This taxi driver was a particularly interesting one. (Having a conversation with the taxi drivers is an excellent way to practice your Chinese, and learn about Chinese people.) We started our conversation about sports, and somehow started talking about driving, and then taxes. He told me that he had been driving a taxi since he was 19. He was now 46. He told me how much he disliked the Chinese government, and how he’d love to go to America (labeling it the lesser of two evils), and I quietly agreed. It’s always surprising when a Chinese person is willing to tell you how they really feel about the government, but I guess driving a taxi every day for 27 years will do that to you.
I woke up Sunday morning at 4:30 am, packed all of my stuff, and found a taxi to the airport. The flight was a bit unwieldy (really not too bad at 4 hours), and the weather in Urumqi when I arrived was slightly cloudy. I think the best way for me to describe Xinjiang might be to quote my Lonely Planet China guide. (I don’t think I’ve mentioned this yet, but the Lonely Planet China guide is the premier guide for traveling in China, can’t be found in Chinese bookstores because of government censorship, and is sometimes confiscated at checkpoints—while traveling, I guard it like the Bible). In any case, Lonely Planet China has this to say about Xinjiang:
“Xinjiang means ‘New Frontier’ and the province’s far-flung geography has placed it in the bull’s eye of competing powers for centuries. Fiercely independent, the people of the region have never really been independent. Today, Xinjiang ‘belongs’ to China, having been inextricably tethered to the Middle Kingdom for centuries in an endless push-pull relationship, one which China today maintains in strict form.
Xinjiang is like a whole other country enclosed within China’s borders. Here the language is not just a different dialect, it’s a completely different linguistic family; and it’s no longer whether you dip your dumplings in soy sauce or vinegar, it’s how you want your mutton cooked.
What lies within such desolate lands that motivates faraway Beijing? A thumbnail sketch: it’s larger than Alaska (one-sixth of China’s territory); hyper-rich with Silk Road history; populated by a mixed salad of nearly 50 ethnic minorities; geopolitically crucial, as it borders eight nations; and encompasses a geographical palette of shimmering desert aquarelles, taiga pastureland dotted with flocks of sheep and grand mountain ranges. Oh, and it sits atop 30% of China’s oil reserves.”
Assuming my trip plays out as I’ve planned, I will make my way from Urumqi in north-central Xinjiang, down towards the Taklaman desert to Turpan, and around following the Northern Silk Road towards Kashgar, towards Tajikstan to take in the amazing views of Karakul Lake, then back into Kashgar, before setting out on the Southern Silk Road all the way through the southern portion of the Taklaman desert, into Qinghai province via mountain passes, then to Xining in eastern Qinghai, visiting Qinghai Lake, into Gansu province visiting Dunhuang (maybe), Xiahe, and Lanzhou, and finally to Xi’an (where the Terracotta Warriors are), and back up to Beijing—taking me all the way across the country, covering a distance of over 3,600 miles in about 2.5 to 3 weeks.
As I said, the weather in Urumqi was cloudy when I arrived at 11:45 am. Xinjiang, however, is geographically two time zones away from Beijing, but the Chinese government insists on having only one time zone for the whole country. So, Xinjiang people have two times, Beijing (or official) time and local time. This 11:45 weather (really being 9:45) just turned out to be morning clouds. I made some phone calls, found a hostel, and headed out to put my stuff down. The hostel, which was a bit north of the city center, was nice enough, and reasonable cheap. My next task was to get to the bus station to buy my ticket to Turpan for the next morning. I took public transportation, and got off a few stops away to walk and enjoy the city. On my way, I grabbed a bagel (yes, that’s right, they have bagels!!!), some chuanr (kebabs), and an icy Pepsi. One Uighur (local Muslim people) girl ran up to me, counted to ten in English and ran away. I was definitely not in Beijing anymore. Chinese faces seemed to be beat out by Uighur faces, and mustaches were all the rave.
When I got to the bus station, I found that my trek out had been in vain, since buses to Turpan run every 30 minutes and tickets are sold only the day of. So, I walked back outside, my Lonely Planet in the side pocket of my bag, with my camera and Pepsi in hand. Pulling out my Lonely Planet, I replaced it with my Pepsi and camera, and stood there trying to figure out where to go next. The next thing I knew, I felt something at my back, and turned around just in time to see two men, one running across the street. I felt for my camera (which I had just bought the day before), and found that it was missing. I grabbed the one man, pushed him against a wall, and padded him down, letting him go to run after the other, across the intersection, dodging cars. I caught up with him, held him down, and padded him down, but he didn’t have my camera either. Obviously, they’d already handed it off. I cursed at the man, yelling, punched him in the stomach, and let him go, finding a policeman standing nearby. Unfortunately, he didn’t want to help. So, I trolled the market near the station, examining all of the stolen cameras, with a look of extreme anger, scaring more than one vendor with my gaze. I finally settled into the fact that my camera was gone, and that it had been my own fault for being so careless, and moved on. What’s more, they stole my Pepsi, as well. My only consolation is that I’m getting off of a cold—so, maybe they’ll drink my Pepsi and then get sick. J
By this point, a group of my friends from Beijing, who had planned a different trip through northern Xinjiang had arrived in Urumqi. So, I tracked them down, and drank some beer with them in a park, being ever more vigilant about my belongings. We walked around for a while, and got dinner at a Caribbean restaurant (which somehow had made its way to Urumqi), and then I said goodbye to them as they headed back to the airport for another flight. At this point, I walked around a bit more, and then found a Carrefour, at which I bought a new (cheap) camera. Then, went back to the hostel. The dorm room I was in, had two girls there when I went back, one from England and one from California/Hawaii, who’d both been studying for the year in Hong Kong. We made introductions, and decided to go together to a night market in the city. We split the cab fare, and sat to eat at a Uighur barbecue stand, ordering beef, chicken, and vegetables doused in spices. (Since Urumqi is literally the farthest place in the world from an ocean, we skipped the seafood.) We walked around a little, got some traditional ice cream, and went back to the hostel.
In the morning, I said goodbye to the girls from Hong Kong, took care of some errands, and went back to the bus station. I hopped on the first bus to Turpan, getting there in the early afternoon. The ride from Urumqi to Turpan is interesting, first encountering fields and fields of electricity-generating windmills, set against snow-capped mountains, then dried salt lakes, down through cliffs, and into the city. In Xinjiang, you can generally wave down any bus and hop on. This happened a number of times, the last time as we entered the city by a whiter looking man, with combed back hair, and a calm look. He didn’t pay as the others had, took a look around, and then sat in front of me. He turned to me, and in nearly perfect English said, “Hello. Are you here to see the sites? How long are you staying?” Startled, I responded in Chinese. He continued in English, “do you have a hotel?” I finally gave in, and talked to him in English. His job was to find the tourists, and arrange tours for them.
Because I knew public transportation was a hassle in Turpan, I listened to what he had to say. He offered to get me a hotel room with air-conditioning and a shower for Y70 (around $10). I asked to see the room, and he took me around the corner into a hotel. (The advertised price was Y200.) I looked at the room, was satisfied, and said I was short on cash, and couldn’t pay any more than Y60. He called the desk to ask them, and said that as long as I promised not to tell any other tourists, he’d agree. I promised, and sat to talk to him about hiring a driver for the day. I told him where I wanted to go, he told me it could be done in one day (where I had originally planned two), and we negotiated a price. A little nervous about the room, I locked my bag, and put a chair on the inside of the door, and went to by a bus ticket to Kashgar for the next day.
My driver was a 38 year-old local man, with two kids. Since it was an hour drive out to my first stop, we talked a bit. He asked about my family and my hobbies, and I asked about his. He said he used to like to race cars, but now he was 38, and didn’t have time for hobbies. I asked him if he had any other jobs, and he said “no.” So, I asked what he did when there were no tourists. He said, “when there’re no tourists, I’m still waiting for tourists.” I indirectly asked what he thought of the government, and he said that the Chinese government’s policies were all in the best interest of the people. We talked about school and traffic cops, and finally made it to Tuyoq, a grape-producing village in a valley in the Flaming Mountains. The temperature was a dry 42 degrees Celsius (that’s only about 108 degrees Fahrenheit), so I bought a lot of water, and went exploring through the village, bought some raisins (the grapes were out of season), and climbed up into the mountains a bit. Then, went back to my driver, and headed back towards Turpan, and out to Jiaohe. Jiaohe is an ancient city that is said to be one of the world’s largest, oldest, and most well-preserved ancient cities. Indeed, it was large and well-preserved. I spent an hour or so navigating the ancient streets, and then departed, paid my driver and went back to the hotel.
Then, I set back out to find some food. I found a huge square with a big fountain/light show, talked to some vendors, and sat down for some cold noodles. Then, I found an internet bar, checked my e-mail and went back to the hotel, and went to sleep. At 6:30 am (Beijing Time), I got a phone call from the English speaking man from the day before saying, “We’re waiting for you, where are you?” I instinctively responded in Chinese, “What? Why? What’s going on?” He sounded confused, said “Okay, okay” and hung up. I’m assuming he was trying to call another number, because I went back to sleep, and didn’t get up until 10:00. I packed my bag, and went downstairs to find some food. As I exited the lobby, I saw a friend of mine from Beijing standing outside with two other foreigners negotiating with a tour guide. I walked up, and he was just as shocked to see me. We compared itineraries and agreed that we might be able to meet up for a little in Kashgar. Then, I walked a bit, found a Uighur food market, sat down for some soup with dumplings, bought some dried fruit, some water, went back to get my bag, and headed to the bus station. The bus to Kashgar will take me some 26 hours. It is a non-air-conditioned sleeper bus. In the station, I made an Israeli guy, arguing with one of the officials in English. I went over to help, and introduced myself. He had flown into Bangkok, Thailand, and was traveling all throughout Asia. We boarded the bus and headed out.
The 26 hour bus ride was pleasant enough. I wrangled up a bottom window bed in the front, going most of the way with the window open, enjoying the scenery and the mostly fresh air. The bus would stop every hour or so to pick someone up, and every few hours for a snack and bathroom break. My electronic dictionary with my music on it died about 5 hours in, so I resorted to playing solitaire, writing a bit (though the bumps made this difficult), and reading up on Kashgar. Around 7:00 am Beijing time, the driver woke me up suddenly. Saying “huan che, huan che!” (change vehicles!). Anyone who was in Yunnan with me will know that my immediate response was “weishenme?” (why?). It turns out that the bus had decided to cut across the desert to Hotan, exchanging myself, the Israeli traveler, and one other man (we being the only three heading towards Kashgar) to another bus. And when I say “exchange”, I mean that there was actually money involved in getting the other driver to accept us. What’s more, there was no room underneath for our bags. So, the already small bed, became even smaller with my pack on it. And, my nice lower window bed became a middle upper bed. So, the last leg was a bit rough, but I made it through alright. Arriving in Kashgar, that Israeli traveler and I split a cab to a hotel situated on the grounds of the old British consulate. The “dorm” room turned out to be an old hotel room with two beds and a cot, a broken shower and toilet, and only one key for three people. Still, it was Y35 (not that bad). So, I’ll make do.
Kashgar is the farthest possible Chinese city from Beijing (as far as I’ve been able to discern). It is a Muslim city, that could easily in parts be mistaken for Baghdad (10 years ago), besides the cooperation of Chinese script with the local script on signs. Women not only cover their arms and legs, but their faces as well with brown scarves. The men wear slacks rolled up about 6 inches to show their socks (or stockings) and “leather” shoes, with button-down work shirts and suspenders and a cap. Still, the city is unmistakably Chinese—signs boasting the upcoming Olympic Games in Beijing are plentiful, and the city center is a place called People’s Square laid out in front of a giant statue of Chairman Mao. The park that corresponds, “People’s Park”, is a somewhat depressing, unkempt park, with small amusement rides for children scattered throughout.
I tried to find the café listed in my Lonely Planet book, but it’s apparently been removed for construction. I’ll explore the Old Town for a day or so, wait for my friends to arrive, and then head towards Tajikstan to see Karakul Lake, before heading back on the southern Silk Road. I’m enjoying my freedom—not having anyone to report to but myself, and I’m looking forward to the rest of my trip.
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