I picked up Echo at the airport in Urumqi, the capital of Xinjiang, and headed to a city that is well known all over Central Asia.
I’ve heard a lot of different reports about the city.
“The pollution is bloody terrible!” Spat a spirtual Spanish woman.
“The traffic is insane man!” Stated a stoned Canadian.
“There are Prozies everywhere!" Said a Slovenian sex tourist.
To sum things up, this could be any city in China. I had found an awesome hostel called Maitown right in the center of town. Bringing the girlfriend met I had to bring things up a little bit. Although I found my 30 RMB dorm cosy and comfortable I decided to move us to a 170RMB single to add a little romance.
Urumqi is a city with a lot of flavor. The markets are intense and there is no shortage of goats, silk worms, or fish (Ironic since there is no city further away from the ocean.).
Besides eating, buying knock off North Face clothese (which is a total waste of time because its 10 times cheaper in Lhasa) and maybe climbing Red Mountain there isn’t much else to do.
So we left.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Grape Country
Have you ever been to a vineyard?
Have you ever been to a Muslim City?
Have you ever been to a city that was ravened by Kabul Khan?
While if your interested in this kind of stuff head to Turpan, XinJiang.
After I got off the bus some friendly Muslims eating grapes directed me to my guesthouse. The road road I took was shaded with arches supporting thousands of grape vines. Above you could see bunches of Sprite green grapes hanging lazily from the branches. The people sat on benches eating grapes and chatting. Children rode by me on these new kind of skateboards throwing grapes at eachother. Men on bicycles road past selling, you guessed it, grapes.
I bought 1 kilo for 25 cents. And let me tell you, those grapes were the cheapest and most regular grapes I've ever had the chance to get my hands on.
Although I love grapes I super love bread. And in XinJiang there is bread on every corner. They make it in a little disc shape in small little round ovens. They are amazing when they are hot. Not only do they have bread but they have yellow carrots, white apples, and this yellow thing with purple veins on it that tastes like a mix of rhubarb and melon.
Have you ever been to a Muslim City?
Have you ever been to a city that was ravened by Kabul Khan?
While if your interested in this kind of stuff head to Turpan, XinJiang.
After I got off the bus some friendly Muslims eating grapes directed me to my guesthouse. The road road I took was shaded with arches supporting thousands of grape vines. Above you could see bunches of Sprite green grapes hanging lazily from the branches. The people sat on benches eating grapes and chatting. Children rode by me on these new kind of skateboards throwing grapes at eachother. Men on bicycles road past selling, you guessed it, grapes.
I bought 1 kilo for 25 cents. And let me tell you, those grapes were the cheapest and most regular grapes I've ever had the chance to get my hands on.
Although I love grapes I super love bread. And in XinJiang there is bread on every corner. They make it in a little disc shape in small little round ovens. They are amazing when they are hot. Not only do they have bread but they have yellow carrots, white apples, and this yellow thing with purple veins on it that tastes like a mix of rhubarb and melon.
The markets are the best. They are loaded with raisins, nuts, and sweets. The aroma of the spices leaves you crying or craving curry. But of everything, it was the people that kept me coming back. Every woman I saw was wearing something sparkly. Their dresses were of all colors of the rainbow and were always worn with style. They resembled something like gypsies from the medieval time. The men wore colorful skullcaps or diamond hats and had the most amazing white straight or black puffy beards. They had these turquoise green, auburn or chestnut brown, beautiful eyes. I would stare at them with admiration and wonder. And they would stare at me. I think its not every day they see a blond hair, blue eyed, orange bearded man. 
The sky was azure blue every morning. I would wake up and bike ride down to the river for a splash, then head to the orchards to get some grapes. The ancient villages had all been destroyed in the past and left it all to your imagination of what once was.
But once was is no more, and what is now will be no more tomorrow. So I will say, Turpan today is one of my favorite places in China.
The sky was azure blue every morning. I would wake up and bike ride down to the river for a splash, then head to the orchards to get some grapes. The ancient villages had all been destroyed in the past and left it all to your imagination of what once was.
But once was is no more, and what is now will be no more tomorrow. So I will say, Turpan today is one of my favorite places in China.
The New Frontier
XinJiang (Shinjang)
Xinjiang, in Kyle's English, means the New Frontier. There are no better words to describe this place. I knew of the people of Xinjiang from every city I've lived in China. They look like foreigners, they sell noodles or shishkabobs, and one time a group of three of them tried (unsuccsessfully) to steal from me. They have this sly look to them. The men almost all wear skullcaps and the women wear head scarves. They are Muslim.
This is what I knew, and this is what I saw.
I got off the train in the first city of interest in the far east of the province. I was mentally armed. I got off the train and stubbornly walked straight towards the bus station determined not to be ripped off by the sly men that live in this place.
"Turpan, Turpan, you go to Turpan?" A short man with a white skullcap shouted behind me.
I kept walking, ingnoring his calls and thinking, 'this guy isint going to get the best of me'.
"10 Yuan, 10 Yuan," He persisted.
'Not getting me' I thought.
15 minutes later I arrived at the bus station and the man toldmr I just missed the bus and would have to wait 40 minutes for the next one. I hauled my bags and lined up to buy a ticket.
"That'll be 8.7 RMB"
One strike for me.
Xinjiang, in Kyle's English, means the New Frontier. There are no better words to describe this place. I knew of the people of Xinjiang from every city I've lived in China. They look like foreigners, they sell noodles or shishkabobs, and one time a group of three of them tried (unsuccsessfully) to steal from me. They have this sly look to them. The men almost all wear skullcaps and the women wear head scarves. They are Muslim.
This is what I knew, and this is what I saw.
I got off the train in the first city of interest in the far east of the province. I was mentally armed. I got off the train and stubbornly walked straight towards the bus station determined not to be ripped off by the sly men that live in this place.
"Turpan, Turpan, you go to Turpan?" A short man with a white skullcap shouted behind me.
I kept walking, ingnoring his calls and thinking, 'this guy isint going to get the best of me'.
"10 Yuan, 10 Yuan," He persisted.
'Not getting me' I thought.
15 minutes later I arrived at the bus station and the man toldmr I just missed the bus and would have to wait 40 minutes for the next one. I hauled my bags and lined up to buy a ticket.
"That'll be 8.7 RMB"
One strike for me.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Sailing in Sand
The desert roads are so lonely and bleak. Staring out into the emptiness one wonders how one could go across such distances without an a/c vehicle with comfort seating. Even with our van it seemed we wouldn't make it. Winds would whip up wondrous curtains of sand and slam them into the side of the van. Sometimes the whole road would be disappear. A thick blanket of blinding white would replace what was once a freeway. After 4 hours of stifling hot heat, 3 second hand cigarettes, and and one bathroom break, we arrived.
Dunhuang
Dunhuang
In the morning I was awoken by screams. I opened the window and saw a woman running frantically with her hands covering her eyes. A gloomy yellow haze resembling filled the sky resembling some sort of nuclear winter.
My first sand storm!
I packed my bags and left the hotel. Outside people covered their heads with plastic bags to protect themselves from the sand bullets. People ran in every which way looking for some sort of protection. I saw this as a great opportunity to really experience a sand storm. I hailed a taxi and headed for the desert.
The sand dunes in Dunhuang are something you would expect to see in the Sahrah desert. A 40 by 20 km area of ever changing sand. I checked into a guesthouse at the foot of the dunes, grabbed my swimming goggles, and headed into the storm.
Climbing a sand dune is harder than you think. Every two steps I took I went back one. The small hill I thought I could run up took me over an hour to ascend. Even arriving at the top wasn't very inspiring. The thick dust stirred up from the wind had obliterated anything that might resemble a view. With the wind getting even stronger at the peak of the dune my flipflopless feet were taking most of the beating. Even with my handy swim goggles and tight clothes the sand somehow penetrated into every hole in my body.
Things would have to wait....
September 8th, 5:30 Am
The bright stars in the clear sky were the only lights to guide us through the black desert. When we started the trek I could only use my memory to guide us through the sand valleys. As the sun crawled its way up the horizon tall black mountains slowly rose around us. In the distance our destination came into view. The highest dune in the Gobi dessert, over 1000 meters above sea level.*
People usually relate climbing dunes with perspiration and sunburns. I relate it with shivers and windburns. The sun had not yet breached the clumpy clouds that sat on the horizon when we reached the top. For a few minutes it felt like we had the whole desert to ourselves. Just when the sun finally began to rise and warm the air I heard the screams; I couldn't believe it, in the distance we could see them struggling to go over a dune.
The Red Army
Their incoherent senseless shouts could be heard across the whole desert. Their neon pink booties and bright red hat protected them from the sand and helped the tour guide keep track of them. I had seen, heard, smelt, and been disgusted by them before. Their rude 'HeLLUUU!" screams at me trying to gain face from fellow tour groupies made me flinch. Their pictures in front of rocks and writing on walls made me wonder. Their complete lack of respect for anyone or anything that they came across made me angry.
My first sand storm!
I packed my bags and left the hotel. Outside people covered their heads with plastic bags to protect themselves from the sand bullets. People ran in every which way looking for some sort of protection. I saw this as a great opportunity to really experience a sand storm. I hailed a taxi and headed for the desert.
The sand dunes in Dunhuang are something you would expect to see in the Sahrah desert. A 40 by 20 km area of ever changing sand. I checked into a guesthouse at the foot of the dunes, grabbed my swimming goggles, and headed into the storm.
Climbing a sand dune is harder than you think. Every two steps I took I went back one. The small hill I thought I could run up took me over an hour to ascend. Even arriving at the top wasn't very inspiring. The thick dust stirred up from the wind had obliterated anything that might resemble a view. With the wind getting even stronger at the peak of the dune my flipflopless feet were taking most of the beating. Even with my handy swim goggles and tight clothes the sand somehow penetrated into every hole in my body.
Things would have to wait....
September 8th, 5:30 Am
The bright stars in the clear sky were the only lights to guide us through the black desert. When we started the trek I could only use my memory to guide us through the sand valleys. As the sun crawled its way up the horizon tall black mountains slowly rose around us. In the distance our destination came into view. The highest dune in the Gobi dessert, over 1000 meters above sea level.*
People usually relate climbing dunes with perspiration and sunburns. I relate it with shivers and windburns. The sun had not yet breached the clumpy clouds that sat on the horizon when we reached the top. For a few minutes it felt like we had the whole desert to ourselves. Just when the sun finally began to rise and warm the air I heard the screams; I couldn't believe it, in the distance we could see them struggling to go over a dune.
The Red Army
Their incoherent senseless shouts could be heard across the whole desert. Their neon pink booties and bright red hat protected them from the sand and helped the tour guide keep track of them. I had seen, heard, smelt, and been disgusted by them before. Their rude 'HeLLUUU!" screams at me trying to gain face from fellow tour groupies made me flinch. Their pictures in front of rocks and writing on walls made me wonder. Their complete lack of respect for anyone or anything that they came across made me angry.
I can't say every tour group is like this, but a lot are.
Anyways they ruined the moment, so we left the dune, left the guesthouse, and left the city.
*this information was taken by a peasent trying to sell me a ride on his quad. I cant prove its authenticity.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Desert Treasures and Creepy Camps
Jiayuguan in Gansu is a city on the edge of the desert once marking the border of China's land control. Here the Great Wall ended and beyond was a desolate, savage land. This is where you were sent when prison seemed to lenient of a punishment.
And this is where I went.
Waking up the sky was black. The window was open just a crack and bitter cold air bit at my face. In the distance I could see nothing. I was looking at an solitary abyss called the Gobi.
As the black turned to blue and the blue turned to grey the desert came to life.
Jiayuguan
The Gobi is a sand treasure chest slowly revealing its ancient treasures. It is through this desert that merchants of the old world headed for the mysterious "Middle Kingdom". Beneath the burning particles of rocks and shells are numerous tombs. Once guarding the treasures of the past they now open their world to the future. The walls of the tombs are scratched with pictures of how life used to be lived;
Cook, kill, destroy, conquer, dance, build.
An every lasting cycle that passed on from one century to the next.
While searching this barren land we came across an ancient battle station. The Great Walls last tower, now nothing but a weathered mound of dirt, marked the point for one of the armies great camps.
There was an eerie quietness as we descend into the narrow valley. If you listened carefully you could hear the wind whisper the dark secrets of the camp. A timeworn bridge divided the valley. Rusty and eroded we thought twice before crossing. A sign in Chinese characters read, 'beware of falling!'. Beads of sweat formed on the top of my head as I took the first step. Through the slits I could see the raging river 100 feet below. The wind rocked the bridge and the creaks sent shivers up my spine. After 5 heart racing minutes we finally got across.
We entered near the back where a large wooden structure sat. An ancient noose swung solemnly in the breeze. Weapons of the past were littered around the site along with rickety wagons and broken drums. A sundial speceled with blood was a reminder of how gory life must have been.
The watch tower had an amazing view of the distant mountains, depressed valley, and whole camp. I sat lost in the serenity until I saw them coming.
I only needed to see the vans. I knew exactly who they where. The 'Red Hat Army' are notorious around China. They travel in packs of 20s. Their leader has an outrageously loud microphone enhancing her incredibly boring voice. They care not to feel or understand a sight but prefer run over it in as quick of time as possible. I have yet to understand why they do what they do. Why do they take pictures in front of rocks? Why do they talk so loudly? Why do they insist on making what should be a holiday an all out sprint to see as much as possible?
They invaded quickly. No sooner than they got off the bus were they running across the bridge. Within minutes they had surrounded the camp.
It was time for me to leave.
More pics
http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=1212583&l=5d9aa&id=506336427
And this is where I went.
Waking up the sky was black. The window was open just a crack and bitter cold air bit at my face. In the distance I could see nothing. I was looking at an solitary abyss called the Gobi.
As the black turned to blue and the blue turned to grey the desert came to life.
Jiayuguan
The Gobi is a sand treasure chest slowly revealing its ancient treasures. It is through this desert that merchants of the old world headed for the mysterious "Middle Kingdom". Beneath the burning particles of rocks and shells are numerous tombs. Once guarding the treasures of the past they now open their world to the future. The walls of the tombs are scratched with pictures of how life used to be lived;
Cook, kill, destroy, conquer, dance, build.
An every lasting cycle that passed on from one century to the next.
While searching this barren land we came across an ancient battle station. The Great Walls last tower, now nothing but a weathered mound of dirt, marked the point for one of the armies great camps.
There was an eerie quietness as we descend into the narrow valley. If you listened carefully you could hear the wind whisper the dark secrets of the camp. A timeworn bridge divided the valley. Rusty and eroded we thought twice before crossing. A sign in Chinese characters read, 'beware of falling!'. Beads of sweat formed on the top of my head as I took the first step. Through the slits I could see the raging river 100 feet below. The wind rocked the bridge and the creaks sent shivers up my spine. After 5 heart racing minutes we finally got across.
We entered near the back where a large wooden structure sat. An ancient noose swung solemnly in the breeze. Weapons of the past were littered around the site along with rickety wagons and broken drums. A sundial speceled with blood was a reminder of how gory life must have been.
The watch tower had an amazing view of the distant mountains, depressed valley, and whole camp. I sat lost in the serenity until I saw them coming.
I only needed to see the vans. I knew exactly who they where. The 'Red Hat Army' are notorious around China. They travel in packs of 20s. Their leader has an outrageously loud microphone enhancing her incredibly boring voice. They care not to feel or understand a sight but prefer run over it in as quick of time as possible. I have yet to understand why they do what they do. Why do they take pictures in front of rocks? Why do they talk so loudly? Why do they insist on making what should be a holiday an all out sprint to see as much as possible?
They invaded quickly. No sooner than they got off the bus were they running across the bridge. Within minutes they had surrounded the camp.
It was time for me to leave.
More pics
http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=1212583&l=5d9aa&id=506336427
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Jaw droppers
Here's a list of places that made my jaw drop.
1. Cambodia - Ankor Wat
2. Burma - Bagan
3. China - Guangxi, Detain Waterfall
4. Canada - Banff and Jasper National parks (Jaw dropped numerous times)
5. Thailand - Krabi, Au Nang Beach
6. Laos - Lang Probang, Unamed waterfall (In the dry season)
7. Vietnam - Halong Bay
8. Bali - Kuta beach (Sunset)
9. Hong Kong - Harbour
10. Guatemala - Tikal
11. China - Wushan in Luoyang, Water Curtian Cave
1. Cambodia - Ankor Wat
2. Burma - Bagan
3. China - Guangxi, Detain Waterfall
4. Canada - Banff and Jasper National parks (Jaw dropped numerous times)
5. Thailand - Krabi, Au Nang Beach
6. Laos - Lang Probang, Unamed waterfall (In the dry season)
7. Vietnam - Halong Bay
8. Bali - Kuta beach (Sunset)
9. Hong Kong - Harbour
10. Guatemala - Tikal
11. China - Wushan in Luoyang, Water Curtian Cave
Friday, September 5, 2008
What were they thinking?
With villages turning the power out at 9:00pm, these days make for early nights. I usually wake up before 7:00am, and this day was no different. I put on some Moby, did some stretches, and then went down to sort out my day. To get to the Water Curtain
Cave you needed a taxi. The manager of my hotel insisted that walking was unreasonable and renting a bike was out of the question. So I went to the market and spent .50 cents on 3 cucumbers, 2 oranges, and 1 thing I had never seen before. They called it a quackqua.
The driver was waiting for me when I got back.
The drive was beautiful; fresh, crisp morning air mixed with a peach sunrise. When the driver turned off the road and onto a river bed I understood what my hotel manager was talking about. Two years ago they built a road along the river bed.
What were they thinking?
The next year, like every year, the water swelled between the narrow canyon and wiped it out. Now slabs lay all over the river bed. Some of the road had been completely washed away, another part still lay dormant. The further we drove up the river the more the scenery mutilated. The hills once patchy and terraced were now what appeared to be brown, stubby, cactus shaped mountains.
There's a few times in my life where I've arrived at a place and my jaw has dropped. This was one of them
Above me was a 50 meter high mural carved into the rock. The picture was 1400 years old. One huge Buddha man sat solemnly while two women fanned him with flowers. (I swear Buddhas must have been the most attractive guys in their days. I always see pictures of them surrounded by women who look like they are dying to please such big, holy men).
I wanted to get a closer look. Rickety stair cases had been built up along the paintings, but as I approached shouts echoed through the mountains. Before I knew it a magic little man with a beard appeared and told me to get down. He warned that the stair case could break at any moment. I was already 20 meters high, 3 km up a river bed, and who knows how far away from the nearest hygienic hospital.
I got down.
Later the magic man explained it was their job to "protect the Buddha". I guess they still haven't forgotten about the 'evil' European imperialists who came to China in the late 1800s and stole precious artifacts and left thousands of Buddha statues decapitated.
Understandable.
On the mountain I found an amazing little temple that dated back to the same period. The paintings on the walls were so impressive. Who would think they were so artistic in the 600's. The temple air was thick with aromatic white smoke. An old women kowtowed before the temple chanting a very rhythmic song. The birds chirped and the crickets sang, around me their was nothing to prove I was in the 21st century. That was until the music started.
As I was leaving the magic man turned into a dj and started blasting Buddhist tunes out the speakers. The notes bounced off all the mountains and added to the atmosphere of area. While studying the surrounding hills carefully you could see remnants of other paintings and small objects carved into the mountains.
What were they thinking?
What drove these zealous people to express their enthusiasm for Buddhism this way? Actually, the whole province is dotted with holy places like this one. Some paintings are in caves and others are in tombs. The more I explore this ancient province the more I uncover the works of the Silk Road Buddhists.
I left the temple on foot. I decided a walk through the gorge would be peaceful. About halfway through the sun began to beat unbearable heat on my bald head. I searched for my suncream in vain. Then I remembered I left it in the hotel.
Cave you needed a taxi. The manager of my hotel insisted that walking was unreasonable and renting a bike was out of the question. So I went to the market and spent .50 cents on 3 cucumbers, 2 oranges, and 1 thing I had never seen before. They called it a quackqua.The driver was waiting for me when I got back.
The drive was beautiful; fresh, crisp morning air mixed with a peach sunrise. When the driver turned off the road and onto a river bed I understood what my hotel manager was talking about. Two years ago they built a road along the river bed.
What were they thinking?
The next year, like every year, the water swelled between the narrow canyon and wiped it out. Now slabs lay all over the river bed. Some of the road had been completely washed away, another part still lay dormant. The further we drove up the river the more the scenery mutilated. The hills once patchy and terraced were now what appeared to be brown, stubby, cactus shaped mountains.
There's a few times in my life where I've arrived at a place and my jaw has dropped. This was one of them
Above me was a 50 meter high mural carved into the rock. The picture was 1400 years old. One huge Buddha man sat solemnly while two women fanned him with flowers. (I swear Buddhas must have been the most attractive guys in their days. I always see pictures of them surrounded by women who look like they are dying to please such big, holy men).
I wanted to get a closer look. Rickety stair cases had been built up along the paintings, but as I approached shouts echoed through the mountains. Before I knew it a magic little man with a beard appeared and told me to get down. He warned that the stair case could break at any moment. I was already 20 meters high, 3 km up a river bed, and who knows how far away from the nearest hygienic hospital.
I got down.
Later the magic man explained it was their job to "protect the Buddha". I guess they still haven't forgotten about the 'evil' European imperialists who came to China in the late 1800s and stole precious artifacts and left thousands of Buddha statues decapitated.
Understandable.On the mountain I found an amazing little temple that dated back to the same period. The paintings on the walls were so impressive. Who would think they were so artistic in the 600's. The temple air was thick with aromatic white smoke. An old women kowtowed before the temple chanting a very rhythmic song. The birds chirped and the crickets sang, around me their was nothing to prove I was in the 21st century. That was until the music started.
As I was leaving the magic man turned into a dj and started blasting Buddhist tunes out the speakers. The notes bounced off all the mountains and added to the atmosphere of area. While studying the surrounding hills carefully you could see remnants of other paintings and small objects carved into the mountains.
What were they thinking?
What drove these zealous people to express their enthusiasm for Buddhism this way? Actually, the whole province is dotted with holy places like this one. Some paintings are in caves and others are in tombs. The more I explore this ancient province the more I uncover the works of the Silk Road Buddhists.
I left the temple on foot. I decided a walk through the gorge would be peaceful. About halfway through the sun began to beat unbearable heat on my bald head. I searched for my suncream in vain. Then I remembered I left it in the hotel.
What was I thinking?
More pics
http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=1212562&l=199d2&id=506336427
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