Mao's Autograph - Cheap!
Finally, the last day of the trip! I’ve never before understood the frame of mind “it’ll be good to get back to (work, school, etc.). I was now its leading advocate. Get me out of here, I all but screamed into the pillow.
The thought of coffee hit like a thunderbolt and I leaped out of bed, before remembering how much it would hurt. I’m still rather proud that I didn’t actually scream when I hit the floor. My roommate never stirred. A little whimper was all that the Mongolian gods got out of me.
A long shower is one of the greatest experiences you can have on a bad vacation. As long as you’re in a decent place and you’re up a little early, you never have to worry about running out of hot water. I’ve been known to stand there for 30 minutes or so, just for the mental therapy. I didn’t set any personal best, but I was there a while, trying to convince various body parts that they could make it just one more day. My salesmanship skills were severely challenged, but eventually most of the parts responded to the promise of coffee.
I know that I’ll never qualify as a great packer, but I like to think that I’m fairly good. What baffles me, and keeps me from the ranks of the best, is that I apparently lose all ability to count while filling a bag. It’s not a simple problem of forgetting something or taking too much but, rather, taking mismatched quantities. I always end up with, say, two extra pairs of pants and having to recycle or buy additional shirts. It’s not planning, it’s just simple counting.
Today I had another reason to be glad that we were headed home. I found myself with three extra pairs of socks and lacking fresh underwear. Recycling being the only option, I was glad that yesterday had not been very physical. I crammed everything into my backpack and ran for the buffet, aroma be damned.
The coffee was like nectar, but then again, instant would have tasted like Starbuck’s best right then. I was on my second cup before making it around the buffet circuit. There were plentiful baskets of baozi, mounds of bread products, meats, and almost everything you could ask for, considering the location. The dish of sheep guts looked suspiciously untouched since earlier in the week. With no reading materials available, I selected a prime seat to enjoy the entertainment – Cripples on Parade.
I was disappointed with the performance. I’m confident that they all appeared and felt as bad as I did, but I had gotten accustomed to the look. There was no recent contrast for amusement. Everyone had looked like crap for days and it was beginning to seem normal. That’s when you know it’s time to go home. I never thought I would quote Al Gore, but he did make one witty observation that came to mind. “Travel is nature’s way of making you look like your passport photo”. At least it was attributed to him. Maybe it was uttered by the guy who actually invented the Internet.
We were herded onto the sheep trucks disguised as buses and told that we could expect a four hour ride, followed by lunch. It didn’t seem as bad as it first sounded. We were all at the point where doing nothing had some appeal. A few card games and interesting scenery were a nice change of pace.
We spent the entire morning on a two lane road through farm country. We saw thousand year old villages with some of the original founders sitting by the road. We saw harvests and livestock being kept in caves carved from cliffs. We saw coal mining towns in which every shack might be lacking a door or part of a roof, but it had a satellite dish. It’s pretty tough to get a good picture from a moving bus though.
A leisurely, late lunch and a 45 minute trip retracing our route brought us to caves. That’s all we had been told about this until arriving. What we found was a temple and dozens of caves carved in a cliff over hundreds of years, all dedicated to and containing multiple Buddhas of various sizes. Our small group wandered through a few and came to the conclusion that “When you’ve seen one Buddha…”
We headed down to the ubiquitous shopping area to look around. As unexpected as it was, it turned out to be one of the highlights of the trip. I had done just enough previous shopping and acquired just enough Chinese to haggle a little and have fun with it. I started out small, looking at intricately carved little pipes. I was brimming with confidence as I walked away with my $5 gift, having forgotten one of the rules of market life.
I’m not very clear on the thought process yet. Perhaps stall keepers think that all foreigners are serious collectors or even wholesalers. I was watched by all of the nearby stall keepers as I had concluded my pipe purchase and every one of them then tried to sell me another pipe, sometimes an exact duplicate of the one I had. I mean, how many pipes do they think a guy needs? I thought I could lose the reputation by rounding a corner, but it now followed me from stall to stall, out of sight of the original seller.
I quickly walked a block up the alley, outpacing my reputation and gaining a little peace before I immediately stepped in it again. I stopped to look at a few of Mao’s Little Red Books. They are for sale in every antique market here, in a mind-boggling variety of sizes, versions, languages, etc. I recently read that enough of them were printed for each person on earth to own three.
I had been looking for a 1966 edition, the first published. I wasn’t seriously searching, just keeping my eye out for one. Up until then, I would just look at the books and move on. Now, however, I could speak a little and told the shopkeeper exactly what I wanted. I was about to get a true lesson in market dynamics.
The next shop owner waved me in, saying “Mao books, Mao books!” I looked through them before telling him that I wanted a first edition. The third store owner grabbed me and, when asked, said that he had what I wanted. Of course, he didn’t. I was met at the door by his neighbor, who claimed to have a 1966 edition, before I had even asked. It turned out that he didn’t either. He tried to convince me that a later book was from 1966 by pointing to a quote dated 1966.
I was no longer interested in Mao books but, then again, I wasn’t in control. By now, the first shopkeeper had tracked me down with more books for me to examine. I was pretty sure that they were the same ones, but I looked out of courtesy; big mistake. I was outdoors now and everyone had seen me look at the books. Within minutes people were bringing armfuls of books for me to consider. After hearing what I wanted and repeating it verbatim, people would still try to sell me a 1972 edition printed in German. I was starting to feel like the scorpion that gets pulled down by a thousand ants. I had dozens of people standing around me, all trying to sell me a book.
I started getting a little frustrated and took it out on the next guy to grab me. He pushed a book in my hands, saying “66, 66!” It did have the proper date, in the proper place, but when I looked through the book, I found several color photos at the front. I realized that I had gotten into this with very little idea of how to authenticate a first edition; I had never seen one. However, I had the impression that it was later editions that had added several pictures. I was a little irritated by now and I wasn’t about to show uncertainty. That would be like showing fear in the lion’s cage. I thrust the book back at him and loudly said that the 1966 version didn’t have pictures, adding a disgusted snort for emphasis.
The entire crowd started laughing and I thought I had really proven myself as a dumb laowai, when I saw the seller drop his head and slink away. They were all laughing at him because he had been caught by a foreigner. Everyone was laughing and pointing at him and smiling at me. I guess I had earned a little respect and the crowd thinned for lack of an easy target. I have to give the guy points for tenacity though. He returned within a few moments, carrying another book, which he opened to show me “Mao’s autograph” in bright blue ink. That was good for a few more laughs.
I saw very few Mao books after that and could walk the market freely, where I received one of the worst sales pitches ever. I stopped to look at Russian style fur hats, and tried on one made of fox. It was far too small and wouldn’t sit low enough to be anywhere near my ears. When I told the shopkeeper that it was too small, stating the obvious, he grabbed the hat and said that it was not too small, that it was perfect. He proved his point by shoving the hat onto his own head, declaring it to be a very good hat. I started laughing at the logic and simply told him that Americans have big heads. I didn’t know enough Chinese to dispute his theory on sizes. He laughed and we called it a draw.
We eventually gathered and headed back to town for dinner, to be followed by our train departure. A few card games on the train were enough excitement for most of us at that point and we slept until arriving in Beijing at 7am. Actually, they slept. I was up at about 6am with disturbing intestinal complaints. I was quite sure that the necessary activities would not be pleasant and I was not about to attempt them using a squatter on a moving train. It might have been the longest three hours of my life.
I was now operating under the auspices of the “When it rains, it pours” theory of bad luck. When you are struggling to retain control of bodily functions, I do not recommend a half mile hike through a train station, carrying a 50lb. pack. Several stops to gather stragglers and a 30 minute wait on the bus for another lost sheep did not brighten my day.
Thankfully, I arrived home with my dignity still intact. I was to remain there for four days, alternating my time between the only two rooms I have on a 50/50 basis. A rather appropriate ending for such a vacation. Mongolian Belly Rot – the perfect parting gift!
