2 - Hohhot Blues

The “Blue City": Based on my airplane readings, this was what Hohhot meant in Mongolian Language... Yet, entering the city through one of its eastern main avenues, I could only see grey all around, and the sleeping neon tubes hanging loosely on the building's wall struggled to convince me of any "blue” character" in that town, nor of any charm.

Outside the cab, I could see all the recklessness of Chinese Traffic, cycles making their way no matter the buses, cars or trucks rushing in their direction, pedestrian simply walking past, and each and everyone seeming to blow their horn for no reason but indicating on which improbable needle hole they would drive past each other…

In the middle of the shambles, my driver seemed to take his time, displaying the same impassibly bored look he had been putting on when starting the engine, back at the airport, carrying me from the loud buzzing of big swarming avenues to the silent hyperactivity of  narrow bumpy streets, as if giving me a live, mute lesson of Chinese Traffic…

Bloody taxi drivers; if one thing doesn't seem to change, wherever one goes in this world, it is probably the ability cab drivers have to rip you off gently, driving you through lanes and alleys to keep you on board and let you pay for twice the distance, ending up invariably to the expected drop-zone just before the customers might think about getting berserk, and gratifying you with that innocent and friendly smile, the unmistakable guarantee they gave you the best and most accurate service...And then you pay... What else could you do?

The grey concrete walls suddenly ended on a massive colourful gate, behind which a large avenue was stretching its way calmly, endless on both directions, seeming to act as a link between cultures I once believed irreconcilable … As we turned left, I could see the Arabic shaped building of the Muslim District standing Proudly behind me while 500 metres in front, the multicolour yurt-shaped edifices from the Mongol District faced a monumental Tibetan-styled Buddhist Monatery…

The mix of colours and shapes, on top of the most urban of landscapes, gave me the odd emotion one could sustain when faced with the surrealist paintings by Salvador Dali, these scenes where shapes and colours would never make sense, if they weren’t the sense of the creation itself…

Surrealistic Street was left behind quickly though, and the city ride protracted for another few minutes, before the taxi eventually slowed down and came to a standstill in front of the Wuta Temple. I paid the taxi and walked over the esplanade facing the temple’s entrance, admiring its architecture with interest, despite my expectations of a massively bigger five pagodas’ tower …But tourism was not the point…


I walked to the east of the Temple, as I had been advised to do, and turned right into a lane where restaurants where sitting on restaurants, bikes parking in front of each window and people were sitting in front, chatting, laughing, smoking a cigarette or playing card… Some looked at me briefly, some stared at me insistently, the way one looks at some unexpected stranger… I was trying to read the restaurant’s name on the rooftop signs, comparing the stylized characters to the reference calligraphied on Mister Li’s Document.

I had been told once that every single Chinese character could be written in hundredths of ways and it seemed I was on my way to experience this by myself just know…The locals kept on observing me as I walk, nose in the air, they would probably think I was some kind of weirdo looking for some strange detail, some mystical mark on the wall, while I was actually losing my mind into wondering if a bended stroke and a slightly hooked stroke could be the same, and what about this other one, apparently straight … I could not see a difference, but far more awkward, I could not have a clue if there was a difference… I reached the decision that I could not expect to dig an answer to this question by myself and went on with the examination of a Yellow walled restaurant when my thoughts were interrupted by some cow-boyish scream resounding on my back…“Yihaaaaaaaaaa!”

I turned in a flash move to confront the noise and found myself facing two specimens from the weirdest specie… Both Western, rather young, probably about 25-30 years… A small, chaotically haired girl was holding on the handle of one of these dodgy electric bikes Chinese seem to love, riding it straight on me. Sitting behind her, clinging to her red “Shaolin School” sweater and agitating the surrounding air with his free hand, a tall, long haired man kept on shrieking moronically and they
both laughed loudly when she hit the brakes, stopping her vehicle a few centimetres off me…

Before they even spoke a word, I had to yield to evidences; these two weirdoes were going to be my partners on the Dutchman’s hunt… Things were starting to take shape now, and the least I could say, is that my confidence towards the success of this mission was already undergoing serious damage…   

“Hey Buddy!”, the man was removing his black sunglasses while holding out his right hand that I shook in a reflex move, watching him in the eyes as he was introducing himself : “I'm Bastien”, he simply said, to what I answered in an equally robotic way, “Terrence Grabble”… The girl had finished locking her bike a few meters away, and came back to me, shaking my hand firmly and introducing herself as Kerstin. “How was your trip?” she politely asked in a very slightly accented tone. I heard myself mumbling some commonplaces about jet-lag and cultural shock and saw Bastien nodding approvingly behind her…

“So true,” he said with a thick, undoubtedly French accent, “I reckon we should both fix our jet lag issue with some good, fresh, local beer… And Kerstin, no jet lag is not an excuse for no beer”… “There are no excuses for no beer”, she answered instantly in a smile before walking into the Yellow walled restaurant where I followed the two of them to sit on a table by the counter, at the far end of the little room.

Kerstin ordered three bottles of beer, “Sanga Pijiu”, and watched the waiter walk towards the back-room to get the drinks, while Bastien was busy watching a couple of Chinese Kids playing joyfully behind the window… A few seconds passed silently before Kerstin took the initiative of the conversation:

“I'm very honoured to work in this mission with you, Terrence... I think we'll spend wonderful times together on the Dutchman's trail", she paused and had a quick glance at Bastien, busy throwing peanuts in his air and catching them in his mouth... "And I'm pretty sure Bastien will agree with me", she went on in a manifestly amused tone. "Yep", he replied instantly,"It's gonna be good fun! Reggae Night! Hiha!"... He pronounced these last words with nearly no intonation, as if talking about the weather or buying a can of Raviolis...

"Wonderful Times", she had just said! I had been assigned to enquire along two wired specimens, easily classifiable among the silliest human beeing I would ever meet, and I should think about "Wonderful Times"? The perspective looked rather dark to me, its the least I could say, but I had no choice... I remembered the last words Mister Li spoke before he vanished in the Shangaiese alleys, and I knew I would have to cope with them if I was to succeed in the mission... And I guessed this required to establish a friendly contact, as much as this was possible.

"Cheers!", Kerstin grabbed her beer and raised it up in the air, "To our Mission"! "Prost", Bastien answered, and I raised my bottle towards theirs...

That was it, we were officialy a team. I would simply need to get used to it...