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- last entry / next entry - 2005-10-15 | 6:28 p.m.
China 2005-Part 3 of many Monday I was taking a bus tour out to Badaling, the less-touristy section of the Great Wall. We had to pick up all sorts of people from a variety of hotels and hostels, which gave me a good idea of morning rush-hour traffic�s insanity. We headed towards the airport, drove thru the airport, and down a small road between the landing field and the airport. This was not going to be a boring trip, I could tell. Those double-decker planes, stacked up to take off for distant lands, looked insanely large from my mini-bus seat�once again, I marveled that they could both take off and remain flying. We swung around the end of the field, and headed to the mountains. The countryside was nothing like I expected�again, I was in the American heartland. Rolling hills, two-lane highways, waving cornfields and power lines undulating to the horizon. Our Chinese guide was entertaining people with Chinese history and cultural differences, and I split my time between laughing at his well-rehearsed (and truly funny) schtick and watching the world pass by. We came to a medium-sized town with large squat buildings and it seemed off. Just now, two months later, I realize what seemed off�for a town that size, normally there are houses everywhere and not apartment buildings. Yet there were no homes, only apartments stacked on top of strip malls and grocery stores.
We stopped for lunch at a cloissone factory, which was a total tourist trap but fascinating. They do the work by hand, and I must say�that is seriously old-school artisan work there. The sales staff were very frustrated by me�why wasn�t she buying anything? There must be something wrong�send another staff member over and sell! Sell! Sell! *sigh* Lunch was fun, all family-style on a lazy susan as we got to know each other. The French man was very nice, but his hair plugs were not. The trio from�well, I couldn�t tell how they knew each other since they spoke of all sorts of countries and adventures as home. There were kids from Ireland about to do a Teach English kind of thing in China, and there was a kid from Ohio who was about to become the biggest annoyance I have ever experienced while traveling. There was also a couple from New York who were unintentionally hilarious; I think they had ordered the entire Travelsmith catalog and were wearing it with strange apprehension. Badaling was accessible by narrow twisty roads the passed by farmettes and family housing as we climbed up thru the fog to reach the base camp. As we scampered up to buy our tickets, I found my Holy Grail. There were two ways up to the Wall�climb thru the scrub brush to the top, or take the ski lift. There were three ways back down�climbing, ski-lifting, or the Bobsled of DOOM. Hell yeah! The Wall was amazing, and very narrow. The surrounding terrain was very Last of the Mohicans and I could feel the storm that threatened us all day. We split up and climbed around the Wall for a while, marveling at the rapid shift in stair composition. Some were broad flat paving stones, while others were stairs for short-footed giants. The Wall drunkenly clung to the top of the mountain range, becoming a faint grey thread instantaneously. I was ready for my luge, so I headed down with some others in tow. Imagine two scooters from PE class, with a joystick in the crack between them which controlled the brake (and I use the term loosely). Imagine sitting down on one with the knowledge that this was something that would have been either outlawed or heavily reconfigured in the States before anyone was allowed on it. Imagine the admonition �children under 3 could ride on an adult�s lap, all others must have own ride� and how well *that* would go over. Imagine it being run by lazy pool guards on waterslide duty. Imagine my unholy glee that I was about to go down as fast as I could coerce my wheels to fly, me swinging up on the sides of the curves and gaining speed with every turn. Imagine how unhappy the lazy guards were that I was going so fast. Eh. Screw �em. After running the tourist gauntlet (no, I don�t want a t-shirt, thanks, no, REALLY, thanks, no, go away, no, no, no, no) and eating the tastiest orange popsicle ever, we were heading home past the brick makers and the concrete workers and the factories and strange squat towns. The city was crushed under a thick heavy blanket of dirty cotton, which would hover for the next 4 days. My vacation was at an end; the conference began Tuesday and I had work to do. But first, a trip to the grocery to buy snack cakes and munchies and cookies and the sorts of things I miss when I have to eat out every damn meal. And I had to replenish my water supply, woefully low after two days. - last entry / next entry - |
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