China Droll

Although I am a tourist, I, like all other tourists, hate other tourists. That’s why I’ve managed to visit Xian probably six times, without having been to see the Terracotta Army. Why should I? I’ve seen it a million times in pictures and on film, and, most importantly; like all other famous tourist spots in China, it’s bound to be a screaming hell hole of guides and what not.

But this time, seeing I went with somebody who actually wanted to go there, I thought: Well, there have been a couple of times in my life when I have gone somewhere against my will or instinct, only to find that I didn’t regret going. Maybe this would be one of those times. Maybe I would stand in awe in front of the warriors, being transported back to the year 240BC.

Yes that could have happened if it hadn’t been for the “hell is other people” people. Or actually, the whole set-up. When we finally got there and managed through some trying and failing to get a ticket (90 yuan), we found that the terracotta warriors were just an excuse to build the largest, most pompous and grandiose tourist trap ever.

It took so long to walk from the bus to the actual warrior pit that we had nearly fainted when we got to the building. It was mile after mile of trinket stalls spread over a huge, gently escalating staircase; all without a shadow of shade. Then there was a gigantic open space with the inevitable fascisticly trimmed flower beds and grass that was forbidden to even look at - again miles on a shiny white granite surface without even a willow tree for shade, all to better set off the building where the soldiers are.

Finally I would see what “everybody” had been talking about. I expected a kind of hush, maybe some oohs and aaaahs and possibly “waaaaah…” But nothing. People were talking loudly, laughing and acting like they were taking photos outside 7 eleven or something. This is supposed to be a grave chamber really, isn’t it? But the guides led the visitors in a cacophony of screams and shrieks.

And although it said “no flash” on the poster, there were more flashes continuously going off than at a pop concert. It seemed some of the poor terracotta geezers hadn’t been able to stand all the voices, camera flashes and laughter, for they had collapsed in heaps of dust with only the heads left, staring emptily into times gone by.

In another building, a huge replica was hanging from the ceiling, inexplicably holding a girl’s hand:

For some reason this depressed me more than all the Germans and Koreans acting as if they were at some school party in a hangar with some rocks.

When I came out after having looked at this odd display, I glanced at some books in English and Chinese, about the T. Army, the Silk Road and of course about Mao (who identified so closely with Qin Shi huang, the first emperor who had commissioned the stone army for his protection.) After three seconds of glancing, the shop woman came up to me: “These are books.”

So yeah, I get a bit depressed at these tourism places. And if the actual pit of soldiers, officers, horses and chariots is the size of a matchbox, then the stuff around; tourist trinket stalls, coffee shops and emptinesses of lawn is bigger than Tiananmen Square. Such a build-up, such a come-down.

The Terracotta Warriors are clearly among the things that I don’t need to physically see to know what they look like. But that night I had a great stroll around the city walls of Xian and a perfectly divine meal of Fish fragrant Aubergines and Dry-fried Potato Sticks. For up here in the north, the Sichuan restaurants get better the farther west you get! And now I’m in Lanzhou and life is great.

No, give me living people and history I can see all around me! No need to go to museums. I hate shards. No matter how old they are.