Horse Forehead.

The Random Bus Game
Leads Our Travelers
to a Confucius Temple
in the Heart of China.

Tourism, Sir.
Simply Tourism.

By David James

DATELINE: Wednesday, December 4, 2002
Xi'an, Shaanxi Province, China

"I think Horse Forehead sounds like a good place."

Coming from a man who speaks Chinese and originated the recurring adventure we now call the Random Bus Game, the declaration reverberated with the potential for disaster. Somehow, it worked out. It always seems to work out. Here are the rules and regulations to be a contestant.

The first step is commitment. All the same, you don't want to commit too early, because that takes some of the spontaneity out of the game. (Oddly enough, with a bunch of guys, the lack of commitment just seems to come naturally. Go figure). The day before one of your days off is ample advance notice to announce your entry into the Random Bus Game.

Rules of the Game.

Early the next day go to the bus station. When you get there, simply find a bus that is going to a relatively close destination (100 kilometers or so should do just fine). Direction of travel and condition of bus should play no role in your decision. In fact, a bus in poor condition that travels fitfully on many small dirt roads adds to your score. When you have decided on a destination (Horse Forehead in our case), go to the bus and pay the driver about a buck fifty. When the bus starts chuggin' down the road, there's no turning back: You have officially entered the game.

Two people are in charge of the bus. One is the driver. The other is the manager. The two are in constant communication.

Although bicyclists and other drivers are weaving in and out, and pedestrians are jumping out of the way, the driver doesn't seem to care about the road ahead. He is more concerned about getting more people on the bus. This is where the fun starts. Some potential passengers do not go to the station, but rather wait by the side of the road for the bus to arrive. In a game entirely their own, they must attract the driver's attention in a way that signifies they want to go along for the ride, but at the same time they can't appear too desperate for the privilege. Seeming desperate just isn't a good bargaining tool when negotiating for a seat.

A Sudden Change of Attitude.

So, as soon as the bus driver stops, the potential passenger acts like she really isn't interested in boarding — even though she totes a suitcase or two. The bus manager steps to the roadside and tries to drag his new fare onto the bus without further negotiation. When he grabs the luggage, the potential new passenger tries to stop him. I'm really not sure what they are saying to one another, but I can hear some numbers being bandied about. The roadside theatrics appear to be turning into a real struggle when suddenly, and finally, the potential passenger gives in and jumps joyfully on the bus.

At this point the new fare is looking down the aisle in search of a seat. Eventually she scans the back of the bus, and gives the old double take. I'm trying to imagine what's going through her mind. "Uh.... Uh.... I see many extremely white people going to Horse Forehead, but I really don't believe my eyes. They must be crazy. I think I'll sit as far away from them as possible."

On this particular day there were a couple of delightful exceptions. One very friendly guy came back and asked us why we were going his way. I imagine it being something like this: A half dozen guys from India visit the United States, and for some unaccountable reason arrive in Little Rock. In and of itself, that isn't too awfully strange. But then, imagine these Indian guys hopping on the same bus as you — a bus that is heading for Huntsville. If they were playing the Random Bus Game, how would any of them explain it to you? Would you actually believe it? To properly explain the Random Bus Game in a second language . . . well, it's just too darned hard. So Matthew, our spokesman, just gave a simple answer. "Tourism."

The Hidden Obstacle Course.

You might ask, "So where's the game? All I see is a trip." What you must recognize, if you're asking the question, is the presence of the hidden obstacle course built into the trip.

So, the bus lets us off in the middle of a dirt-road intersection. The entire town of Horse Forehead is quite simply stunned when the five foreigners step off of the bus. Some attempt conversation, some quickly shuffle the other way, but for the most part they just stare. I felt like a zoo animal let loose into the wild.

Eager to advance the game to the next level, we decided on a little restaurant, where we asked the good ole boy on duty if he would direct us to any attractions the village might offer its visitors. A touch skeptical at first, he eventually dropped his guard and told us about a small temple up the road. We finish our food and find a cycle cab.

The cycle cab guy seriously questioned our motives, asked intently why we wanted to go to the temple, but when we resorted to the old standby, "Tourism," he seemed to accept our presence there. However, we failed to realize the limitations of the situation. The little cycle cab was nothing more than a motorcycle pulling a modified wagon. Five giant foreigners and one Chinese driver were enough to make that thing about as effective as an electric toothbrush trying to drill through concrete. After he lugged us about two miles down a very, very bumpy road, he was forced to admit that his little motorcycle couldn't navigate the upcoming upward slope of the hill. Lucky to have made it that far, we dismounted and walked the rest of the way.

Jackhammers and Roller Coasters.

Luck was with us. Some guy in a three-wheel truck roared past us, then stopped. We must have been a sight there in the backcountry. Turns out he lived near the temple. Pile in, he indicated. "I'll take you there." He was very friendly, or so Matthew told me. See, Matthew was sitting high and dry in the cab, chatting it up with the driver, while the rest of us braced for a roller coaster ride in the truck bed. These trucks, besides being overgrown three-wheelers, have no shocks. It's basically like sitting on a board with a jackhammer blasting under you. You can hear the little vehicles coming from a mile away. They probably have a locomotive engine under the hood. They're powerful enough, I suppose, to pull a house if need be, but the entire operation looks as if everything involved will tip over if it runs over anything larger than a small snail. Oh well, we got there.

When we stumbled out onto the road, the driver looked at us as if he was straining to figure us out. Finally he asked the question, "Why the heck are you guys down here in Horse Forehead?" We looked at each other and said, "Uh.... Tourism. Yeah. Tourism." Once again, somehow, the explanation worked.

So we hike up to this little temple. It was a Confucius temple with awesome artwork. In fact, one guy was repainting a section of the place. It was pretty stunning considering we were smack in the middle of nowhere. The folks there were friendly enough, and offered us a drink of hot water. Hot water is actually very popular in China, I think because they have to boil it. Anyway, they don't worry about cooling it down. Nothing special, but at the same time it is nice to be offered something warm to drink.

We stepped inside. We were handed a candle, which we were supposed to burn as an offering. We placed the candle on a huge pile of incense ash, and then stepped into the temple sanctuary. The people there were very nice, so we chatted for a while.

I Grunt, You Grunt.

Actually, Matthew did the chatting. The rest of us kinda grunted like we understood what was being said. Understand, the grunt is a primary tool of Chinese verbal communication. If someone asks you a question, whether you understand it or not, just reply with a noise that sounds like the grunting in the first part of the song, "Men in Black". The usual response to one guttural utterance is a grunt in return. It's almost like a secret, universal language — with a little Chinese sprinkled here and there for flavor. I am waiting to hear a conversation consisting entirely of grunts. I would join in, too, but I'm afraid there is some subtle part of the exchange that I'm missing — and I'd hate to offend anyone by just randomly grunting at them.

Anyway, we (a.k.a. Matthew) chatted a little while longer until the temple guy asked us if we wanted to say a little prayer. He showed us how to kneel and bow, so we followed his example. When we took a bow, he rang this little bell, and everyone became very quiet. To be honest, I really don't know what the heck was happening, but it was kinda neat. Maybe the spirit does work in mysterious ways.

Our hosts told us about little hiking trails in the hills and invited us to explore if we wanted. Little temples were scattered throughout the area. We didn't see any people, but the temples were neat. We followed trails through peoples' fields, and even blazed a few of our own. Very nice.

Back at the main temple, we said our goodbyes and strolled back into Horse Forehead, where we heard the familiar clank of a three-wheeled truck. Apparently our good friend from before spied us walking past his house and decided to help us out again. He drove us to a little place where a bus was waiting to carry us back to Xi'an.

All in all, the Random Bus Game was a rousing success. I feel pretty good about our score, but I'm definitely not opposed to another attempt at raising it even higher.

Horse Forehead.

The Random Bus Game Leads Our Travelers to a Confucius Temple in the Heart of China.

Tourism, Sir. Simply Tourism.