Original posted in London to New York blog, April 27, 2010
“He’s going on about Ming, Ding and Hot Wings, I don’t know what shit is going on” – Marlo
“Don’t share with The Bear” – Ancient trip saying
THIS trip is full of contrasts as we tick off the countries, cultures and assorted accommodation.
The cramped, smelly and uncomfortable days on the Trans-Siberian, where food was limited to what we could buy on the platforms and cook with boiling water, are a million miles away from the luxury of the Diamond Princess, with an army of staff waiting to serve us an array of food available 24 hours a day and look after our every need – even if four blokes sleeping in one room is still a bit cramped.
And the differences between China, Russia and our early destinations through middle Europe are many and varied.
But rarely have we swung so rapidly as the relatively short hop from Xi’an to Pingyao, which marked the start of the return loop to Beijing.
Whereas Xi’an is a modern, bustling city where you want for little, the ancient walled city of is very much hanging onto its past.
Tower blocks, new buildings and wide highways are replaced by narrow, car-free streets and single-storey shops and guesthouses, while our sparkling new hotel was replaced by an old-fashioned guesthouse.
And a charming place it was too – at least the guesthouse was.
Pingyao itself, once the initial charm has worn off, does not have that much on offer.
It was also the place I ignored the acknowledged wisdom of the trip and shared with “The Bear”. And what’s more, did it in a double bed.
For double bed, read huge expanse of mattress and duvet which provided more than enough room for the two biggest blokes on tour to enjoy some of the most comfortable conditions of the trip, as well as sprawling large chunks of kit all over the bed.
At one point we had four people on the bed and it was not in the least bit crowded – although one of them had to be asked to leave for eating biscuits.
As for “The Bear”, that is the nocturnal name for Phil, all 6ft 4in of him and my only serious rival for the title of biggest snorer on tour (although we are not as far ahead as some others would like to think).
He reckons my snoring’s not actually that bad. Wish the same could be said for him. My iPod and headphones came in handy.
Away from the sleeping arrangements, Pingyao did throw up a few moments to remember – not least biting wind and sudden snow storms, little more than 24 hours after wandering around Xi’an in shorts and sunglasses.
There’s not that much to see – most of the streets blend into one after a while – but our softly-spoken guide managed to find a few places to visit, although if any of us had realised just how close we were to the guesthouse for much of the tour, he would have found it even harder to keep our attention.
He led us around the city walls in a bitter gale, an old bank, the historic local government offices, complete with prison, and (most interestingly) a Taoist temple, but the real high (and low points) came from our food and drink outings.
Our hosts treated us to a noodle and dumpling making lesson. Several of our number joined in with contrasting results, before serving up the results – and some they had made earlier – in possibly the finest feast of our Chinese leg.
It was given an extra frisson of danger by a sudden gale which blew down the ramshackle wooden scaffolding on the building opposite, although that was rather less exciting for those of us sat in the window as it clattered down inches from us.
An afternoon diversion into a tiny, sign-laden bar by Phil, Nick, Phoebe and myself (ostensibly to escape another bout of winter weather) produced another unexpected gem. Once, that was, we had discovered we weren’t meant to balance our drinks on the uneven tables, but pour them into bowls and drink from there.
We left our mark with an addition to the signs which decorate the walls and while we are proud of the alliteration, we apologise for the language.
But from there it all went downhill, a disappointing meal back at the guesthouse followed by an even more unfulfilling trip to the Pirate bar around the corner, which not only failed to satisfy our growing pirate obsession (all will be explained), but has earned a nomination as the worst bar any of us have ever been in – which provides plenty of competition.
Empty, cold, black and with just a few Pirates of the Caribbean posters to suggest any pirate link, we also had to endure the eccentric landlord playing guitar to us. At least that was a break from the dreadful music we were subjected to.
Duncan’s assessment (“Let’s wreck this joint”) was met with support until we realised it looked like somebody already had.
Things did improve at our next port of call – but only just. Not only did we have to put up with sporadic power cuts, but a visit to the toilet entailed walking through the middle of a foot massage parlour.
Sadly, nobody was too reluctant to hit the road the next morning, although our 6.30am departure was heralded by my opening words to Phil which, tidied up for family viewing, were: “Phil, it’s twenty past ***%$* six”.
Latest travel tip: Don’t leave setting the alarm to your roomie.
Going out in a bit of a rush and missing breakfast was not that bad an error as having no food in my stomach proved a blessing for much of the day (particularly considering the next day’s events).
A fairly terrifying drive on, for large chunks, the wrong side of the road, was followed by the climb up to the Hanging Temple at Hengshau Mountain.
Composed of places of worship for Taoists, Buddhists and Confucius, the temple is built halfway up a cliff face with sheer drops off narrow wooden walkways and the path up to it is treacherous in the best of conditions.
In the snow and ice which greeted us, it was even more so, leading both to snowball fights and one or two people looking less than enamoured by their precarious position at the high point.
There was more Buddhism at the Yungang Grottoes, a series of caves containing thousands of statues ranging from 2cm to 70m tall.
Very impressive it is too, but to echo Marlo’s immortal summation of the situation, our guide bombarded us with so many names and dates, it all became just a bit too confusing and we were reduced to using the caves for shelter from the biting wind.
Listened a bit more would have paid off as Gary struck me with an impromptu quiz on Buddhism. Not was expected when asking someone where the toilet is.
Thankfully, we were well sheltered from the wind when we reached our hotel in Datong which – apart from the first bath of the trip – was notable mainly for most of us not leaving the premises in search of a drink.
Sadly, it was also notable for the worst ordering of the trip and left four of us trying to down a bizarre collection of fat, gristle, bones and red-hot chillies. Well, three of us, Duncan opted to throw most of his over the tablecloth as he tried desperately to show off his new-found chopstick skills.
It all added up to an early night, but it was to bite back in some style the next day.
Of which, more next time…