I figured out Pingyao eventually. After my 15-hour train ride southwest from Beijing into the heart of Shanxi province (not to be confused with neighboring Shaanxi province), I felt like I was deep into the Chinese interior. This was the first place that I actually heard the term lao wei (foreign devil) applied to me. This was also the first place where children waved and shouted, "Hollo!" and where people stared at me as we passed each other.

Pingyao dates back to Zhou Dynasty, before the unification of China. Its fortunes peaked during the Qing Dynasty (1616-1911), when it became the financial center of the empire. After the fall of the Qing Dynasty, Pingyao fell into obscurity, and as a result, much of it never modernized. Much of the city is still authentic Ming or Qing era architecture. Imagine a typical pre-modern Chinese town, full of sloping tiled roofs and brightly painted facades. That's Pingyao. The city also boasts the only completely intact Ming dynasty city wall in China. The wall, which is 6 km in perimeter and 12 meters high, was built in 1370, which makes it more than a century older than the discovery of the New World. And I rode all the way around it in the back of a pedicab. Cool.

But before I could do that, I spent an immensely frustrating and lonely day and a half wandering the streets trying vainly to gain admission to one of the many museums throughout the city. It was easy enough to find a hotel, but hard to check in. No one in the hotel spoke a word of English, but between the six of us, we managed to fill out the necessary forms. After dumping my pack in my room, I wandered through the city, content for the time being to simply explore. The city center and some of the side streets have been restored to their former beauty, and even if it is for the sake of the tourist trade, it's still a restoration of the genuine article rather than a recreation in Epcot Center. Only a century ago, those very streets, looking much as they do now, teemed with wealthy Chinese financiers and their kung fu expert bodyguards.

Although I tried to enter a few of the museums, which are restored homes or business places, I was turned away with demands for a piao -- a ticket. If only I knew where to get one! Deciding I'd figure it out the next day, I returned to my room where I fell asleep early, feeling terribly lonely. The next day, I wandered aimlessly again in search of a ticket. The city was suddenly swarming with police, which turned out to be occasioned by the visit of some French dignitary. How Chinese. My meanderings were also brighened when I stumbled upon what turned out to be an actual traditional Chinese funeral procession through town, complete with musical instruments and wailing mourners. When I went to pick up my train ticket at a nearby English-speaking hotel, the owner enlightened me as to the museum ticket arrangements. Contrary to Lonely Planet's outdated account, Pingyao now has a citywide ticket which provides admission to all of the city's museums for the not-so-low price of 85RMB. Equipped with the ticket, I spent the rest of the afternoon wandering through the fantastic homes and businesses of a century ago. It wouldn't have occupied much more than an afternoon, but it did make for a fascinating few hours. The experience was capped with a ride along the city walls, during which the driver earned his $3 by huffing, puffing and noisily spitting his way around the city.

In the end, Pingyao turned out to be a worthwhile stop. Ideally, I would have arrived in the morning, bought my museum ticket, wandered the city and caught my pre-booked train on to Xi'an that night. But when backpacking in China, things are rarely ideal.