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.In this landscape of ancient barriers, the Ming wall was a relative newcomer—only four centuries old.“Over the years, I saw these things so many times, until I finally got curious,” Old Chen explained.“Where did they come from? What was the system behind it? That was my main reason for starting the research.”I drove him back to his home, where we had another cup of tea.He explained that the village name had been shortened from Ningxi Hulu, which means “Pacify the Hu.” In ancient times, hu was a term used by the Chinese to describe the nomadic peoples of the north.It wasn’t specific to a certain tribe or ethnicity, and it was derogatory—a slur that encompassed all outsiders.The final character, lu, was even blunter: “barbarians.”“Basically, the name of our village means ‘Kill the Foreigners,’” Old Chen said with a smile.“Look at this.” He opened my book of Sinomaps and pointed out another village ten miles to the east: Weilu, or “Overawe the Barbarians.” Nearby was the town of Pohu: “Smash the Hu.” Other villages were called “Overawe the Hu,” “Suppress the Barbarians,” and “Slaughter the Hu.” Modern maps use the character for hu that means “tiger”—a substitution first made during the Qing dynasty, whose Manchu rulers were sensitive to the portrayal of people from outside the walls.But the change was cosmetic, and the original meaning is still as obvious as the old forts that tower over the village.I left Ninglu in late afternoon, when the sun began to fall low over the fields.Old Chen escorted me to the City Special, and a dozen locals followed out of curiosity.Many of the men wore military castoffs, and the collected uniforms—worn, dirty, ill-fitting—made me feel if I were being sent on some desperate mission.My next destination lay to the north, where hills loomed high along the borderlands, a line of dry peaks that seemed to have been bled of all color.Old Chen shook my hand and wished me good luck.“Next time you come,” he reminded me, “try to bring an archaeologist.”I drove past neat lines of poplars turning gold with the season, and then the road began to climb through the bare mountains.There weren’t any other cars.At an elevation of six thousand feet, the pavement pierced the Ming wall, which represented the Shanxi provincial boundary.The ancient structure had been broken to make room for the roadway, and a cement pillar marked the entrance to Inner Mongolia.This is the last region in north-central China, and it was the least populated place I had visited thus far.I continued driving until I reached a pass, where I found a dirt track branching off the main road.The track ran along the ridge for a few hundred yards, and then I pulled over.In the back of the Jeep, I carried a tent and sleeping bag.It was a perfect night for camping—the air was so clear that the stars seemed to pulse above the valley.In the tent, I fell asleep thinking about the border towns that I intended to visit the next day.Smash the Hu, Slaughter the Hu: just another quiet drive in the countryside.At midnight the tent was suddenly bathed in light.Startled, I awoke and sat bolt upright, thinking that it was the headlights of an approaching car.Fumbling with the tent flap, I looked outside and realized that the full moon had just broken the horizon.Everything else was normal: the empty dirt track, the parked City Special.Down below, the lights of Ninglu village had been extinguished, and the rising moon cast shadows across the steppe.For a moment I sat still, waiting for my fear to settle, hearing nothing but the wind and the pounding of my heart.IN THE EVENINGS I worried about visitors, especially the police.There wasn’t yet a tradition of cross-country driving in China, and rules were strict for foreigners.I wasn’t supposed to take the City Special outside of Beijing, and some parts of the west were closed completely to outsiders, because of poverty, ethnic tensions, or military installations.And a foreign journalist was technically required to apply to local authorities before traveling anywhere in the country.That was one reason I brought my tent—I hoped to avoid small-town hotels, which hand over their guest lists to the police.On the road I followed my own set of guidelines.I waited until sunset to pitch my tent, and I left at first light; I never started a campfire.If I needed to stay in a small town, I looked for a truckers’ dorm, where foreign guests are so rare that they usually don’t have police registration forms.I carried enough water to last for days.I generally drove under the influence of caffeine and sugar—the City Special was fully stocked with Coca-Cola, Gatorade, Oreo cookies, and candy bars.If I traveled for a few days without a shower, I stopped at a barbershop and paid somebody to wash my hair.Every small town in China has at least one barbershop, and a standard service is the wash and head massage, usually for about a dollar.At noon I often pulled off the road to take a nap.I never drove at night.Fatigue is such a factor on Chinese roads that it appears on the driver’s exam:133.If you drive for four hours, you must stop the car and take a mandatory rest of at leasta) 10 minutes.b) 20 minutes.c) 15 minutes.The correct answer is B—if you rest for a quarter hour, you’re still five minutes short of legal [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]