4: Desperately Seeking Shade
DUNHUANG, CHINA – 1 June, 2002
We arrived in Dunhuang early in the morning, our ears ringing with the dance music from our driver’s favourite tape which he played over and over and over again in the 20-hour journey. I noted with disdain [YO!!…YO!!…] that the two well-coiffed ladies still had their hair [ARE YOU READY TO PAARTY??!?!…] well-coiffed, while my deranged look was marginally subdued [BABY, LET’S GO!!…] by wrapping a bandanna over my dishevelled hair.
I lumbered, blurry-eyed, to a hotel next to the bus station and I must have been really sick with cold then on agreeing to the hotel, because in hindsight (by afternoon, that is), I knew I’d made a terrible choice.
The toilet was not too far from my room but should be far enough for me NOT to smell it. Yet, I could smell it even through my blocked nose. The shower was right by a window that opened to the street. There was a curtain of sort for modesty but it left a gap adequate for any sharp-eyed voyeurs to spy through. The mattress was so thin, the thinness had to be measured with laboratory calipers….
Yes, I was sick. I blew my nose and built a mountain of tissue paper on the next bed. But I did attempt to walk around town later in the afternoon to hunt for food.
Now, after the previous exotic towns with interesting mix of people, Dunhuang looked almost too ordinary. In Langmusi, we saw yak-men in 1970s sun-shades with such wild hair you wanted to run your comb right through it and go, “There!”. In Xiahe, we saw Tibetan monks surfing and chatting on the internet and playing violent computer games like COUNTER-STRIKE in the internet bars. In Xining, I saw a large Muslim population wearing white skull caps and velvety scarves and er… a huge number of dry-cleaners (OK, Xining was not THAT interesting.).
But here, in my first foray around town, I couldn’t detect anything unique about it. The faces around seemed to be more Chinese again.
I arrived at the Night Market and walked down the area with the food stalls. There were rows and rows and rows of food stalls with a table each in front of them. In one row, the stalls were selling spicy noodle soup, spicy noodle soup, spicy noodle soup, etc… In another, the stalls were selling knife-cut noodle, knife-cut noodle, knife-cut noodle, etc…. This totally bewildered me because why were all the stalls selling the same food lined up next to one another, with signs that hardly distinguished one from the other? It gave me no choices at all. What was to tempt me to sit in one stall and not the other? I just did not understand it.
The aunties and helpers tried their ways and means to holler out to me to entice me but I just walked around dazed. Finally, I got tired and sat down at one stall and had apparently made my choice.
Downed an aspirin at around 8pm but I tossed and turned in bed until midnight, almost delirious by then, unable to get comfortable on the wafer-thin mattress.
DUNHUANG, CHINA – 2 June, 2002
The aspirin must have worked. I didn’t feel that bad to stay in bed the whole day. I would be able to go to the Mogao Caves today.
I recalled my time at Ta’er Si Monastery, near Xining. I was accosted by tour-guides near the entrance asking if I wanted to employ them for my visit around the Monastery. I decided against it because I was a cheap-skate. But while I was making my rounds, I did attempt to follow, oh alright, sneak behind certain groups and try to siphon some information from their guides.
However, to my horrors, I realised I couldn’t understand what the guides were saying and they were speaking in Mandarin!! I jumped from guide to guide and I must say, 85% of the time, I was lost. I realised that perhaps the Mandarin they used was too difficult for me to comprehend, especially with all those complicated Tibetan Buddha names.
Now, back to Mogao Caves. On learning there was an English tour but with Y20 extra, I decided to stop being such a cheapie and pay the extra and have a proper English tour.
I waited around for more than 40 minutes for the English guide and no one near the gate seemed to confess that he/she was the English guide. I started to wonder if I should have just saved my money and gone with the Chinese tour which left every other minute after forming groups of 20-25.
In the end, I realised this guy who earlier told me he was NOT the English guide was actually THE English guide engaged by a group of American Chinese and he had been waiting for them to arrive before starting the tour. I trailed behind them unhappily at having been lied to.
All but one guy from this group of American Chinese could speak Mandarin. They had engaged the English guide more for the benefit for the one guy. Our guide, happy to learn almost everyone knew Mandarin, embarked on his explanation entirely in Mandarin. What the…?
After his poetic rendition of the ‘Library Cave’, the wife of the English-only guy requested my guide to explain everything again in English and he agreed. “There were many documents in the caves… Long time ago, they put… they HIDE documents in the caves… So, many many documents are in the caves… Now, gone.” I rolled my eye-balls. Rrrright…
The admission ticket to the Mogao Caves was really expensive at Y80. I hope they put the money to really good use to restore the caves and preserve the amazing art-works.
However, the admission ticket to the nearby Mingsha sand dunes was a different story. This was a natural sight, nothing as far as I could see to restore, and yet, the Chinese are charging an exorbitant Y50 to see the sand dunes?!!!? I had to try and get around this inconvenience if I visit the sand dunes later this evening.
However, I still did not feel well enough to do so and decided to postpone the sand dunes to another day. The sun was evil from noon onwards and I hid in internet bars and my room. I walked around town only in the evening and, haha, stumbled upon Jane. We had gone our separate ways a couple of days ago and now, we met again.
We caught up on the missing days in our lives and decided to try and sneak into the sand dunes tomorrow evening together.
DUNHUANG, CHINA – 3 June, 2002
One of my Chinese room-mates in my dodgy hotel room had sung praises for a sight out in the western desert called the Ya Dan Di Mao which was basically fantastically formed, wind-eroded structures. She had gone on and on and on about it and really encouraged me to go.
So, today, I went to the hotel organising the trip and waited for the bus. No bus. I asked a few drivers nearby and found that the tour did not leave today. They only left on Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays and Sundays. Darn! The reception should be better informed. I did turn up yesterday and made inquiries and they told me the tour left everyday. Alright, so I woke up really early for nothing.
I headed to Jane’s hotel to see if I could write a note for her to tell her I was still in town. At the desk, I inquired if a lady from Ireland stayed here and the receptionist wordlessly went through the entire stack of registration forms and shoved me the Ireland one and told me, “Room 408”. Some security.
She had a lovely, lovely room for only Y5 more than me, with her own bathroom, bouncy beds and wonderful decorations and even a fan! I was envious but I knew I was too lazy to move.
We lounged all day in the comfortable room, escaping from the harsh rays of the sun, watching Mandarin-dubbed English dramas.
By evening, we took a bus out to the sand dunes and between us, we had obtained some information from the internet and a tips book at a Western Cafe on how to sneak around the admission gate and enter the sand dunes without paying.
I told Jane, “I had never committed any crimes until I met you!” Jane pondered over this and recalled her criminal days years ago when she and her drunk friends shoved �800 worth of books down their pants from a book-store. Bad girl!
I reminded her, if we were challenged by the guards making their rounds, we had to pretend we ‘no speaka Mandarin’. We had to act like we were really interested in the farm-lands and trees around the sand dunes. Understand?????
We hiked out through the fields until the edge of the dunes. There was a barrier that attempted to draw a circle around the dunes but well, the sand shifted and had buried parts of the barrier.
“See you on the other side…” I muttered to her solemnly as I made my attempt to cross. We were half-way up the dunes when someone started yelling at us. What what??!? Oh, OK… just two other foreign tourists who knew Jane and apparently, knew about this sneaky way too.
We huffed and we puffed and we made it all the way to the top of the dunes. What a feeling. There, we simply sat and watched. It was such a wonderful view. Three more foreign tourists sneaked in and joined us.
I wonder if the guards ever wonder why they only have Chinese tourists paying the Y50 admission. And I wonder if the guards ever wander their eyes upwards and spot little unaccounted dots high up on this dune.
As the sun set over the horizon at 9:30pm, I tried to watch out for the green flash which someone told me about and I had once observed over the Egyptian desert. Previously, just as the sun went down the horizon, I had seen a white light that went anti-clockwise on the spot. Now, we couldn’t quite see that anti-clockwise light but the area around the horizon flashed and blinked white light for a while after the sun went down. What in the world were those flashes? I thought my eyes were playing tricks but everyone else saw them too. Nuclear testing in the desert??
DUNHUANG, CHINA – 4 June, 2002
I was surprised to learn that although I was the only one on the bus to visit the site Ya Dan Di Mao in the western desert, the bus still left. I guess the hotel which organised this trip had some employees out in the desert and this tour bus also provided transportation for their staff.
We passed by an ancient gate called the Jade Gate Pass. This was one of the Han dynasty beacon towers that marked the caravan route. The ruin was not impressive to look at. But since the road to Ya Dan Di Mao passed by this gate, I had no choice but to pay admission for this site whether I wanted to see it or not. Yet another rip-off, I guess.
Three hours of very hot travel later, we arrived at Ya Dan Di Mao and I was surprised to learn I had to fork out yet another payment of Y80 to rent a jeep to go into the grounds for the visit. Argh!!!! What an expensive trip this was turning out to be!
Gosh, with me as the only tourist around, there was no one to split the cost. It was 11:30am and more than 45�C out here. I guess it was not wise to stay around and wait for other individual tourists to drive up here.
As for the wind-eroded formations, maybe my Chinese room-mate was more easily impressed than I, for I did not find them so worthwhile to make the arduous three-hour ride here (and back later) and pay so much for admission plus the unjustifiable Y80 for the one-hour trip around the grounds. The Chinese seemed less concerned about paying for admissions and stuff, it appeared.
Maybe I was too hot to enjoy it and would change my mind when I saw the photos. One thing though, it was a good experience to be out in the desert and learn a lesson: You fry. Then, you die.
Met up with Jane at the Night Market that evening for dinner. By then, we had noticed what was the unique thing about Dunhuang and kept cracking jokes about it.
Dunhuang had many ‘beauty parlours’. These ‘beauty parlours’ were open until very late at night and were lit by neon pink or blue lights. The services they provided included ‘leg washing’ (sort of foot massage, I believe), ‘dry-cleaning’ (I had no idea what this was), ‘bone-stepping’ (probably like Thai massage), etc…. The ‘hair-dressers’ were always dressed in shorts and sexy tops. At midnight, there were still customers, er… having their hair washed.
Well, we really liked Dunhuang. While it was not very interesting itself, it had a great relaxing feel about it. By nightfall, deck chairs were set out in the Night Market and one could relax with a drink or two. It was a wonderful place but do watch out for over-charging.
DUNHUANG to TURPAN, CHINA – 5 June, 2002
We decided to return to the scene of our crime and visit the sand dunes again, but now in the morning.
Kathy, a middle-aged American lady who was staying at Jane’s hotel had wanted to join us. We waited 15 minutes for her and she didn’t show. When Jane went to her room to try and listen at the door, she heard no noise and figured Kathy was still sleeping. So, we decided not to wake her and headed out there ourselves.
We decided to go round the gentler side of the dunes and tried to walk through farms further out and see if we could enter from there. We made terrible mistakes here and there and ended up perched on the mud-banks separating neighbouring crops and with prickly shrubs (obviously to keep neighbouring farmers off) in our faces.
We tried not to step on the farmers’ livelihood as far as possible and kept imagining the farmers setting their barking dogs on us. We finally emerged, dishevelled and scratched. A grim-faced farmer stopped ploughing and stared at us, unamused. *dee dee doo whistle whistle*
Once again, the sand dune was a fantastic place to laze around for a while until you felt too burning hot to cope. We really loved it here.
We caught the midday bus to Liuyuan about two hours north of Dunhuang and bought the hard-sleeper tickets for the night train to Turpan.
Just before the train pulled in, a geezer looked at my bag of apricots and disapproved of them. He claimed they were not sweet at all. He launched into how sweet the apricots were from Xinjiang and the wonderful flavours of the grapes in Turpan if they were in season now and the best melons in the world were from Hami (west of Dunhuang). He was quite a character. He simply stood there, splattering his saliva at us and did a soliloquy about fruits of Xinjiang. We wondered if he was a fruit-basket.
We settled ourselves in the train and Fruity was in the next berth. He fished out two lychees from within his wash-bag of toothpaste and toothbrush and offered to us.
A roly-poly guy on the berth below me took an interest in Jane and decided to practise his English on her. He proudly said he learnt his English from the Petroleum University and was now working for PetroChina Company. He proceeded to bore Jane with how petroleum was formed, blah blah blah.
Not to be outdone, Fruity started to fish out all the expensive cups and tea-pots he obtained from his shopping experience in Dunhuang and kept interrupting us to show them off. We were really amused with the two of them, obviously fighting for our attention.
TURPAN, CHINA – 6 June, 2002
We arrived at Daheyan Train Station, near Turpan and were promptly set upon by Uyghurs tour guys who tricked us into taking their van to Turpan by saying that theirs was the public van.
I only realised it later when they tried to get me to get MORE tourists from a later train (because I could speak both Mandarin and English) onto their van so that we could all form a group and go for a tour around Turpan together tomorrow.
I tried to talk to the tourists but they were not interested and I didn’t press further. The Uyghur tour-guys were disappointed with me and became quite pushy with those tourists. The tourists left in a taxi, disgusted.
One of the Uyghur tour-guys, Sata, meanwhile, tried to charm his way through by telling us about his past trips with satisfied tourists and his one special ‘girl’ friend from America. He got us settled in Turpan Hotel and encouraged us to go to John’s Cafe later where they would talk to us.
Turpan Hotel was super-grand, with a chandelier hanging in the extravagant, intricately-decorated main lobby. We were staying in an air-conditioned dormitory. Air-conditioning was essential here in Turpan which, during summer, was the hottest town in China – up to 50�C or so as it was about 80m below sea level.
Turpan had been developed heavily so it was no longer the charming little town we read about in our guidebooks anymore. This must be part of China’s ‘Develop the West. Everyone prospers.’ enthusiasm. (I saw such propaganda slogans painted on walls from Xining onwards when I started heading west.) We were about two to three years too late.
The tourist roads and the main highway were now paved and wide. There were even inexplicable Roman sculpture statues at the end of each vine-trellised avenue.
Jane and I were pounced upon by Sata and his cronies when we emerged from the hotel later. They tried to get us to pay Y100 each for a tour the next day. We had learnt from other travellers it was between Y40 to Y60 and we balked at their price. It was swiftly reduced to Y50. Sata quickly explained Y100 had been a tour in a car, but Y50 was in a van. Whatever… We told them we were only heading out for a tour the day after tomorrow. We would talk again tomorrow.
We meandered around town and sat in a bazaar to people-watch. The faces we saw here were so many and varied. Turpan was getting interesting now. The features seemed to be mixture of Eastern European, Central Asian, Russian and even Middle-Eastern, we thought.
These guys probably had names like Mohammed, Ali, Abdul, etc… but they looked so exotic, we started to classify them ourselves. We spotted many heavy-set stocky guys who looked a little Russian and promptly named them Boris. There were also some thinner guys with brown hair, huge eyes, round head and pretty fair skin. This kind we named Ivan. Another group had smallish slit eyes and pinkish skin (like a burnt white European). For no reason except to try and create a name, we called them Sergei.
We gave up after this. There were just too many varieties and we had not even started on those Arab-looking people! So, we simply went, “This one? Yeah, think he is an Ivan…” “Hmmm… look at that one. Wow… That’s not yet classified.”
While the young Uyghur ladies here were gorgeous with large, round eyes and lovely long hair, their mothers and grandmothers were heavy-set with large boobs and hips. Guess in their later years they were more affected by the fatty mutton intake.
The older ladies wore dresses and tied see-through scarves on their heads. There was only one word that came to both our minds when we first saw them – babushkas! (‘grandmothers’ in Russian)
TURPAN, CHINA – 7 June, 2002
The sun was hidden behind the clouds today. So, the temperature was not as high as yesterday, perhaps around 35�C. In a way, this was a wonderful day to be walking around Turpan.
As it was a Friday, we went to some of the mosques to see if they were busy but they were moderately so. After wandering around town for more than half a day, we decided to reward ourselves with a swim in the indoor swimming pool in our hotel.
Well, today was not as hot as yesterday to deserve a swim but we had already psyched ourselves up to crack open our swim-wear and take a dip. One of the rules stated that only people in appropriate dress would be allowed into the swimming pool. Jane had a bikini with her. She wondered if that was appropriate. Out of modesty, Jane wrapped herself in a towel when we reached the swimming pool. The ticket lady quickly called out and asked me if the Western woman over there had anything on underneath the towel. Gosh, did she really think Jane would enter the pool naked?
Later, we had dinner next to the Public Square which, we figured, was another attempt by the Chinese to over-develop a place to the worst of taste. There were all these garish structures with displays of flashing coloured lights lining the whole square, Las Vegas style. It looked so kitsch and out-of-place.
Then, a strange thing happened in the dry oasis of Turpan tonight. It rained. And the rain continued for hours into the night.
TURPAN, CHINA – 8 June, 2002
Because of the rain last night, the weather today was very cool, by Turpan standards. Should be a good day to go sight-seeing.
We had a deal with Sata to go on a tour around Turpan for Y40. They took us on a spin around town, telling us they were looking for the other tourists in our group. Later, they returned to our hotel and Sata asked me to go in and wake the other three tourists who were probably still sleeping.
I felt this was ridiculous. First, they seemed to imply the tourists were staying in another hotel and now, they drove us back to our hotel and wanted me to walk in and look for the three tourists. How was I to know how they looked like? I expressed my displeasure and Sata meekly said, “No problem, no problem.” and he went in to check.
Later, he sauntered out and went over to his friends and they smoked and chatted a while. Finally, the smarmy Sata came over and said, “The three tourists left by taxi this morning. So, with the two of you left, the price must be higher.”
We did not trust him anymore. OK, the higher price was Y50, Y10 more. But, we could have gone with the tour bus from our hotel for Y40. We went with them because we had a similar deal.
We felt that they dilly-dallyed the whole morning. We didn’t like his attitude or his stories. If he had appeared more sorry about the missing three tourists or he had sent out more sincere good vibes instead of laughing with his friends at the corner, we might have agreed. He seemed to time his announcement WAY AFTER our hotel tour bus left so that we would feel that we were left with no choice but to agree to the new price.
We stormed out of the van and left. We decided to hire a taxi for the two sights in particular – Fiery Mountain and Gao Chang Ruins – we were interested in. We were relieved the taxi driver was a Chinese lady. After being surrounded by guys the whole morning, it was good to be with women again.
We spent a great morning exploring the ruins of Gao Chang Ruins. While it was quite badly preserved, the grounds were huge and it was just wonderful to walk around, checking out the walls and half-standing structures.
We had also heard Jiao He Ruins was good. Jane decided to cycle out there that evening. I opted out and headed out to the mud streets behind my hotel to walk around and towards the Emin Minaret. Gosh, I should have given Turpan a chance. Here must lie the old Turpan that gave many past travellers its charm. I loved the little mud streets and huts, the colourful mosques and the lovely children playing around. Nearing the minaret, the area turned into pretty grape-vine yards. It was wonderful.
Jane didn’t make it to the Jiao He Ruins. She claimed she nearly died from the effort of cycling and returned after 50 minutes of the horrible bike.
TURPAN to URUMQI, CHINA – 9 June, 2002
We made the easiest bus-trip so far on an excellent bus which really barred smoking and actually had a luggage-storage area below, and on excellent highways.
There were modern, wind-powered structures like white, tall, skinny fans on the desert around the highway. It reminded me of the scene in ‘Se7en’ where Kevin Spacey took Inspectors Morgan Freeman and Brad Pitt to the desert to look for ‘two more bodies’. Very ‘Develop-the-West-Everyone-prospers’.
We placed ourselves in a nice hotel and I headed out to the train station to try and buy a ticket to Kashgar for a few days later.
I stood behind pushing and shoving men at the ticket window. The police man tried to yell at them and they got into proper lines for a while before resorting to pushing and shoving again. It was unruly. I was a little disturbed but I believed patience would prevail.
A 100-kg guy pushed past me and jumped in front of me. The impatient old man behind me was dismayed. He started scolding me for allowing the 100-kg guy to jump the queue.
A 70-kg guy pushed past me and attempted to jump the queue. I believed my 48-kg frame could handle this one and elbowed him and yelled at him to queue up behind. He looked at me, unblinking and unmoved. After ignoring me successfully, he tapped on the shoulder of 100-kg guy and asked him to buy the ticket for him. 100-kg guy successfully ignored him as well and 70-kg guy slithered away when the police man veered near us again.
Impatient-old-man-behind-me again started scolding me and asking if I was really buying train tickets. No, I was just casually standing here amongst you unruly men for the pleasure of annoying you. I supposed since I was not pushing and shoving or standing restlessly on one leg or the other, my sincerity in purchasing a train ticket was not so obvious.
When it came to my turn, the lady curtly told me she would not sell tickets for another day. She only sold for today. No wonder, now I understood the urgency of these people. Oooomph, I was shoved off to the side by impatient-old-man at once.
I had no choice but to arrange with a travel agent then and pay the commission, sigh…
URUMQI to TIAN CHI, CHINA – 10 June, 2002
Tian Chi was a beautiful glacial lake at the top of Tian Mountains. Being so accessible from Urumqi, it meant many local tourists came here and it also meant the whole place was done up with some kitsch activities and high admission fees.
We wanted to stay a night at a Kazakh yurt on the lake. The tour guide on my bus simply couldn’t fathom why anyone would not want to follow behind her little flag, pay another Y20 for the boat-ride around the lake, visit a Kazakh yurt and wear the Kazakh costumes for a photo, stop for lunch at 2pm, then some free-time around the lake but please do not stray too far and then, take the cable-car for a lovely ride down by 4pm for the return journey to Urumqi. We split from the group, prompto.
I was not feeling well again. It felt like fever. So, while Jane explored around the lake after we settled ourselves in Rashit’s Yurt, I slept in the yurt for most of the afternoon. Later, I walked along the edge of the lake around the headlands and valleys until I could not find a safe route around the rocks and returned to the yurt. It was really quite peaceful and picturesque after the majority of the day-tourists left.
Rashit’s name-card had promised ‘Three delicious meals’. I must correct that the meals were the worst we had ever eaten.
TIAN CHI to URUMQI, CHINA – 11 June, 2002
I hate to be disgusting readers with this but I crapped every two hours from 2am this morning. I was really sick with diarrhea but as I had packed a smaller bag for the trip here, I did not have my medicine with me.
A Chinese tourist staying in Rashit gave me some medicine. He asked if I knew this brand. I said ‘no’ and he sang the jingle for me, hoping I would recall the advertisement from my China TV-watching.
I couldn’t eat anything and Jane and I decided to leave the yurt early and make our way slowly back to the touristy area and see if I could purchase a bottle of Coca Cola. Yeah, always Coca Cola for diarrhea.
Near the dock for the boats, I sat and waited while Jane went for the ride. A few men came to sit with me and ask me to eat at their restaurants further down the road. “Er… sorry, I have diarrhea. I cannot eat anything.” Immediately, they asked if I have medicine for it and told me a brand – the same brand as what I had just been given – and promptly sang the jingle. Must be the most popular brand in China for diarrhea.
Hmmm… I was OK once I returned to Urumqi. Good medicine.
URUMQI to KASHGAR, CHINA – 12 June, 2002
Kathy (we met previously in Dunhuang) was issued a bed in our dormitory this morning. We said ‘hello’ but she kept her back to us. Jane, later, tried to chat with her. She did not look up from her diary and answered one-word answers to Jane’s questions. Gosh, she must have thought we ditched her that day in Dunhuang and now, refused to talk to us. Fine, I didn’t care. I was leaving Urumqi today.
I braced myself for the 23-hour ride to Kashgar by stocking up on snacks and cup noodles. Jane would be flying to Kashgar tomorrow. So I would see her tomorrow evening there.
The train to Kashgar was the most luxurious I had been on. OK, this was just my second train ride in China. The announcement over the train kept harping on how one should be civic-minded and not smoke, throw rubbish, spit, etc… in the train cabins.
Hmmm…. I had heard from a fellow traveller that she saw the train attendants duly gathering up rubbish from each compartment and putting them in a plastic bag and tossing it out of the window.
I didn’t know if the attendants would do the same on this train but I wouldn’t be surprised. If one ever did a walking tour of the China railway line…
