      Xian Train Station across the square (that Leela and me travelled by police car)
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Xi'an View from our hotel (the Bell Tower) of "The Bell Tower"
Tuesday A wonderful day, so good it deserves to start on a new web page. We set off from our hotel (The Bell Tower) to find the China tourist office, supposedly near the train station, to buy our ticket Xi’an to Beijing ready for Thursday. Walked the wrong way without realising it for 10 minutes. If there is a living god then these are the little strings he pulls, and these strings direct us to meet Annie. "Hello" she says "ni hao" I reply. Because I am an unseasoned traveller I am ridiculously wary of friendly hands that reach out to touch me. This friendly hand belongs to a 22 year old Chinese girl (Annie) who is studying English at Xi’an da xue (university). She walked and talked and laughed with us all the way to the train station (helping us discover that the CITS office was there no more). She left us when we arrived at the ticket office. She was so nice, and was not "on the make" in any way, asked for nothing. For some reason I cant help feeling with my excessive caution I somehow short changed her openness and the several hours she spent with us.  Annie
But moving on, on into Xi’an ticket hall. I had heard frightening stories of its size and chaos, but magic, no problem, I had our tickets for Beijing, soft sleeper class in less than 20 minutes. The young lady behind the counter was quite abrupt, even curt to her fellow countrymen, but was very kind and helpful to me, and I do like women in uniform. Another quick beer in the Jiafang hotel lobby which is just opposite the station, then a slow wander back through the northern area of central Xi’an, towards the centrally placed Bell Tower. The population are quite curious about us, mostly smile, and many test out there "hello, how are you" bits of English. The younger children flee from the tall blond Leela, the older male children (over 18) flee towards her!. There are several photo opportunities as indigenous Xi’anians (Xi’anites?) pose with the English belles that are my daughters. Eventually back through the jostle and smells (cooking and urine) to our Bell Tower hotel and another chance to watch the giant sized "lava lamp" of the traffic "evolving" its way around the Belle Tower traffic island south junction. A minor contact cause a minibus and car to stop in the middle of the traffic to discuss the collision, the traffic just "amoeba’s" its way around the obstacle, like antibodies enveloping a hostile cell.  Its eating time again, we make plans.  The table behind us challenged me to a drinking competition, which, with all my practice, I of course won !
When was that last bit of writing . . . . mmm Tuesday. I haven’t written since then because we have been pretty busy, done a lot and . . . and, well read on if your still interested. Wednesday, we went to see the Terry Cottey Worry’ers. Decided to make our own way eschewing an organised trip. Three quarters of an hour walk to Xi’an station to catch a bus. Didn’t realise the Chinese would never had heard of "Terra cotta warriors", tried saying it slower, louder, no response, if only I’d asked for "Bing Ma Yong" (army horse men) straight away it would have been a lot easier. Any way eventually rewarded with a hair-raising trip to and from the TCW’s. Even though the bus had no peasant women carrying chickens, there were some "yingers" (infants) with there nappiless bottys exposed to the world through the big split in there Chinese childrens trousers. And the Terra Cotta Warriors, well I don’t think I worried them at all, and really and truly they didn’t make much of an impression on me, but you have to go see don’t you. Back from the TCW’s we had a great meal, getting to grips a bit more with the nuances of ordering and eating out Chinese style.
Thursday We mostly separated, so we could browse and shop at our own individual pace. WHAT a fish market. If Kowloon market shocked me I have no words left for Xi’an. It was a bit like a huge pet superstore. 98% live marine life, swimming, crawling, wriggling, 1% given up the ghost and died, and 1% feigning death in a futile attempt to escape it. Crabs, claws tied, packed cheek to jowl, a tank full of eels packed (I mean packed) straight and upright into tanks, big fish, little fish, turtles, frogs, shellfish, you name it…
And Thursday is also check out day, time to move on from Xi’an to Beijing. So back to hotel to pick up our luggage and two taxis which are to drop us off outside the Jiafang hotel just opposite the train station, ready to get the night train (7.23 pm) to Beijing. The two taxi drivers had obviously pre agreed the scenic route (and fair) to the Jiafang, but we still arrive in plenty of time at about 7.05. We buy some nibbles and bottles of tsingtsao beer for the trip, pick up our luggage, face across the 100yds or so square towards the station and … CRASH… and Leela (and I quote) … "Fucking Hell". A bottle of Tsingtsaeo has fallen from her bag as she picked it up, smashing to the floor by her flip flopped feet. A viscous shard of glass slices into one of the veins in her foot. Hearing her profanity I turn back towards her to see red creeping down her flip-flop straps, not a flood, but not a trickle either. The situation develops. Leela half feints (she’s not so good at the sight of her own blood), sitting down onto the baggage, leaning back against her mothers breast, with me holding a tissue hard against her cut foot. When I press, the blood stops, When I release and the blood runs again. A crowd gathers, curious but also supportive. A nearby stall holder slips a flattened cardboard box under Leelas feet, and brushes the broken bottle up. A women interpreter emerges from the crowd, followed shortly by an of duty nurse. The nurse decides Leela must go to hospital, I’m mentally juggling the implications of Leela in a Chinese hospital, us with no hotel booked in Xi’an, and the rapidly approaching 7.23 deadline of our train to Beijing. At last we clear enough of the blood to make a second plaster stick to Leela’s foot, and the flow of blood is now more of a seep than a run, but I suspect that should Leela try to walk on it the dam would burst again. The police arrive, an ambulance arrives, Leela is adamant she doesn’t want, need to go to hospital. The nurse is adamant she must. The clock ticks down. Desperation drives me to an uncharacteristic decisiveness and I scoop Leela up into my arms and to the aghast looks of the nurse and the crowd I totter of towards the station. "Ni bang wa ma" I ask the policeman (help me?). And thank goodness he obliges and takes me and Leela in his police car the 100 yards or so across the square to the ticket holders entrance at the front of the station building. Hill and Gina struggle on foot with all of the luggage (Gina has walked backwards pulling two of our wheeled suitcases).Less than 5 minutes to go and we enter Xi’an departure hall. No clue where to go (there are plenty of signs really but we cant make head nor tail of them). I ask someone who points up a flight of stairs, fortunately I double check with a (another) uniformed women, showing her our tickets. Alarm and urgency show on her face and she beckons, urges and leads us through, bypassing the normal entry procedures, straight through onto the platform, to the Beijing sleeper. Leela is now hopping on one foot, her arm round my shoulder, with me holding up her blood covered other foot. We hurl ourselves and our luggage onto the train with just minutes to spare and collapse into our compartment. We regain our breath, and after a while Hill sends me down the train in search of a spliff (she was only joking, and Leelas foot turned out fine).  Travelling in China soft sleeper is excellent value and very
comfortable. We had a four-berth sleeper compartment to ourselves. The
carriage facilities were clean and in good condition. If you go, I’d
recommend it as a good way to travel.
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