I was still pretty groggy when we arrived at the Terracotta Warrior Factory ("the largest state-owned factory in Xi'an") at 9:30 am. I fell asleep on the bus while our tour guide talked about the warriors and the emperor of the Qin Dynasty, a strange-sounding man who commissioned his subjects to build hundreds of warriors to protect him in the after-life.

It turned out it wasn't really a factory, but a souvenir shop where tour groups are brought, being told they're really going to see the making of terracotta warrior reproductions.

Joan, Judy and I, of course, found the cheapest way to go see the warriors and thought we did a good job until we realized what we had gotten ourselves into. Our tour bus, filled with Western tourists, stopped at every souvenir stand in the province, or so it felt like. All of us were getting impatient, and, at one point, two guys from Norway were thinking about initiating some sort of rebellion against our tour guide (who addressed our group by the numbers "843." -- i.e. when we were leaving, she would yell, "843, time to go!" as if it were a name or something).

Before making it to the warriors, we stopped at a place I cannot remember the name to (that's how exciting it was), where we saw some Buddhist relics and supposedly bone chips of Shakyamuni.

Finally we made it to the warriors, which were truly incredible. The excavation sites are enormous, and a large chunk of the warriors have not been excavated because archaeologists are hoping to find a way to preserve the paint originally applied to the warriors. (When the first batch was unearthed, the paint disintigrated within a few days, according to our tour guide). Part of paying to get into see the warriors also includes a chance to see the famous farmer who was digging a well back in the 1970s when he accidentally found an enormous archaeological site.

Shortly after arriving and walking across the vast grounds from the parking lot, Judy, Joan and I followed our guide to a building where we would watch a documentary about the warriors (or, to be more exact, a reenactmen). An old man sat to the left of the entrance, looking bored and tired, legs crossed, eyes staring through large, round glasses.

"Is that the farmer," Judy whispered to me.

Before I could answer, the man spit a wad of who-knows-what on the ground. We laughed, knowing it was definitely him. We later found out he gets paid 1,000 yuan a month to sit and sign autographs all day.

The rest of the day was filled with strange events. Judy ran into her aunt and uncle and cousins from Connecticut while we were climing over the mausaleum of the Qin emperor. Then we toured a reproduction -- done up in fake flowers and plastic dolls -- of the emperor's underground palace. (It even had a fake tomb with a fake emperor in it.)

Although we loved the warriors, and had a relatively good time in Xi'an, we are all ready to end our time here. Tomorrow Joan goes on to Luoyang and Judy and I are flying to Chengdu.