Beijing Da Tong Beijing

I took the overnight train to Da Tong, leaving at half past eleven. I was in a middle bunk. I had remembered that they were more spacious; I couldn't sit up straight, though perhaps I had become accustomed to the more comfortable Russian trains.

I had had dinner the night before at the Passby Cafe, allowing myself an hour to get to the Beijing West train station. As the hour grew close, my dining companions began to fear that I might miss the train. Dinner ended early, and we all left for our prospective destinations. I hailed a cab and arrived at the station with ten minute to spare.

For the second time, I found myself waking up in Da Tong. On the train ride from Mongolia, I had awoken as we pulled into the station. This time, heading west, we were awoken so that we could exchange our bunk chits for our train tickets. We had arrived slightly ahead of schedule.

Just inside the exit I found the Chinese International Travel Service office. I booked a tour for the Hanging temple and the Buddhist grottoes in Yungang. I was told the tour to meet back at the office at nine. It was barely seven.

I walked out into the square in front of the train station. Groups of people had gathered to wait for their trains, some with heavy bags on which they sat or slept. The day was overcast and I walked along one of the broad avenues to see where it would take me. I ate a delicious stewed pork bun with hot peppers from a street vendor and peeked into a gated apartment complex before it was time to head back to the office. There, the man talked to me about stocks. He had lost a lot of money in the Chinese stock market. I said I had lost a lot in the American stock market, but was afraid to look at how much the recent falls had cost me. We waited for another tourist and then headed for the van. I asked if CITS worked with mainly western or Chinese tourists. He said that CITS was mainly westerners since they employed English-speaking guides. I asked if the costs between Chinese tour operators and tour operators that catered to Westerners were different and he said not really anymore.

The driver and tourguide were both from Shanxi, and they spoke to each other in the native dialect. I sat in the front and chatted with the driver. He told me he had just come from Beijing the day before. It took him three hours; he had driven 160km and hour the entire way.

We drove through the city and he pointed out the newly expanded avenues. They hadn't finished putting in the streetlights. Traffic lights had been wheeled into the intersections. In some areas, rubble lined the avenue. The driver, Mr. Li, told me that they had destroyed the run down houses and were putting in new larger housing complexes. We drove out of the city and into the surrounding countryside.

A light rain came and went as we drove. Mr. Li lamented the rain. He said it was the most dangerous kind, because it mixed with the oil in the roads and made them slippery; a downpour would wash the oil away. As we headed into the hills I napped.

Mr. Li exclaimed, tearing me from sleep. He had just seen a van head into the ravine through his rear-view mirror. A truck tried passing a car, but didn't see the van headed up the mountain. The truck hit the brakes, but its tail end skidded along the road striking the police van, and sending it over the edge. Mr. Li immediately slowed down. I asked if we should call the police. He said they'd have it in hand. Shortly, a police car passed, followed by an ambulance. I was surprised that the response was so quick. Mr. Li seemed nonplussed and pointed out more emergency vehicles arriving along the road.

The Hanging Temple was surprisingly evocative. It clung to the side of a cliff, and narrow stairs and passageways linked the various rooms and altars. Our tour guide sped through the temple. I walked a bit ahead. She explained the rooms and functions to me in Chinese and repeated herself in English for the rest of the group. As we were about to leave, the tour buses started to arrive. Our guide was relieved we had beat them.

We ate lunch in a restaurant catering to tour groups and then drove back to town. Passing the site of the accident, he stopped the car to look into the ravine. The police van was badly damaged but still intact. A man crawled around inside. Mr. Li called down to ask if anyone had died, but the man didn't hear.

Back in Da Tong, Mr. Li pointed out the best hospital in the city (where he guessed they had taken the victims of the accident) and the future site of a 5 star hotel. New trees were being planted along the main street. He told me that in the past the street had been very run down, but they had a new mayor who was affecting change. He also asked me to give his name and number to any friends who might be coming to Da Tong and needed a driver. I asked if he usually worked with CITS and he said no. He said there are 40 tour operators in Da Tong and he works with whomever calls, in which case it is all about contacts. I told him I would pass on his information.

As we left the city, he pointed out the coal mines, including one visited by all the major dignitaries. I had asked about them before and he said that they were mostly worked by people from other provinces, especially that of Sichuan. I was interested in visiting them and he said I could, but alone. He said that usually the people who went to the mines were good-for-nothings.

The Buddhist caves were impressive for the sheer number of carvings. Some caves had been fully excavated with almost free-standing structures inside. One or two had been painted. The majority were showing the signs of wear. The day had cleared and blue skies had opened up above our heads. The sun shone on the sculptures, bringing out the warmth in the sandstone.

Mr. Li dropped me off in the middle of town. The guide pointed me in the direction of the 9 Dragon Screen and the upper and lower Hianyuan temples. She said that I could visit the upper one; the lower was of less interest, but had an ok museum. They had been separated by a new construction project which was ongoing. I mistook her advice and visited the lower temple and then the upper (which had a beautifully painted wall, but was difficult to see given the low level of light inside the main chamber) before continuing on to the 9 Dragon Screen, the largest of the three in China.

At the 9 Dragon Screen temple I paid my admission and went in. At the back of a courtyard stood the screen. Behind the screen there was a wall. I was surprised that there was no temple.

From the 9 Dragon Screen I walked to the drum tower and then along a road lined with people selling food and vegetables from carts, which lead back to the Huanyuan temple and a slightly more touristy street selling jewelry. I began to walk back towards the train station. Night was falling and I was hungry. I stopped in a buffet restaurant that seemed popular with the locals and ate a plate of kung pao chicken because I saw they had just brought out a bowl of it along with a small fish for about four dollars.

Back at the train station I waited and tried to catch up on my sleep. They had sold out of sleeper tickets for the train to Beijing and so I had settled for hard seat. I knew it'd be a long night. When the train was announced, there was a crush of people at the gate. I made my way to the train and found my seat. We set off at eleven pm and I tried to sleep. The people around me tried to sleep. The people standing in the aisles sat on the ground and tried to sleep. Everyone had sprawled every which way.

I didn't sleep much. In Beijing, I eschewed the bus and took a cab. It was just past five in the morning. The night was clear and dawn was coming. I could see it in the lightening of the sky. The city still slept and the roads were clear. My driver asked by which way I wanted to go. I said it didn't matter. I was just looking to be back home and in a prone position. It had been a long day. And an even longer night.
Posted by eku at October 10, 2008 6:58 AM