He was like a leech with ESP. I hadn't been in Xi'an for more than half a second when he attached himself to me, enthusiastically regaling me with the details of his hostel. I had spent all night dreaming of the banana pancakes that Lonely Planet promised were waiting at another hostel, so I tried to refuse. It was useless. He eventually decided that the only reason I wouldn't be interested in his hostel was that I intended to leave Xi'an that night, and this set him off on a long tirade about the wonders of Xi'an and offered to be my tour organizer.

He was right that a thousand years ago, Xi'an (then called Chang'an, located in Shaanxi province) was probably the greatest city in the world, and by then it was already ancient beyond compare. But today, you'd never know it. Politically, Xi'an was once the capital of the Qin Dynasty, the first to unify China and later, the long-lived Tang Dynasty, under which China experienced a golden age. The Qin Emperor's tomb and the famed army of thousands of life-size terra cotta warriors that have guarded his necropolis since the third century B.C. are only two of the many historical sites that dot the surrounding countryside. As the end of the Silk Road, Xi'an was also the recipient of waves of cultural influx. Here reside the Buddhist treatises brought back to China by the seventh-century monk, Hsuan Tsang (Xuan Zang), who spent seventeen years traveling from Xi'an to India and back again. There is also a vibrant Muslim Quarter here, home to a large population of ethnically-Chinese Muslims. And around the old city center stands a mostly-intact Ming-era wall that is even bigger than Pingyao's.

But aside from the terra cotta warriors and the Muslim Quarter, both of which I have yet to see, the city is a bit disappointing. I spent most of today wandering around the bustling downtown, which is impressively cosmopolitan, but has little in the way of charm or interest. I did manage to find the original stone tablet of which my landlord has a replica hanging in his dining room, despite the fact that the tablet has moved to a different museum since he was here. I failed to get out to the pagoda where Hsuan Tsang's translations are housed because the public bus to get there was literally overflowing with people. That disappointed me, because the book Matt gave me as reading material is about a journalist retracing Hsuan Tsang's epic journey as closely as modern political barriers (such as Afghanistan) allow. Worst of all is the fume-filled miasma that passes for air here, which chokes you as you walk down the street.

Tomorrow, I'll attempt to get to the terra cotta warriors by public bus and then explore the Muslim Quarter for the afternoon before catching my 10:00 pm train to Chengdu. If I don't find another internet cafe between now and then, my next blog stop will be there, in the Land of the Panda.