Slow Boat To China

After a five-hour ride on a creaky bus – the highlight of which was watching The Matrix simultaneously dubbed and subtitled in Mandarin – we set foot in Yichang, a small city by Chinese standards with only one million inhabitants. A few mundane hours later, we found ourselves ensconced in claustrophobic quarters on an undistinguished tourist ship. We wondered how we would manage to make it through the next five days.

As the next morning beckoned, we found ourselves surprisingly refreshed. Something about the cabin bedding in combination with the gentle rocking of the waves below us made for an extraordinary night’s sleep. After taking decadently-long, hot showers, we decided to approach the day with an open mind. Our newfound positive attitude was almost immediately rewarded at breakfast. We were seated at a table of friendly, gregarious fellow voyagers, including two Californians, Jackie and Grant, in China for a combination of business and pleasure, and two Germans, Werner and his 16-year-old son Gregor, stationed in Beijing for Werner’s official duties with the German Embassy.

After breakfast, we met the remaining non-tour group passengers – the Lees (Malaysian-Australians May and Kwang, Irene and Ming), Malaysian-Kiwi Jin, and Germans Manfred and Hejki. We immediately bonded with our newfound friends, sharing anecdotes about our travels and wisecracks about the current adventure. Seeing herself as the group's de facto PR spokesperson, Kaberi nicknamed the thirteen of us "The Independents." Together, we immersed ourselves into the various cruise activities, and had much fun in the process. Even Vik, not usually a social butterfly in the best of circumstances, took every opportunity to hang out with the gang (even rising early once for 7:30 am tai chi lessons).

Our first shore excursion was to see the Three Gorges Dam, the largest hydroelectric power plant in the world on a volume basis. Touring the facility, we regretted that Kaberi's father hadn't joined us, given his 30-year career as a globetrotting hydroelectric engineer. Even in the backdrop of a gray, overcast day, the massive scale of the Three Gorges complex -- comprising ship locks, a ship elevator, 16 turbines and various tourist pavilions -- was an eye-opening testament to Chinese ambition. Our local tour guide enthusiastically touted the project's success with regard to flood-reduction, energy production and economic development while glossing over the widespread, heavy-handed relocation of local villagers and negative ecological consequences.

Once back to the ship, we gathered on the front deck to hear Curtis, our outstanding river guide, give a narrated tour of the first two gorges. We sat with the Lees and enjoyed both the company and the scenery in equal measure. Ming and Kaberi took turns venturing outside onto the gusty stern to take pictures of the mist-strewn mountains. Kwang reminisced about visiting the Yangtze River -- the third longest river in the world -- some 20 years ago when the water level was roughly 75 meters lower than the 156-meter mark of today. Curtis informed us that the river will rise further to 175 meters by 2010. The planned flooding has rendered entire communities obsolete. This notion was reinforced for us in short order when we saw a red "175" painted on the side of a modest house. In three years, that house will be entirely submerged.

The desire for a quick nap overcame the two of us, and we skipped an introductory Chinese medicine course. When we rejoined the Lees two hours later, we learned that Kwang had been the guinea pig for the acupuncturist. When we asked how he felt after the treatment, he boasted that he could now hit a golf ball 30 yards further than before. Without skipping a beat, Jin quipped that the length of Kwang's drive was now a grand total of 30 yards. With the jokes flowing in rapid-fire fashion, we lost track of time as our ship bisected the rocky formations passing by on either side.

In the evening, a family-style Chinese dinner lent itself to sharing both platters and anecdotes with Jackie, Grant, Werner and Gregor. Vik's various dietary restrictions were the source of much amusement for the table, particularly because the ship's chef seemed intent on spiting him through the liberal use of both pork and beef as spices. When a tofu dish arrived adorned with ground pork, Vik was beside himself. Nevertheless, our good mood sustained. Our group reassembled to enjoy the ship's Fashion Show, which turned out to be a cultural show showcasing music and traditional dress from various periods of Chinese history.

After breakfast the next morning, we boarded a hydrofoil to coast through the Three Lesser Gorges. While we basked on the stern, Kwang drew upon his experience as a civil engineer to explain to us the logistics of securing bridges into mountainous outcrops and the means of protecting cliffsides from erosion. After taking turns with Jackie and Grant mimicking Leonardo diCaprio and Kate Winslet in Titanic-like poses, we made our way to the Emerald Gorge. With the overcast skies beginning to clear, we were able to enjoy the various vivid shades of green in the waterways. Under the capable direction of our local guide, we were able to discern wild monkeys, mountain tracks and hanging coffins in the periphery. Afterward, we transferred to a small wooden boat to tour the Mini Three Gorges (at this point, Vik mused that Three Mediocre Gorges would be next on the itinerary). Amidst the din of tribal songs and local horns, we enjoyed the remote serenity on a more intimate scale.

In the afternoon, we partook in the ship's two planned activities, Dumpling Preparation and Mandarin 101, with the Lees. That evening, after a talent show featuring the crew, seven of us commandeered the ship lounge for karaoke purposes. May proved to be our fearless leader and, soon enough, all of us got dragged before the microphone. Kaberi's favorite memory of the evening was watching Ming and Irene lovingly dance together. She's hoping that she and Vik can follow in the Lees' footsteps.

On our final day aboard the ship, we joined our compatriates to see the ghost city of Fungdu. Vik was insistent on foregoing the apparent tourist trap, but Jackie and Grant talked him into coming. With a giggly tour guide leading us through the attraction, we found ourselves getting into the spirit in short order. We even participated in some of the silly diversions. Grant and Vik both paid to light candles and incense sticks to please the Chinese god of prosperity. The entire group cheered on Vik as he tried unsuccessfully to balance a four ton ball onto an iron point. All of us successfully performed the local "tests of character" by making our way across a small walkway representing longevity without tripping and standing one-footed on a rock for three seconds. In spite of it all, the outing proved to be a much better alternative than remaining aboard the ship.

The afternoon passed quickly with different configurations of folks hanging out together. Vik talked business with Grant while Kaberi communed with the Lees to hear about life in modern China. After dinner and drinks with our respective tablemates, we all convened in the evening to take pictures robed in the royal outfits of the Emperor and Empress. The camaraderie that we enjoyed as a group, even while participating in a variety of seemingly-ridiculous activities, was a truly affirming and enriching experience. And we were thrilled to have walked away with so many new friendships with amazing people from around the globe during our five strange and wonderful days on the Yangtze.

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.