Xian

A21 Floral Villas, Sai Kung becomes the official starting point of our journey. Ringo, our long suffering taxi driver over the years takes us to Hung Hom station at six in the morning. As we drive through Sai Kung for the last time in a long time we muse on what the place has come to mean to us. So much familiarity with it, everywhere we look there are countless fond memories associated with the view. It will be difficult if not impossible to replace how good Sai Kung has been to us over the past six and a half years.

Hung Hom station provides us with our last taste of Hong Kong in the form of a blueberry muffin and a tall Americano with skimmed milk. With the South China Morning Post tucked neatly under one arm for the news and crossword we board the Kowloon-Canton Railway for the two hour trip north to Guangzhou.

Guangzhou East Train Station proves to be the stepping off point into the deep end of China. I am totally unfamiliar with it as a location and the heavy bags make finding a ticket office a chore. Hacking, spitting, chain smoking middle aged Chinese men with paunches and brown suits shout loudly into their mobile phones, certain confirmation, if needed, that we are now across the border. Fortunately China does its usual thing and provides us with a string of amusing people with broken English who assist and entertain us on our way. The Guangzhou Metro is every bit as modern and efficient as Hong Kong’s MTR, a model of underground railway sophistication. Guangzhou Main Train Station however reminds us of the realities of travel in this vast country. What seems like an army of one hundreds thousand commuters mill around slurping spicy instant noodles from large paper bowls. A thick haze of stale cigarette smoke hangs in the air and yellow nicotine stains adorn the walls and ceilings, a testament to the amount of waiting that takes place here.

The K82 Sleeper Train departs at 14:34 on the dot and the next twenty-five hours roll past in a blur of sleep, scenery and green tea which we drink from our newly purchased plastic flasks that are the quintessential Chinese travel accessory.

First impressions of Xian confirm that it is a UNESCO world heritage site, the crenelated city walls peak above the swarm of tourists and touts that go hand in hand with anything given such an accolade. Like many places in China however the holiday makers are rarely foreign, the booming domestic tourism industry is quite clearly not suffering from the effects of a global recession.

A gentle evening stroll around the outside of the city walls reveals the citizens of Xian indulging in a bit of R’n’R as the sun goes down. A winding path threads its way through a narrow strip of public park abutting the walls. The very old, very young and everybody in between are grabbing a slice of the action. Couples promenade, teens swot ping pong balls energetically back and forth across purpose built outdoor tables, old gents stretch their limbs over the ubiquitous exercise equipment and a troupe of middle aged woman line dance like there is no tomorrow. A young girl sings her heart out at an alfresco karaoke bar and toddlers with squeaky shoes are encourage to say “Hello” to the passing ‘Lao Wai’ by doting parents. I remember again why I fell in love with China, where else in the world can you find such random pleasant oddness?

I am desperately seeking something in Xian that enables me to envision it as the eastern terminus of the silk road. I almost need to feel the pull of an unseen conduit drawing me west, away from the old Chinese capital. Wandering through the back streets of the Muslim quarter is pleasant but the large western style shopping malls packed with McDonald’s, KFC, Pizza Hut, Louis Vuitton and Nike stores as well as the grotesque tourist overload of the Drum Tower area leave me wondering what on earth this has got to do with where we are heading.

Leaving the crowds behind we hand over our money and begin the ascent up onto Xian’s infamous city walls, apparently some of the best preserved medieval city walls anywhere in the world. They do not disappoint. They are wide enough to drive a car along and high enough to put off any would be assailants. With the guard and gate towers built like fortified pagodas, so symbolic of Chinese architecture, it is one of those place that just conjures up images in your mind. For me it brings to mind one of my favourite films ‘Hero.' Zhang Yimou’s cinematic masterpiece of colour and emotion tells the fictionalised yet historical tale of the first emperor of China, Qin Shi Huang. The man who brought China’s various warring states together in 221BC through brutal conquest and united them in a capital not far from Xian. The costumes, sets and feel of this movie allow me to look upon the city with a certain amount of poetic license. The city within the walls today is clearly undergoing a revolution in town planning. All the newest buildings seem to have been constructed according to traditional design. Focussing on these and carefully ignoring the concrete carbuncles devoid of any architectural influence it is possible to let your imagination take over. In my minds eye I see a vast ocean of tiled roofs. The apex’s dropping down in beautiful concave arcs to the exaggerated upturned overhanging eaves. Erupting out of the multitude of markets, barracks and residences to stand proud against the horizon is the imaginary palace itself, quite literally the centre of “The Middle Kingdom. For a moment I hold this image in my head. The capital came and went from the Xian area before returning again later during the Tang dynasty, where in the eighth century it reached it’s zenith. Nowhere else at this moment in history is as cosmopolitan or dynamic as Xian, then known as Changan. Persians, Turks, Tibetans, Sogdians and South Asians mingle in the streets. Merchants and monks, soldiers and scholars, poets and prostitutes, beggars and businessmen, courtesans and conmen all rub shoulders in this melting pot of faith, ethnicity and social status. Looking outwards from the city walls it is harder to picture the past. The towering skyscrapers, numerous cranes and industrial smog are more difficult to ignore. Out there somewhere in the dusty recesses of history however roads snake out from the four major city gates north, south, east and west, each passing through the endless fields of agriculture that were required to sustain a city of 2 million souls. It is at the West Gate that I have the most profound connection. The realities of the past are almost certainly very different from the idea I have been forming in my head but if the Silk Road isn’t about romance then what’s the point of this journey?

Qin Shi Huang’s collection of toy soldiers just outside Xian beats anything I ever had as a kid. Seven thousand life size terracotta warriors including cavalry and chariots might seem excessive to some but in comparison to his real army, this one, prepared for his journey into the afterlife must have resembled nothing more than small platoon. Nevertheless this dramatic display of power only cements further what I have already come to realise. I have found the Xian I was searching for, the grand capital city of old that marked the beginning of the journey west for so many bails of silk and here, rather than Hong Kong, is the symbolic start to our travels.