, with significant engineering of embankments and cuttings. The scenery is impressive, but still bare. We’re mostly descending, which is fortunate as uphill stretches are at a crawl. A stop at four-thirty for snacks and a piss then on. Next to me, a young man slumps against my shoulder in slumber; my reward for not showing him off is a dribble splot on my jersey.
Night falls as we head into more populous area, with other traffic to be seen at last. We end up at some bus terminal in a street at seven thirty. A few signs would be helpful. Minibus fellows point me along the street when I indicate an interest in the subway, and I end up walking a fair way to the Lama temple station, having missed the Dongzhimen stop. The Lama temple is memorable for other things, in particular a singularly noxious public urinal that Rod had noticed as well. As for Rod and Christian and Danielle, I’m too late to join them at Mama’s so I eat in town at a street restaurant diagonally opposite Dongdan park that I’d used before. I have previously established that I can barely manage two dishes along with rice, so dining alone is much more restrictive than when in a party of gourmands.
Back at the Hotel Longtan I’m returned to room thirteen, again all to myself, and get stuck in to scrubbing my laundry and self, then scribble. At about midnight the others wander back, having been drinking in the hotel bar. I’m cheerful too though without alcoholic aid, proudly displaying my loot from the summer palace. Yes, it is just dirt, but special dirt. Even after I explain about Marco Polo taking oil from a lamp at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, and that I will take this dirt to Jerusalem in roughly the reverse of his route, there is still a shortfall in understanding.
Peasants!
And the next edition of Lonely Planet’s China guide book omits mention of Xanadu.
Clods!
Am I the only romantic left?
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