My Favorite Day

Some of the best experiences traveling are when you get to see what people do. In the U.S. there is an absence of public space where people can meet and visit and play. I am reminded of the sense of community we lack whenever I experience life in the streets abroad.

We woke up at 6 a.m. and were headed to the city wall for a walk. Our hotel, although a total dump, was situated across the street from the wall in Xi'an and so it made for a good location. The exterior of the wall has a moat and parkscape that was adorned with maples (or what looked like them) and ginkos. We scurried along a stone path between the moat and the wall. People were doing their "morning practice," as our guide called it, or exercise. The night before I had walked down and we watched dancing in front of the drawbridge, we headed in that direction now. About two-thirds of the way to the drawbridge, we heard the thumping of music. Looking across the moat, there were people doing aerobics. We trekked across the bridge and doubled back to where the aerobics was taking place. It was a community space. There were about 100-200 people within and around a wrought iron fenced patio space. I searched for the instruction, but there didn't seem to be anyone, as if by osmosis everyone knew how to move. We joined a couple of older women outside the gate and attempted to follow this leaderless aerobics. Eventually it stopped and people repositioned themselves, some began to ballroom dance and others (women) were doing what I came to know as the fan dance. We skirted around the fence and went inside to join the fan dancing. I am not a terrible dancer, but I certainly lack any practice for basic 1-2-3-4. After about 20 tries of the same steps, I got it and one of the women turned and smiled and gave me a thumbs up. I would venture that most of the people were between the ages of 40 and 80. My friend was soon whisked away by a funny looking man to dance ballroom. I continued with the fan dancing until the tempo picked up and the steps became too confusing. I ventured over to watch the dancing. A tall, slender, and very regal looking woman and her partner twirled in front of me. She gave me a slight smile and nod as they passed. It was mesmerizing to watch this couple. My parents tell me of how my grandfather (paternal) was an exceptional dancer, as good as Fred Astaire according to my mother. He and my grandmother (who was also a great dancer) met at a dance hall. I never saw them dance because by the time I came around, they had long since stopped. I imagined that these were my grandparents if time and inhibitions hadn't caught up to them. Most of the dancers had probably lived during the strictest time of the communist regime. It was my understanding that dancing was outlawed. These elders probably continued to practice dancing in their homes, and when they were allowed again, brought it to the streets. But that is just my speculation. After refusing a dance with one gentleman, I finally got over my inhibitions and danced with another. He had some English and everyone was very curious as to where we came from and what we were doing at 7 in the morning at a park.

Eventually, we had to leave, say good-bye to our partners and get ready for another non-stop tour day. By 7:30 we had already been whisked around a dance floor and gotten some morning practice of our own. Today it was to visit the terra-cotta soldiers. The terra-cotta soldiers are tremendous. "The Terra Cotta Army was discovered in March 1974 by local farmers drilling a water well to the east of Mount Lishan. Mount Lishan is the name of the man-made necropolis of the First Emperor of the Qin Dynasty; [Qin Shi Huang]. This is also where the material to make the terra cotta warriors was made, and found. Construction of this mausoleum began in 246 BC and is believed to have taken 700,000 workers and craftsmen 38 years to complete. Qin Shi Huang was interred inside the tomb complex upon his death in 210 BC." (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terracotta_Army)

At the end of the day, we were ready for some independent time and, ignoring the hotel’s advice, ventured to the Muslim district of Xi’an. It was 9 o’clock and the streets were still packed with vendors and people eating and shopping. There were sounds of creaky old bicycle carts, smells of grilled fish and chicken, and sights of colorfully arrayed sweets and fruits abounding. It was a sensory delight.