Woeful In Wuhan

From Xi’an, our next port of call was the grim, smoggy manufacturing city of Wuhan, in central China’s Hebei province. With ever-popular Yangtze River cruises departing five hours and several hundred kilometers west out of Yichang, we were at a loss to explain why our Chinese travel agent chose to route us through Wuhan, a city best known for its unbearable summer heat. Adding further insult to injury, the agent proceeded to book us for a four-night hotel stay in a setting that even the blitheringly-saccharine Rough Guide to China damns with faint praise. The whole fiasco will likely remain a head-scratching mystery and a colorful bit of Banerjee and Murthy family folklore for the ages, especially because our forty-eight hours in town inspired us to begin using the word “Wuhan” as a pejorative term. In all fairness to Wuhan, circumstances soured our mood on the place considerably. One bright spot, however, was our hotel – the Shangri-La (insert your own irony here) – which proved to be almost as good a place as any for Vik to fully rehabilitate his balky ankles. During our stay, we also enlisted the diligent Shangri-La front office managers to truncate without penalty our stay by two nights, reserve a cabin on the next suitable Yangtze River cruise and, upon learning that Yangtze River excursions terminated much closer to Chengdu than to Wuhan, cancel our Wuhan to Chengdu flight scheduled for four days later. Limited availability of berthings rendered our plans to neatly fit a Yangtze River cruise into our existing itinerary moot. Despite the hotel staff’s best efforts, they were only able to secure a spot for us on a 5-night sailing (which required an unsettling full cash prepayment). This posed a more vexing problem in that it cut short our time in Chengdu by one and a half days, potentially interfering with our ability to secure entry permits to Tibet in time for our scheduled departure to the Dalai Lama’s homeland ten days hence. Nevertheless, the unflappable Shangri-La staff modified our Chengdu hotel reservation and ascertained that the Chengdu hotel’s in-house travel agency could secure Tibetan travel permits (for a substantial premium, of course) provided that we fax over copies of our U.S. passports and Chinese visas within the next 24 hours. Breathing a sigh of relief to finally have formulated a viable plan, we retired to our room to enjoy a much-needed break from itinerary-planning. Little did we know that our efforts would prove fruitless so soon. Upon confirming receipt of our fax with the Chengdu hotel, our Wuhan hotel concierge informed us that the travel agent in Chengdu had stopped issuing Tibetan entry permits. Flustered and dismayed, we appealed to the general manager in Chengdu. From his assistant, we learned that the Chinese government had suddenly stopped issuing Tibet travel permits altogether to unaccompanied American travelers because of a recent political incident. Kaberi’s subsequent Google search yielded a terse Reuters India article indicating that five American college students had been deported the day before for posting a “Free Tibet!” banner at Mount Everest’s base camp. Sympathetic to their sentiments but not to their tactics, Vik’s suggested that we fly back to the States and personally visit each of the 5 protesters with a “Dumbass!” banner. Kaberi’s suggested banner employed slightly more colorful language. Crestfallen and decidedly more ill-tempered, we were forced to cancel our onward flights to and from Tibet. Subsequent hours poring over the Internet for alternative destinations proved equally frustrating. Flights to Nepal were prohibitively expensive and invariably connected through Lhasa, Tibet’s largest city. Bhutan presented another option, but the thought of backtracking through India (flights connected through Calcutta) seemed less than ideal. After a restless night of tossing and turning, we woke up in particularly-foul moods. As we made our way that afternoon to Wuhan’s cramped and third world-caliber bus station, we still had no idea where we would end up after two nights in Chengdu. A five hour journey to Yichang awaited us, after which we were to find our way to the passenger reception center for Victoria Cruise Lines, an American operator. While we did not know what to expect from the 5-day excursion, it certainly appeared that our travel fortunes had taken a rather significant turn for the worse.

Terracotta Heartland

A sunny afternoon brought us to the dusty city of Xi'an, once a dynastic capital whose fortunes as a national seat of power had since moved inversely with those of Beijing. From the window of the airport bus transporting us to the city center, we watched rolling green, crop-filled fields slowly give way to smokestacked factories and charmless apartment complexes.

After disembarking near the distinctive and central Bell Tower, we navigated a maze of underground walkways before successfully hailing a cab to our hotel. Upon checking in, we were pleasantly surprised to find an American front office manager standing across from us. Although we have enjoyed meeting many warmhearted local denizens during our travels, we were somewhat relieved to have one conversation where we didn't have to worry about something getting lost in translation. We dropped our bags off at our plush $100/night suite and quickly made our way upstairs to enjoy the happy hour spread at the Club Lounge. After loading up on canapes and Diet Cokes, we were only too happy to skip eating dinner out for one night, and, instead, returned to our suite to relax.

We arose early the next morning to see Xian's most famous tourist destination in the form of 8,000 life-sized terracotta warriors. Built by the first Qin Emperor as an army to protect his soul's ascension into his next life, the Terracotta Army remained underground and undiscovered until 1974 when it was happened upon by local farmers drilling for water. We couldn't help smirking after seeing no fewer than three different little old men separately designated as the original discoverer of the site, each stationed in a different book store to sign copies of tourist books readily made available for sale. Nevertheless, the actual archeological site was something to behold.

We opted to head first to the on-site museum to see the bronze chariots on display. Deluged by Chinese tourists (we love the Chinese people, but they aren't exactly a patient, respectful bunch when organized into crowds or tour groups), we subsequently fled to Pit 2. Pit 2 was still in the process of being excavated and we found it quite surreal to consider that we were standing upon an active archaeological site. We saw a number of broken terracotta soldiers scattered throughout the pit, but were more fascinated by the scale of the project (housed in a building roughly the size of the Toronto Skydome). In Pit 2, we also learned that the process of chrome-plating objects to imbue them with greater strength -- commonly thought to be developed by the Americans or British in the 20th century -- was actually implemented by Chinese weapons forgers roughly 2,000 years ago.

Pit 1, however, was the piece de resistance of the complex. As the largest of the three pits with the greatest concentration of discoveries, it was in a class of its own in terms of grandeur. In a closed arena roughly twice as long as Texas Stadium stood endless terracotta soldiers aligned in strict military formation below ground level. Until we walked into the excavation site, the scope of the Terracotta Warriors was difficult for us to comprehend. Hundreds upon hundreds of statues of cavalry, infantry and militia gathered as far as the eye could see made us pause in awe. Even more stunning was the artisanship and attention to detail in the faces of the statues and in the attendant uniforms depicting military rank. Every face was uniquely fashioned and every set of hands perfectly chiseled to bear arms.

Our visit concluded with stops at the much smaller Pit 3 and an amphitheater boasting a cheesy, 360-degree motion picture reenactment of the creation of the Terracotta Army.

Afterwards, we headed back towards Xi'an proper, stopping along the way at the Banpo Museum, a Neolithic settlement dating back to about 4,000 BC. While interesting in theory, the museum's dearth of English signage and a tasteless reenactmment of an ancient village area (closer to a Flintstones-esque rest area than a bona fide anthropological site) left a bad taste in our mouths. Kaberi was especially disappointed as the Banpo settlements had been based on matriarchial lineage, and she had been keen to learn more about that unique organizing principle (her hardline and chauvinist patriarchal sentiments notwitstanding).

Xi'an managed to redeem itself with the Dacien Si temples and the Big Goose Pagoda. Built in 652 AD during the Tang Dynasty, the 7-story pagoda is 64 meters tall and offers fantastic views of the city from all sides. We especially enjoyed strolling through the gardens of the Dacien Si temple complex and appreciated the meticulously-landscaped gardens with singing birds in bamboo cages. It was a full day by the time we returned to our hotel for yet another round of free hors d'ourves and red wine at the Club Lounge. To this point, our Chinese travels had give us little to complain about.

Induction Into The Wall Of Fame

Upon arriving in Beijing, our first and most pressing priority was to formulate a plan for visiting the much-hallowed Great Wall. With the benefit of our friend Suvarna's Beijing Luxe guide and a little perseverance, we managed to make our own independent arrangements in a manner that avoided the touristy, over-trafficked parts of the Wall and afforded us complete autonomy over our schedule.

We opted to hire a car and driver for the day from a reputable local chauffeur service to ferry us three hours out of town to a remote stretch of the Wall called Jin Shan Ling. From Jin Shan Ling, we planned to hike four hours east over rugged, unrestored sections to the outpost of Simatai. Our driver, having already gone ahead, would meet up with us there and return us to our hotel for a hot shower and a much-deserved celebratory drink.

After an elevator-music-filled three-hour journey (may Lionel Ritchie and Kenny G. forever burn in hell) in the plush back seat of a Hyundai Sonata, we were chomping at the bit for some outdoor activity. When we arrived at Jin Shan Ling, courtesy of a rickety cable car, we found that the initial section of the Great Wall was in very good condition. As we progressed a bit further, however, making our way slowly toward Simatai, conditions quickly deteriorated. Some of the passes looming before us left us in disbelief with their vertigo-inducing height, uneven, crumbled footsteps and treacherous descents.

Despite the considerable exertion required over the course of the 10-kilometer plus journey, the views from the Wall to the surrounding countryside were quite simply divine and awe-inspiring. The Simatai section of the Great Wall has been justifiably designated as a UNESCO World Cultural Heritage. We were especially fortunate to embark upon our excursion on an uncharacteristically-clear and temperate spring day. Bright blue skies provided vivid contrast to the ruins stretching before us and the 70 degree temperatures allowed us to truly enjoy the open air and sweeping sightlines of the route. It was surreal to consider that the remote towers appearing in the distance would be standing directly before us within an hour or two.

Reputed to stretch over 3,000 miles from the Gobi Desert to the East China Sea, the Great Wall should serve as a conspicuous historical example of the futility of using a physical barrier, however imposing, to blockade unwanted immigrants (Colorado congressman Tom Tancredo, he of Mexican border fence fame, should take particular note). Primarily designed to keep out Mongolian invaders (the Wall often abuts hills on the southern Mongolian plains), its defenses proved vulnerable to good old-fashioned corruption (Genghis Khan apparently just bribed Chinese sentries to gain access). Originally constructed in parts, the Wall's unification was overseen by the first Chinese emperor during the Qin dynasty over 2,000 years ago. Major construction and fortification work leading to the development of the modern Wall occurred during the Ming Dynasty some 400-600 years ago.

The first few of the 25 or so towers marking the hike were crowded with tourists and vendors alike. In an effort to evade the advances of locals eager to befriend us in exchange for financial remuneration down the line, we rushed to continue along on our way. Unfortunately, Vik's haste to create some distance between us and a particularly-persistent hawker led to his twisting his right ankle. After grimacing in pain and holding his shin for a few moments, Vik was persuaded to continue through a cocktail of shame, stubborn pride and the realization that`he really had no viable alternative but to continue. After passing through another tower, Vik's efforts were rewarded by the subsequent twisting of his left ankle. After a few more moments of writhing in pain and conspicuous cursing, Vik gingerly continued. This time, he managed to make it through two more towers before retwisting his right ankle. It was going to be a long day.

With the necessity of watching our footing every step along the way sufficiently impressed upon us by this point, we continued tentatively. As we slowly advanced, we found each of the intermittent towers to be well-preserved for the most part. The footpaths and barrier walls were an altogether different story. Steps presented multiple challenges; some of them barely offered enough space for a toe-hold while others were more than a foot in height. In some stretches, agonizingly slow and careful foot placement was required so as to avoid slipping off unbalanced or crumbling landings. Winded and exhausted, we occasionally (and potentially foolishly) opted to jog down slopes steep enough to bring gravity into play.

After three hours had come and gone, we crossed the suspension bridge to Simatai. With the end in sight. Kaberi enjoyed a sudden jolt of adrenaline, and quickly scrambled up the last tower. Vik, in comparison, limped along at a snail's pace and considered the placement of the hike's last obstacle to be a cruel joke. By his way of thinking, only a sadist would locate an exit at the top of a tower instead of at the bottom. Nevertheless, we had both succeeded in completing the adventure. Sweaty and dehydrated, but simultaneously jublilant, we walked the last fifteen minutes downhill to meet our driver (who thoughtfully had two bottles of water waiting for us). During the ride back to Beijing, Kaberi napped while Vik watched helplessly as his ankles swelled up. The hot shower couldn't come fast enough. Nevertheless, there was no doubt in either of our minds that the experience of scaling such a man-made wonder was fully worth the sacrifice to limb and limb.

Mainland Metropolitan

Our arrival into Beijing began auspiciously enough. The flight from Hangzhou was uneventful, the capital welcomed us with marvelously-clear skies (belying its reputation for ceaseless smog) and we efficiently dispatched with an airport hustler trying to charge us six times the going-market-rate for a ride into town. At first blush, the city defied our expectation of a Chinese version of a dreary Soviet bloc enclave. Extensively wide and squat as compared to the awesome verticality of Hong Kong or Shanghai, Beijing had the feel of an American Sun Belt boomtown with a skyline of ubiquitous construction cranes and endless half-built commercial buildings. Our arriving confidence and poise began to wane, however, when our cab driver's tentative and circuitous approach toward our boutique hotel finally deposited us in a small, cramped alley seemingly miles removed from any semblance of modernity. As we stared at the nondescript and claustrophobia-inducing gray walls penning us in on both sides, we began to reconsider our choice of accommodation. The hotel's aesthetics had looked sufficiently stylish during a cursory review of its website, but our current vantage point suggested liberal artistic license by a fast-and-loose-with-the-truth graphic designer. Our mounting apprehension checked briefly upon locating a preening fire red door flanked by two red and gold hanging Chinese lanterns. As the door opened, it became quite obvious that our fears were entirely unfounded. Crossing the threshold was for us akin to Alice's experience with the rabbit hole. In seconds, we found ourselves quite literally transported into a new world. We discovered that our boutique hotel -- an oasis of traditional Chinese decor and exquisite western taste -- was fashioned out of a restored hutong, a historic Beijing neighborhood of stone-walled houses encircling an interior courtyard. And in a stark indictment of our real estate sense, we learned that we were very much in Beijing's high-rent district, with several posh hotels and shops within walking distance and the CEO of one of China's largest companies living down the street. The hotel was just beginning its soft launch, making the two of us the first couple to visit its confines. As we wandered around our new surroundings, we couldn't help but boast self-congratulatory grins over our find. Perhaps we were really hipsters after all. Minutes later, after we finished thoroughly patting ourselves on the back, we settled in to plan our time in Beijing. The hotel's amazingly-helpful assistant manager Michael (who was at our beck and call for the duration of our stay) secured a prime Saturday night dinner reservation for us at the acclaimed Made In China restaurant at Beijing's swanky Grand Hyatt hotel. We would later come to find out that the owner of our hotel, an amazing woman named Shauna, had interceded on our behalf and used her personal connections to guarantee us a seating. Shauna had even gone so far as to pre-order Made In China's in-short-supply, house special Peking Duck for Kaberi. Dinner easily lived up to its billing, and not just because of the delicious food. We enjoyed a vantage point strategically overlooking a glass-enclosed dumpling cooking station and found ourselves seated near two friendly American businessmen. Our animated conversation centered around world travel exploits and amusing stories from the road. We were intrigued to learn that American executives in certain key industries routinely had their hotel rooms in China bugged and that Tiananmen Square was often crawling with undercover policemen. The evening passed quickly and enjoyably, especially as we caught up on news from back home. Before we realized it, it was 11 p.m. and time to exchange handshakes and good wishes. The next afternoon, we met up with Shauna and a fellow hotel guest to explore Beijing's up-and-coming 798 Dashanzi Arts District, the third largest area of its kind in the world, after Berlin and Manhattan's SoHo. Unbenownst to us when we accepted her invitation to join her, Shauna is a mover-and-shaker in Beijing's artist community. Attending several gallery showings as Shauna's guests allowed us to enjoy a unique glimpse into the contemporay Chinese art scene. And with the galleries gearing up for the International Arts Exhibition starting the following week, we had a chance to see several avant-garde works in unique settings, including a converted state-run beer factory (still brandishing a 'Long Live Chairman Mao' tribute on its walls). We were both quite surprised by the relative degree of artistic freedom throughout the complex as evidenced by liberal depictions of full-frontal nudity. Shauna did concede, however, that the artists' political messages had to more subtlely portrayed here than in the West. That evening, we were invited to join Shauna and her friends at a dinner to congratulate one of the featured artists, a talented photographer who cleverly incorporated real-life incarnations of a famous Chinese animated character into various modern, urban settings. Over a traditional Chinese banquent-style meal (complete with a 10-person lazy Susan), we basked in the charming company of Shauna and her friend PaungPaung (literally translated as "fatty-fatty"), a slim, elegantly-dressed 60-year-old expectant grandmother who looked to be no more than 40. Afterward, the five of us went back to Shauna's spectacularly-sprawling penthouse apartment, allowing us a peek into high-society Beijing life. Over the course of the evening in Shauna's exquisitely self-designed digs, we came to learn about her former lives as an Elle model and as a high-powered San Francisco investment banker. The next morning, Vik enjoyed some much-needed R&R while Shanua took Kaberi to some of her favorite shops in Beijing's Ritan Park neighborhood. With the benefit of Shauna's local negotiating skills, Kaberi returned beaming with a considerably-discounted cordoury jacket and Shanghai Tang sweater. That afternoon, we made our way to the extensive, walled Forgotten City, which proved to be a disappointment with a majority of the complex under renovation. After investing 50 yuan, Vik was especially dismayed to learn that Roger Moore had been replaced as narrator of the self-guided audio tour. After leaving the Forbidden City, we walked south to Beijing's imposing Tienanmen Square where we self-consciously walked in close proximity to one uniformed policeman after another. Standing out among the grim, almost-Soviet architecture was a prominent digital clock counting down to the 2008 Olympic opening ceremonies. Beijing seems well prepared to play host, with pollution and traffic controls in place and construction underway on an impressive bird's nest-latticed national stadium. City authorities have also started making locals sign pledges to dispense with the dual national pastimes of spitting in public and cutting in line. From Tienanmen Square, we walked further southwest to Liu Lichang, a street of restored houses featuring sundry stationery stores. On our last evening in Beijing, Shauna encouraged us to have dinner at one of her favorite spots, People 8. Shauna's guidance was once again impeccable. People 8 was easily the hippest restaurant we've ever patronized, as it featured a hidden door between a grove of bamboo trees that only opens with a step on a pressure-sensitive stone at the end of an inconspicuous walkway. Once inside, the modern decor is enveloped in pitch black darkness with intermittent spotlights positioned in such a way to highlight only the the table surfaces. The restaurant affords diners both a sense of privacy and intrigue as patrons at the surrounding tables are not easily discernible. Suffice it to say that the Japanese-inspired cuisine -- which included miso cod and spicy togarishi chicken -- was first-class. After dinner, we walked to the nearby Lan Club in Beijing's Twin Tower office building. The club was a gaudy, smoke-filled, over-the-top $30 million nightspot that cemented in our minds Philippe Starck's reputation as an unprincipled commercial sellout. We had trouble reconciling the club's "see-and-be-seen" reputation with its choice of decor and musical talent. Ten minutes into our visit, we were tormented by the screechy babbling of what could have been the world's worst lounge singer (think 2 parts Eartha Kitt and 3 parts Jackie Chan). While a hasty exit was unavoidable, we had to admit that, even when Beijing was bad, it was marvelously bad. As we drove to the airport the next morning, we were sad to leave. We regretted not having more time to spend in this fascinating city. Beijing had completely charmed us during our brief stay. It definitely deserved much more than just three days.