Walking the Wall

One of Yinchuan’s gargantuan malls

At the eastern terminus of the Silk Road in old Chang’an (present-day Xian), the capital of Tang Dynasty China (618-907 AD), there were two great markets – the East Market (Dong Shichang) and the West Market (Xi Shichang). The East Market specialised in local luxury goods – jade and silk – while West Market merchants dealt in foreign goods – cockatoos from Indonesia, medicines from India, jewels from Turkey. It was said that between Dong Shichang and Xi Shichang you could buy anything from anywhere in the world.

Thus the origins of the Chinese phrase mai dongxi, which, translated hyper-literally, means “buy east-west.” In everyday usage, it means to buy things, or to go shopping.

Mai dongxi. The Chinese love to go shopping, and with the Chinese economy continuing to boom, more and more people have the wherewithal to go shopping more and more often. You’ve probably seen the numbers, but they are so staggering they bear repeating. China has averaged around 9 percent annual growth since 2000; last year growth was over 10 percent. According to the Economist.com, from 2000 to 2005, per capita GDP based on purchasing power parity (i.e., adjusted to reflect differences in the prices of goods across countries) rose from US$3980 to US$6292. Chinese wallets are more than a bit fatter these days.

Impressive as the statistics are, they don’t quite convey what the boom feels like at the retail level. Shopping in China can seem like a contact sport at times. On weekend afternoons in the major cities, giant pedestrian malls are packed with consumers rushing from one popular Chinese chain store to another – Dancing with Wolves for casual wear, Li Ning for sporting goods and clothing (motto: “Anything Is Possible”), and Hisense for white goods and consumer electronics.

Yinchuan’s main pedestrian mall

The giant shopping malls filled with Western retailers are less crowded, as Western goods come with Western price tags, but the array of brands is amazing. Ground floor: Revlon, L’Oreal, Maybelline, Lancome. First floor: Pierre Cardin, Esprit, Gucci, Nine West. Second floor: Nike, Adidas, Puma, Columbia. And so on, all the way to Floor 6.

Ground floor at Yinchuan’s nicest mall

Assuming you haven’t blown your paycheck on the top six floors, there’s a mega-supermarket in the basement

And that’s not even taking into account the innumerable stalls on the streets or in warehouse-style shopping cities selling cheap knock-off brands and knick-knacks.

The crowds outside Yinchuan Shopping City, where small merchants sell their wares

The Christmas decorations stall in Yinchuan Shopping City

In this frenzied atmosphere, it’s hardly surprising that Chinese merchants are pushing Christmas, and in a big way. So what if the holiday is entirely devoid of religious content here when there’s potential for a huge retail spike every December? Besides, as our Beijing friend John said of China and Christmas: “It’s a perfect match. You can eat and drink all day, give and receive gifts, and everybody gets to wear red!”

Sheng dan lao ren (Old Man Christmas) and his helper

. . . a nomadic people known as the Tuoba group of the Dangxiang were threatened by the neigbouring Tibetan Empire. In 799 AD they agreed to submit to Tang China in return for protection, and moved away from their home on the eastern edge of the Tibetan Plateau to the Ordos Plateau in the great bend of the Yellow River.

Over the next two centuries as the Tang Dynasty fragmented into smaller, quarreling Chinese dynasties, the Dangxiang grew stronger, and by 1038 the Dangxiang were able to establish their own kingdom, known to the Chinese as the Western Xia. For the next 190 years the 10 kings of the Western Xia ruled over a state that encompassed much of present-day Shaanxi, Ningxia and Gansu, until they were overthrown by Genghis Khan and the Mongols.

The story of the Western Xia probably would have been long forgotten by pretty much everyone were it not for one thing – upon their deaths, eight of the Western Xia kings were buried in massive tombs at the foot of the Helan Shan. Today those eight tombs stretch across roughly 40 square kilometres of foothill country, and are probably the most important tourist attraction in Ningxia.

Two tomb complexes and the Helan Shan

The easiest way to see the tombs is simply to get a cab from Yinchuan to the area developed for tourism, but unfortunately, like many Chinese cultural heritage sites, it is somewhat marred by unnecessarily huge concrete pavilions built to accommodate the summer crowds. To see the tombs in a more evocative context, you can walk cross-country about three kilometres to the southwest of the main tourist area, where you can wander around the perimeter of two well-preserved tomb complexes (they are, appropriately, fenced off), with only you and the wind to discuss what might have motivated the Western Xia kings to build these giant beehives.

Looking across the undeveloped tomb sites as stormclouds roll in

That’s not to say the main tourist area isn’t worth a visit, though. For one thing, you’re not restricted to the perimeter of the main tomb complex, so you can get right up close to see just how much dirt went into laying these kings to rest.

Brendan in front of Tomb No. 3

In addition, the museum at the tourist site is well worth a look, with nicely lit exhibits and informative signs in Chinese and English on the unique Xia script, which superficially resembles Chinese but in fact is quite different, the history of the Western Xia kingdom, and the mostly Buddhist iconography of the Xia. You can also have a look at some truly huge statues outside the tombs, which – though the interpretive signs don’t mention it – might just perhaps have as much to do with ancient fertility rites as with Buddhism.

Don’t go looking for the milk of human kindness from these two

Where would the West’s multi-billion dollar health food industry be without Ningxia Hui Autonomous Region? One of China’s poorest provinces, Ningxia is mostly desert with huge areas of unpopulated, uninhabitable land. Yet the abundant irrigation that the Yellow River provides has given Ningxia one very important claim to fame – it is China’s largest exporter of one of the West’s most popular “superfoods,” the goji berry.

Also known as Chinese wolfberry, the goji is thought to be one of nature’s most nutrient-rich foods and is highly regarded in traditional Chinese medicine. It also holds an important place in the day-to-day Ningxia economy, with larger towns devoting dozens of shops to the sale of goji products, including wolfberry coffee, liquor, wine, dried fruit, tea, juice and tablets.

You name it, they’ve got it

We first came across the goji in the middle of picking season, back in August. Acres of bush about six feet high were laden with the little bright orange berry, and scores of mostly women and school-aged girls (with the occasional man) would spend hours hand-picking them and laying them out to dry, as seen in the picture at the top of the page.

Goji berries need to be hand-picked or shaken from the tree

Traditional Chinese medicine believes the goji berry can enhance immune system function, protect the liver, improve circulation and guard against cancers and Alzheimer’s disease. The berries and the sprouts are regularly drunk in tea or in soup, and dried goji berries are eaten raw much like sultanas or raisins. With the drying season over, large barrels of gojis now sit inside shops or outside in the sun.

Goin’ goji shoppin’

The health food industry of the west is now claiming the goji is one of the most nutritious food sources on earth, rich in antioxidants and full of essential amino acids, trace minerals, vitamins and other immune system fortifying elements.

So next time you go into a health food shop, check out the goji products, and spare a thought for the goji hand-pickers of Ningxia: producing 13 million kilograms a year is not a small accomplishment.

Ningxia’s wolfberry wine – You Goji, Girl!!

One of the four warriors who guard the Buddha at the entrance to many temples

If you’ve been in China long enough, it’s easy to get “templed out.” When you can’t remember the difference between the Temple of Everblue Skies and the Pavilion of Early Plum Blossoms, it’s tough to get excited about traipsing through the Hall of Magnificent Munificence.

The only surefire solution to the malady is to find something else to do, but whenever that’s not a good option we have a tried-and-true strategy: go for the ghouls. Chinese temples abound with demons – painted on murals, carved onto walls, sculpted into roof ornaments.

BWAAAH-HA-HA-HA-HA-HAAAAAA

You can hardly go wrong riding the ghoul train in any Chinese temple, whether Buddist or Taoist. Yet when it comes to the underworld, Gao Miao (Tall Temple) in Zhongwei, which is a blend of Confucian, Buddhist and Taoist styles, is in a league of its own. Its one interpretive sign in English boasts that it has the finest Hades in China, and the temple’s dramatically upturned eaves lend the temple a Gothic feel.

Gao Miao

The temple was built in the early Ming period between 1402 and 1420, and consists of over 300 rooms on several levels piled one atop the other, “in a form,” in the words of the interpretive sign (Chinese), “similar to a phoenix spreading its wings, powerfully flying high to the skies.” Anyhow, inside the temple there is a fine selection of dragons, demons and grumpy old men. When the storyboards aren’t bloodthirsty, well, at least they depict scenes of cruelty and unhappiness.

Giving a new meaning to the term “dinner bell”

If you write one more thing about me, young man . . .

And STAY out!!!

But no Chinese temple is complete without a bit of fun and games, so the minders of Gao Miao have thoughtfully extended the Hades theme in a small side temple where you can find your own inner ghoul.

Who’s the stretchiest of them all?

And if all of that weren’t scary enough, once you’ve emerged blinking into the sunlight, you’re immediately accosted by the birdseed man, who will not take no for an answer. Hell indeed.

Spreading their wings, powerfully flying high to the skies

The Bund

We arrived in Shanghai like a couple of wide-eyed kids from the country. Coming from Beijing, we’re no strangers to big Chinese cities, but Shanghai means money, fashion, glamour.

Pudong New Area, Shanghai’s financial district

Where Beijing’s colossal office blocks seem to squash you under acres of concrete and glass, Shanghai’s skyscrapers are graceful and sleek. Shanghai’s French Concession has shady, pedestrian-friendly streets lined with boutiques; Beijing has wind-blasted, tank-friendly boulevards lined with Communist Party monoliths. Beijing is men dressed in pyjamas playing Chinese checkers; Shanghai is women in little black numbers and high heels.

So we were prepared to be dazzled as we rode in from the airport. There was one small hiccup when we checked into our hotel, however. (Emma: “I have a reservation for a double room under, ummm, Emma.” The hotel clerk, frowning: “I don’t see anything for a Memma here.”)

Nevertheless, we managed to check in successfully and rode up to our room in an all-glass exterior lift. After changing into the only nice set of clothes we own in China, we headed out to meet some friends at the Glamour Bar, one of those places you need to go to at least once. The views of the Bund and the Pudong are probably the best in Shanghai, but the cost of one drink could have fed us for a week back in Gansu.

The Bund from the Oriental Pearl Tower

The next day we had brunch in the French Concession, spent an exhausting afternoon in the Shanghai Museum, window-shopped along Huaihai Lu. “Gosh,” we babbled. “We could live here!”

We even did some really touristy things, like go up the Oriental Pearl Tower – unforgivably tacky interior, but the views from the lookout platforms are amazing. The under-river train ride through the Bund Sightseeing Tunnel, while perhaps not the most sophisticated showcase for Shanghai, is fun if you like colourful, flashing lights.

The Bund Sightseeing Tunnel

Doo-doo-doo-doo doo-doo-doo-doo

But bit by bit reality intruded on our little fantasy. When we needed a break from the rush of the city, we couldn’t find anything comparable to Beijing’s quiet, leafy parks. Shanghai’s modern buildings and streetscapes might be more attractive than Beijing’s, but we missed imperial Chinese landmarks like the Summer Palace and Forbidden City. Most shocking of all, we found ourselves concluding that Shanghai’s taxi drivers are worse than Beijing’s – not only do they run red lights and everything in their path, but they watch TV while doing it!

At least he’s not channel surfing

If only the Great Wall were this well paved

Sacred Taoist mountains just aren’t what they used to be. Back in the good old days, firm believers and those seeking spiritual enlightenment could scale the peak of a mountain in relative solitude, abandoning their thoughts to the misty veil of waterfalls and the chatter of birds.

Now, climate change has lifted the veil on the waterfalls, solitude has been replaced by tourism on a massive scale, clean air has been clogged by buses and factories, and silent meditation at the peak is shared with thousands of cap-wearing, happy-snap snapping tour groups, vendors with loudspeakers and view-blocking mobile phone towers.

The reception is FANTASTIC up here!

That said, making your way to the top of Tai Shan, one of China’s five sacred Taoist mountains, is still a fun and worthwhile experience, if you don’t consider being at the top your main goal. The seven kilometre walk up the mountain winds through tall trees, over bridges, past small temples and tea houses and by steep, rock-lined cliff faces. These sacred mountains are extraordinary both for their natural beauty and for the way that Chinese spirituality has changed and shaped them over the centuries.

Emma attempts to translate an ancient inscription on the way up the mountain

The 1545-metre high Tai Shan in Shandong Province has been a place of spiritual pilgrimage for 3000 years. According to Lonely Planet China, it is the most climbed mountain on earth and in 2003 attracted 6 million visitors. As a result, infrastructure has cropped up to cope with the demand. Now, you can get a bus half way up the mountain, catch a cable car to the top, spend a night at one of the hotels on the peak and eat at one of the many restaurants. Not sure if any of this takes away from your spiritual experience, but it’s there all the same.

“Well I do have a broken foot, Emma”

You can always try the fast-track to enlightenment by throwing a coin in the pond at the Dragon Spring Nunnery

We decided to walk to the half-way point, Midway Gate to Heaven, and then catch the cable car to the top (the weather was being contrary and the rain took away some of the enjoyment of walking). There are dozens of vendors selling food, drinks and trinkets along the way. The vendors weren’t as annoying as they can be, and when you think that they, too, had to carry all their goods up the mountain, you get a new appreciation for them (did I say that there are some 6600 steps?).

Yin and yang pouches for sale outside a temple

Could this be the most well-protected tree on earth?

We stayed the night in one of the hotels at the top and declined the 5 am wake-up call to see the sunrise – it was obvious the clouds weren’t going to clear by the morning. Even by about 6 pm, the peak was cloaked in thick mist and many of the tourists had gone. The temples and gates were well-lit, casting shadows on the swirling clouds, and all you could see over the edge of the mountain was a vertical drop-off into darkness.

The gateway along the Road to Heaven

A tourist poses for his girlfriend in the nighttime mist

It is not possible to imagine Mongolian history without horses, and I think it is not possible to view the future of Mongolia without horses as well. Mongolia is not Mongolia without horses.

- J. Tserendeleg, president of the Mongolian Association for Conservation of Nature and the Environment

Mongolia is synonymous with horses. Przewalski’s horse, the last wild horse species on earth, is native to Mongolia. Genghis Khan’s great Mongol empire of the 13th century was won by exploiting the military potential of horse cavalry. Even today, Mongolians are known as some of the finest horsemen in the world.

There are deep ecological and historical reasons for Mongolians’ love affair with the horse. The steppe country north of China – too cold and dry for settled agriculture, but blessed with endless grazing lands – has been home to a succession of nomadic horse cultures for over two thousand years

Now that’s what I call bareback riding

Fittingly then, Naadam, in both the Inner Mongolian Autonomous Region of China and independent, democratic Mongolia to the north, is all about horses. A horse parade kicks off the festival’s opening ceremony, and each day there are formal equestrian shows and horse races. Apart from the formal events, plenty of people just take the opportunity to ride across the green pastures surrounding the festival.

Look Mum, no hands

It’s not all pageantry though. Horses have always been serious business in Mongolia – they were and remain vital to the pastoral economy of the steppes, and horses were the basis of the Mongols’ military prowess. Horse-racing, like the wrestling and archery competitions at Naadam, historically provided an opportunity to combine martial training with a bit of fun.

Helmets, obviously, are not obligatory

On the grasslands, horse races are a bit different from the Melbourne Cup. Traditionally, races were run across the steppes; today, they are held on a track, but the race distances are still long by Western standards – 2500, 5000 and 10,000 metres at Naadam in Inner Mongolia, and up to 30 kilometres in independent Mongolia. Because the races are intended to test the speed and endurance of the horses rather than the skill of the riders, most of the jockeys are children between 8 and 15 years old.

When you’re that young, who cares about dieting

With such long races, and perhaps helped by the young age of the riders, horse injuries aren’t that uncommon. We saw one horse get confused during a race and crash into the railing separating onlookers from the track, while another horse was too dazed to move out of the way of oncoming riders and got hit from behind. Fortunately, both horses were able to walk themselves to safety.

The claret flowed at Naadam’s Mongolian wrestling competition

It looked like a mismatch.

The defending champion stood in the center of a ring formed by the spectators, winner of five straight matches, 6 feet tall (1.83 metres) and over 100 kilos.

The challenger was one of the smaller men to enter the ring, around 5’9” (1.75 metres) and solidly but not massively built, maybe 85 kilos.

The men circled each other cautiously for a few moments before locking arms at the shoulders. Then began the slow, painstaking work of finding an advantage. Each man tried to work his fingers under the other’s leather vest, around the other’s belt, anywhere that would provide the leverage for a throw.

Matches begin with wrestlers grappling for better position

Of the three sporting competitions at Naadam, wrestling is the most popular and most exciting. There are no weight or age classes and no time limits – lean teenagers can compete with flabby (but large) 30-year-olds in matches that go on for half an hour or more.

The object of the match is simple: throw your opponent to the ground, making him touch down with his hand, knee, or any other part of his body. A wrestler may grab his opponent’s vest or belt, but may not grab his opponent’s legs. (Tripping is allowed.)

Getting a few fingers under the vest can be the difference between winning and losing

Ten minutes had gone by and neither man had an obvious advantage. The challenger slid his right hand around the back of the champion’s neck and tried to twist; the champion maintained balance and grasped the challenger’s right shoulder with both hands. Seeing an opening, the challenger ducked under the champion’s extended right arm and locked his arms around the champ’s waist. In an instant the larger man was off his feet, thrashing about helplessly. A yell, a throw, and the former champion was on his back in the dirt. Match over.

Head under the armpit and lift!

The defending champ extends an arm in desperation

A new champion

Horsemen on the grasslands of the Inner Mongolian Autonomous Region

By now you’re probably starting to get to know a little bit about the wall – how it was constructed, where it was constructed, what material it was made from and some unique things about the places it passes through. But do you know why the wall was built? Was it designed to keep someone out or to keep someone in?

The traditional story is that the Great Wall was built to protect peace-loving Chinese farmers from war-crazed Mongols like Genghis Khan and his plundering hordes. The truth is a tad more complicated. In the first place, the Chinese were building changcheng, or long walls, for military purposes long before Genghis got his first pony. More generally, the Chinese built long walls for offensive purposes as well as defensive, and they often provoked Mongolian raids by refusing to engage in peaceful trade or interfering in internal Mongolian politics.

Still, academics generally agree that the wall was designed to separate the agricultural Han Chinese south of the wall from the nomadic Mongols to the north. And the stereotype of the bloodthirsty Mongols is alive and well.

Don’t be fooled by their smiles, this is actually a Mongolian version of the haka

We wanted to see for ourselves just who these “fierce” Mongolians were, these men of astounding horsemanship who had the Chinese trembling in their boots. So we took a few days off the wall and hopped on up to Hohhot, the capital of the Inner Mongolia Autonomous Region, where we got a car ride to the grasslands and entry to the annual Mongolian festival, Naadam.

Buddhist monks bless the start of the festival

In the past, Naadam was an economic and social gathering, a time for Mongolian tribes to get together, trade goods, show off some of their best horses, and who knows, maybe plot their next raid against the Chinese. Eventually competitions in the warrior sports of horse racing, archery and wrestling became central to the festivities.

Today, Naadam is more of an all-around cultural festival, with music, eating and fashion as well as the traditional sporting contests. In the country of Mongolia, Naadam is celebrated at the same time every year; in the Inner Mongolian Autonomous Region of China, Naadam takes place when the grasses of the high plateau turn green.

The women of the steppes were known for their beauty

If you’re nearby when the authorities decide the grass is green enough, one or two days at Naadam are worth the effort to take it all in. Even if you’re just there for the opening ceremony, you can still see a lot – exotic dancers, beautiful singers, really strong men and some pretty cool horsemanship.

The two-stringed morin khuur’s neck is in the shape of a horse’s head

During the couple of days we spent in the grasslands we stayed in the traditional Mongolian dwelling, a yurt. This is a round, tent-like structure of wooden beams and felt that the nomads would carry with them and erect where they settled. Nowadays, the fancier yurts built for tourists are fixed structures that include glass windows, sliding doors and TVs (but still no corners).

The five-star yurts at Naadam (much nicer than the one we stayed in)

But ours still got internet coverage

And finally, what do Mongolian men need to keep up their wrestling strength? Food, and lots of it. Below is something that got wheeled past us in the corridors of the dining hall.

Vegetarian warning: graphic content