e knew we
were really approaching the museum when we saw the line of trinket
sellers waiting to pounce on their next victims. These were
undoubtedly the most incessant, persistent group of hawkers
that we had encountered on our trip, and as we drew closer they began
to swarm us with
their bodies and voices. Given our earlier experience, we had no
patience for this crowd and felt our pace increasingly quicken as we
saw the museum entrance. In a surreal way, their voices began to
crescendo and the concentrated swell of people surged us forward.
Suddenly, we found ourselves in the calm past the entrance gates and
the tide ebbed away.
fter the full range of emotions, we were finally here. No vendors in
sight. English signs and free toilets. The museum was good
medicine - most of it nothing more than big hangers erected over the
excavated sites with the restored soldiers in their original positions.
With our imaginations, it was fun to visualize how it all looked so
long ago. We found it easy to spend enough time in fascination that
our spirits were lifted.
oon, we knew we should get moving back
towards the city before night set. As we walked towards the exit, we
saw all the hawkers behind the gate waiting like caged animals for
their next feeding. Both of us admitted to each other, "I don’t want
to go out there." We sat around for awhile and Dave said,
"Let’s make it a game. When
they persist with their sales pitch, counter their price with something
so ridiculously low that it is obvious we don’t want it." We both
agreed it seemed more palatable to venture out with a plan of how to
handle the inevitable onslaught.
e passed through the exit and were
immediately spied by the crowd as we walked towards the bus stop.
They began their spiels and we started with ours. When one person
asked the equivalent of 5 USD for a carved wooden object, Jill offered
12 cents. And so on, both of us playing their game with our strategy.
It didn’t take long for our "friends" to figure out what was up, and
they actually found it very amusing! With each episode of this bizarre
point-counterpoint game, it became more and more loony. We felt that
crescendo of voices again, but this time around it was the rise of
laughter. And ours was included. A very redeeming ending for such a
sour beginning!
e knew we
were really approaching the museum when we saw the line of trinket
sellers waiting to pounce on their next victims. These were
undoubtedly the most incessant, persistent group of hawkers
that we had encountered on our trip, and as we drew closer they began
to swarm us with
their bodies and voices. Given our earlier experience, we had no
patience for this crowd and felt our pace increasingly quicken as we
saw the museum entrance. In a surreal way, their voices began to
crescendo and the concentrated swell of people surged us forward.
Suddenly, we found ourselves in the calm past the entrance gates and
the tide ebbed away.
fter the full range of emotions, we were finally here. No vendors in
sight. English signs and free toilets. The museum was good
medicine - most of it nothing more than big hangers erected over the
excavated sites with the restored soldiers in their original positions.
With our imaginations, it was fun to visualize how it all looked so
long ago. We found it easy to spend enough time in fascination that
our spirits were lifted.
oon, we knew we should get moving back
towards the city before night set. As we walked towards the exit, we
saw all the hawkers behind the gate waiting like caged animals for
their next feeding. Both of us admitted to each other, "I don’t want
to go out there." We sat around for awhile and Dave said,
"Let’s make it a game. When
they persist with their sales pitch, counter their price with something
so ridiculously low that it is obvious we don’t want it." We both
agreed it seemed more palatable to venture out with a plan of how to
handle the inevitable onslaught.
