Culture Schmulture
Damned internal alarm clock! The wake-up call isn't until 7:00, but I keep waking up at 6:00. I lay in bed, thinking of only three things. What's breakfast going to be like? Who went for karaoke last night? How much will it hurt when I roll over?
The answers couldn't possibly come in the same order. C - It hurt like hell. A - Breakfast was crap. B- No one admitted to it. Bets are still on if we can prove it.
I know that the camel ride slightly aggravated my posterior discomfort, but it wasn't very taxing, overall. I'm quite amazed then, when I finally decide to test the water, that every part of me still demands to be put out of its misery. Ass, I can understand, though I'm pleased that scabs have replaced the oozing sores. Back, I can also understand, since I've had some injuries. The thighs just come as a total surprise.
I DON'T WORK OUT. Other than 12 oz. curls, I haven't done anything physically taxing in over two years, at first due to accident-related injuries, followed by habit-related laziness. I fully understand that physical effort will take its toll, but how could a three hour horse ride reduce my will to live two days later?
I considered this question as I duck-walked to the shower. A relaxing, hot shower started to make things a little better, soothing muscles and calming the mind. Am I really getting that old? Will it take months for bruises to heal?
I once had a teacher who explained that, past puberty, we begin dieing. Once we're past our prime, the body stops putting much energy into repairing the damages we incur daily. That's why a broken bone for a college student is a six week inconvenience, whereas it's a seemingly eternal, life-threatening situation for an 80 year-old.
I'm now at the mid-point. I'm not the normal college age, but I'm not 80 quite yet. However, I had better start thinking about non-skid soles for my shoes, because the downhill grade seems to be getting a little steeper every year. I'm going to start taking care of myself, watching my diet and my alcohol intake, exercising, generally, living right. Aaagghh, I've got a few more years of partying left in me. I'll worry about it later.
The shower washed away all negative effects of the trip, except for the legless feeling. I quickly dress and head downstairs for the buffet. Baotou is an even bigger city than HoHot, approximately two million people. This puts me into a torn frame of mind. The breakfast, if anything should be better, but how could I expect better than yesterday? I quickly find out that each day is totally unrelated to any other.
I had arrived first, apparently early enough to irritate some of the staff. Of course, they had been there much earlier than I, so, perhaps their surliness was due more to lack of sleep than having to deal with an aging, limping laowai at 7am. If I was the cause of their displeasure, they accomplished total vengeance within a few minutes. That's how long it took me to search the buffet and ask each employee for coffee, with no positive results.
It's far from the first choice of discerning breakfast diners but, having lived in Atlanta for a few years, I've come to appreciate the versatility of Coca-Cola. On this day, it was to serve as a coffee substitute and I promptly got two glasses of the go-juice. If only those good people made a substitute for baozi.
This particular buffet looked more like a salad bar than a satisfying, grease-filled offering. My doctor had warned me not to consume raw vegetables that I had not washed myself and, in this case, I was only too glad to take his advice. The only green things I want to eat for breakfast are inside my omelet.
The entire tour took on a weary outlook as we entered the buses with minimal caffeine intake. The promise of a local museum did not help our enthusiasm levels. As I said, Baotou consists of approximately two million people, very few of whom care about museums. My hometown, Rockford, Illinois, has never grown larger than 150,000 people, yet it boasts a museum far superior.
We wandered through two small floors of miscellaneous exhibits, without helpful guides and able to read every eighth sign. All others were in Chinese, which is challenging to decipher, and the Mongolian script, which makes Arabic look simple. As I recall, there were a few dinosaurs, some weapons, a lot of revolution photos and a small gift shop. We got our money's worth from our free admission.
I did take away one lasting impression though. I've always admired the toughness of the Mongolian people. Nothing ever came easy here. This was driven home by one simple, small display. I saw numerous further examples, but it only took one to remind me that "These guys were bad-asses." I had come upon a knife and a leather scabbard that were intriguing. The knife was large and sturdy; a serious tool, but it was the scabbard that absolutely stunned me.
I'm no archaeologist, so I'm sure that my conclusion is incredibly flawed, but I still like the visual that hit me. On the side of each leather scabbard was an additional sleeve, holding chopsticks. Kill it and eat it where it falls. That was the picture in my mind. I assume that there were usually a few intermediary steps, but the visual has stuck with me. That scabbard showed me the entire scope in one small package. Kill, eat. I'd probably have to go on a retreat to have any hope of explaining how striking that image was to me, but I'm not really sure it's all that important. You have to admit, though; those bastards were tough.
Another non-descript lunch later; we were headed for some more cultural activities. I've always found these to be a little on the boring side. How interesting can it possibly be, and how much are you really going to learn from a tour guide just going through the motions? As it turns out, a lot more than with a tour guide who doesn't even recognize the motions. In her normal, disinterested manner, she basically informed us that "We've arrived at xxx. Somebody (married, died, fought, built or destroyed something) here. Enjoy yourselves and be back at the bus at xx:00."
We visited a Buddhist temple armed with such staggering information, only to find out later that 90% of it had been built last year. The original was destroyed during the revolution in the 1940s. At another cultural stop we were allowed to climb a tall grass mound that was some guy's tomb. No pamphlets, commentaries or signs that we could read. We were simply doing our lemming imitation all across Mongolia.
The last stop was to be a working factory, which certainly sounded like a snoozer. The factory lived up to expectation. They produced a variety of items, including knives and swords, stuffed animals, paintings and cashmere clothing, but it was very low-key and lasted only ten minutes. However, even the most determined non-shopper couldn't have gotten through the gift shop gauntlet in less than twenty. Apparently this is the real purpose of the visit. I think we were there for almost two hours.
We saw enough knives to hold a large show, which was timely, since I had recently lost mine and couldn't find anything decent in Beijing. It was all I could do to walk out of there without nine or ten. It was slightly easier to decide that a sword was probably not very practical. The cashmere shop was at least 5,000 square feet and stocked with everything. I'm not really a cashmere kind of guy, but even I knew that $50 was pretty damn good for a sweater. Unfortunately, this is when I reverted to my local mindset and became convinced that I could find better and cheaper elsewhere. I didn't stop to think that we would not see any elsewheres.
The grocery store was very intriguing, offering more than seventy different flavors of mutton jerky, as well as a like variety of milk wines and other delicacies. Many of us stocked up on the wines and spent the rest of the time tasting the mutton until it was time to leave. It was off to another dinner, one that promised a little break from our dining monotony. We were to have a hot-pot dinner.
Still wondering about the milk wine? None of us was very keen to actually find out the secret. We'd all heard the history of fermented mare's milk as a Mongolian staple, but there were also a lot of sheep. Neither source bore investigation since we liked the wine (previously referred to as moonshine) and didn't want to be put off by manufacturing details.
I know that most readers are wondering why I have referred to wine as moonshine. They couldn't be farther apart, right? Here, wine is a more generic term, meaning "this will get you drunk." Anything alcoholic is wine, or jiu, pronounced jeeoh. The first word tells you how dangerous it is. Beer is pi (pee) jiu. At or near the top of the scale is the dreaded bai (bye) jiu. The danger to initiates, other than the taste and pickling properties, is that this simply means "white wine." I can't really avoid using the word in the future, so please remember that wine just means booze. Even the milk wines varied from 22% to 58% alcohol levels.
We were now back in HoHot, and everyone was a bit excited, anticipating coffee in the morning. It's funny how the smallest things can color the memories of an entire vacation. Coffee is one of those small things with enormous power. But now, dinner.
Hot-pot is a style of dining more than a dish. A large metal bowl of boiling soup is set flush into the tabletop and various raw items are ordered for you to throw in. In this case, our bowl was partitioned and contained both mild and spicy broths. The ten of us proceeded to throw in mutton and various vegetables, scooping out ladlefuls every few moments and throwing in more. It was delicious.
It makes for a very active meal. You're always passing dishes of ingredients or feeding the pot yourself. You're eating, laughing at stupid stories from the day and always pouring beer for your neighbors (you should never pour your own beer in such situations - that's the other guy's job.) Because every restaurant I've seen uses 4oz. glasses, it's never-ending.
It's a shame that this type of restaurant will never make it in the U.S. If we can and do sue for coffee we spill on ourselves, what chance do you have of being insured when you put large pots of boiling liquids at every table? I won't even mention the heater beneath the table to keep things bubbling. People are constantly claiming to have found a mouse or a finger in their food, often disproved because it hadn't been cooked the same way as the food. Imagine if you could slip something into the pot and cook it right at the table? If you ever have a chance, try the hot-pot, but don't expect to do it in the U.S.
Fat, happy and tired, we headed to our hotel. We knew about the bar quirks and were prepared with our bottles of wine, as well as a new card game we'd learned on the bus. No weird karaoke bars here and coffee in the morning, even if I did have to walk past a dish of sheep guts. Our standards were dropping fast.
As we began to wrap up and call it a night we heard initial reports of the evening's bar excursion. The well-informed crew had found a hip-hop club in HoHot, Inner Mongolia. No wonder the world hates us.
I've had problems loading pictures onto this server lately. If it doesn't start working soon, I'll look for another host. Any recommendations would be appreciated.
