracotta Warriors, hundreds of stone soldiers excavated, reassembled, and aligned in their prospective orders. I wish I could say I felt amazed and captivated, but really, I was cold and trying not to cough up dustballs. It’s very bratty of me to have to admit that the conditions in Xi’an made it hard to enjoy anything but it does make you appreciate what you have at home (or even Hong Kong).
The entire city is known for underground tombs spread across its lands. Our tour guide, Tony, spoke of how scientists and anthropologists have not found ways to enter these tombs without oxidizing the treasures inside so they are left untouched. He truly believed the course of Chinese history is hidden and will completely change when people can finally research the kinds of remains left behind. But for now: just warriors. That should last them a few more decades to assemble anyhow.
We finish our museum trip with a rest at the tea house, where I impulsively paid 30 CNY ($4.41 USD) for a cup of chrysanthemum tea. I was freezing but I guess I could have done without it. With our order, we were given a tea ceremony show and one jasmine flower tea that expanded the more it cooks in hot water.
The Chinese love tea. I wish I knew how much the Brits love their tea so I can compare, but Chinese people seem to cure everything with tea. I feel like I can walk down the street and tell them I’ve got kidney stones and they’ll throw me the perfect pack of ailment leaves. I do think that the one thing I’ll really miss about China is getting tea served complimentary of most meals. Screw water, I want my hot, sanitized, yummy, healthy pot of tea!
The mugs she’s using changes colors with hot water. She called them “magical cups” but we know it’s just science. My particular is the rightmost one which changed from Chinese characters to a big, happy Buddha.
Our tea lady (excuse this french) recommended us “Lychee Concubine black tea,” good for young ladies as it is supposedly healthy for our skin. She made a small pot and gave us tiny samples which consisted of three little sips. Yet what do you know: Sold. I mean, not only did it taste superb, she called me a lady. As far as I’m concerned, I’m the dyke in this group of SU Abroad girls who are all very well-maintained and somewhat much more proper and feminine.
I bought a small tin box of concubine tea for 20 CNY ($2.94 USD) that should be enough for maybe 10 little pots if I’m frugal. Meanwhile, our flower ball has transformed into an exploding Death Star. I never got to taste it but something tells me this is only for decoration as tea lady quickly took it away when I was sniffing and finishing my chrysanthemum so I can sneak a sip.
So I may have overpaid for a mug of tea, but it was worth a blog entry. I can’t keep saying the same for every trip I go on though … luckily I spent very little in Xi’an after the tea house. It was just too smoky and cold to go anywhere but our hot pot dinner across the street from the hotel, and just watching funny Chinese subtitled dramas on censored television.
