After a mostly sleepless sleeper-train journey of some 12 hours, we arrived in Xi'an (pronounced "she-ann", a small ancient city south-west of Beijing) in the cool of the early morning to be met by the hostel's mini bus driver. We were so happy to learn that our room was available so early in the morning and promptly downed our bags and fell asleep for 6 hours, waking at around 4.30pm to seek food and explore our new home.
We soon found the famous Muslim quarter and wandered among the bustling street markets. This was not the tourist trap type of market we found in Beijing, this was for locals, and the sights and smells were incredible. Giant cauldrons of broth steamed away on the pavement and roaring blasts of fire erupted from portable cooker tops over which red faced cooks tossed woks of sizzling meat and vegetables. Scooters and rickshaws whizzed past us in the narrow alleyways and laundry wafted high above in the late summer air.
The next day, and at the advice of some friendly Brits we met in Beijing, we rose early and hired bicycles which we pedalled excitedly around the top of the ancient city wall which fully encircles the inner city. To begin with, we had the 12km route virtually all to ourselves and we roared along like children, weaving in and out of eachother with the ghostly silhouettes of the many watch-towers and temples slowly appearing through the mist ahead as we rode. Below us, the city began whirring in to life, and, owing to the start of national celebrations here in China, banks of fireworks fizzed and popped in the still air over our heads, dragging with them great plumes of coloured smoke in wide rainbow-like arrangements and echoing cracks and booms from all directions around the maze of grey concrete tower blocks.
Day three arrived and The Terracotta Army beckoned....
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