( CULTURAL BRIEFING N^O 16 )

An unforgettable bus ride in Xi’an

_EN

            Stepping out of the hotel to an overcast sky and light drizzle — my room being one of those in the interior that had no windows — I boarded the first of two public buses on the way to the Qin Shi Huang Mausoleum, and decided to alight at a stop next to a KFC to wait out the rain.

            After a quick breakfast and many packed buses later, I realised that the waves of people weren’t going to let up. It was the Qingming Festival tomorrow, and any national holiday period is generally a bad time to travel in China. The morning was slipping away, and I had to brave boarding the next bus whose captain was kind enough to open its doors.

            Barely making it up, I stood on the second rung of steps at the bus’ front entrance, hands grasping the nearest metal pole for support, as it sped away.

            The bus was filled to the brim with, as much as I could tell through the chatter, local city folks and domestic tourists, all of whom were eager to visit the First Emperor’s tomb complex. I was probably the only non-native Chinese aboard.

            At this point, it didn’t matter how fashionably or shabbily one was dressed, or whether we were sweating in a non-air-conditioned bus on a spring morning where it was cooler outside. We were on a journey together, and the mood was jubilant.

            Then there was the young bus conductor trying to steer attention away from our physical predicament. The last time Singapore had bus conductors for the entire ride was during my grandparents’ era. She announced in her loud and resonant voice that it was her only redeeming quality — drawing laughter and cheers from the passengers.

            No one wanted to alight, and so the captain made no more pauses along the way. We drove past bus stops filled with waiting passengers who looked on with amused expressions, understanding how hard it must have been to board the bus on such a morning. I smiled to myself, despite the heat and tight squeeze.

            The terrain got more undulating as we entered the 骊山 mountain range, and when the banners for 长恨歌 performances started becoming visible, everyone knew it was time to alight soon. The bus conductor confirmed it for us with her announcement.

            Welcoming the cool rush of fresh air as I stepped off, I couldn’t help musing that it just might be the most unforgettable bus ride I’d ever taken. The rain had stopped, and the terracotta warriors await.

Notes from Ben:
This Cultural Briefing was first observed in Apr 2017, and written in Jun 2026.

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