End of the Road--August 7

Although there's another week to go (in Vietnam where I am currently) on this round-the-world journey, it somehow seems fitting to close this blog in Xi'an, the eastern end of the great Silk Road. Xi'an is one of the few cities left in China still surrounded by its ancient walls. The train from Dunhuang conveniently stops at the station next to the north gate, where it's a short walk to my hotel. In the old days it was camels laden with goods from the East and West heading to the caravansarai, now it's backpackers picking their way through the touts.

Xi'an is a big, noisy Chinese city. Central Asia definitely lies to the west. I wander through some plastic curtains in one building, and it looks like Harvey Nichols in Knightsbridge (London). One whole floor is devoted to cosmetics. I spin on my heels and get out of there fast, perhaps by fear of seeing how awful I look. What else about Xi'an? Out to see the Terra Cotta Warriors. With 6 million visitors a year, it's a zoo. I can't help but think one good earthquake would knock the whole business over like ten pins. The funniest moment is the farmer who originally discovered the "warriors" back in the 1970s now sits prominently in one of the many gift shops, signing his autograph. He wears a pair of sunglasses that covers half his face. No photos allowed. The other peasants in his village must be so jealous.

An English and a German girl on my bus recognize me from back in Bukhara. We chat like the road hardened warriors we are on what was in Central Asia. Re-entry has already begun.

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Ever wonder what life is like in your own country? In keeping with the traditions of the region, in Pamistan I have already declared myself president for life. However, freedom of thought, ideas, and speech is encouraged. Blogger isn't banned (or the BBC news). Inhabitants are as wonderfully open, unaffected, and hospitable as the Central Asians. Anybody else who wants to come needs a Letter of Invitation and a visa, approved by the president. Good luck.

Jinghis

Architecture is as grand as Samarkand's; houses look like the courtyard houses of Bukhara and are carpeted with rugs from Turkmenistan. The spectacular scenery looks like Kyrgystan. Air conditioning is Chinese. Food is imported. All toilets flush.

I do have a few regulations in Pamistan. They are:

Pedestrians may use a swift kick with their boot into the side of any car that tries to run them down.

Taxi drivers or any merchant or customs official who try to cheat tourists will be taken to the nearest stadium and beaten with sticks.

Employees in service positions do not play Tetris in front of waiting customers.

Gold teeth are banned.

I'll think of some more later...

Thanks so much for your comments and e-mails; they're really appreciated! (Home on 18 August)

Out with the guys

Dunhuang--August 5

In Xinjiang province, the Silk Road splits in two: the southern route less traveled but dotted with the crumbling ruins of ancient "lost" towns. The northern route has its air share of ancient sites as well. The two routes rejoin in the town of Dunhuang before continuing eastward through the Gansu corridor, a narrow valley protected by mountains to the north and south. Through this corridor was the major route that Buddhism reached China from India. Even the culture of ancient Greece and Rome made it out here.

Dunhuang, or rather the Mogao Caves, is one of the great archaeological sites of the world. It is a series of over 700 caves, which hold the largest collection of Buddhist art in the world. Dates are from 366 to about 1227 AD. In its heyday, 100s of Buddhist monks lived here, creating a great center of learning, culture, and worship. Silk Road traders stopped by to pray or give thanks for safe journeys.

In the earliest caves, you can see art heavily influenced by India, with a stronger Chinese appearance through the later dynasties. Visitors today are shown about a dozen caves, and these are rotated to help protect them. Photos are forbidden, so none to post. When I get home, I'll scan some and put them up.

In 1900, a Daoist monk and self-appointed guardian of the caves, Wang Yuanlu, accidently discovered a cave filled with over 50,000 manuscripts and paintings, including the oldest known book in the world--the Diamond Sutra. Not exactly knowing what he had on his hands, he sold off a few items to help pay for the caves' upkeep. Sir Aurel Stein, the Hungarian-born British archaeologist came upon these manuscripts while in Xinjiang, realized that this was something huge, and hightailed it to Dunhuang. He convinced Wang Yuanlu to let him remove about 20,000 manuscripts from the library for protection in exchange for less than 200 British pounds. The French, Japanese, and Russians soon followed, carting off what they could, as well. Chinese officials of the time helped themselves, too, so less than 8,000 manuscripts remain in China. Of course, arguments can be made that much of the Mogao Caves would have been destroyed during the Cultural Revolution.

The story of the "discovery" of the Mogao Caves is every bit as intriguing as Howard Carter's discovery of King Tut's tomb. Great book to read: Foreign Devils on the Silk Road, by Peter Hopkirk, the same author of The Great Game.

I love days like today. There's so much to learn in the world.

Turpan to Dunhuang--August 3

For some reason, travel in China seems much easier than Central Asia. Here, for a price, it's easy to find someone to scrum on your behalf for a train ticket. Turpan has no train station, that's in Daheyan, about 40 miles to the north. I have a small problem of finding a seat since the train originates back in Urumqi. That can be worked out, they say! It's arranged that a "body" will board in Urumqi and take my spot until we can make the change. For about $12, two girls from CITS (China International Travel Service) and a driver take me to Daheyan, usher me through the train station bedlam, and make the passenger swap.

I'm in soft sleeper--a 4-bed compartment, blissfully air-conditioned, and with a sparkling white duvet and pillow laid out. I'm in heaven.

There's only one other passenger in the compartment: a Chinese mining engineer on his way home from a month on the border between China, Kazakhstan, and Mongolia. He barely speaks English, but we manage just the same. He flips open his laptop and shows me gorgeous photos he's taken of glaciers, wild horses running in the shadow of mountains, even a bear. He next clicks on a RealPlayer icon with the title of Bathing Beauties. "Oh boy, here we go," I think to myself, imagining he's got something really perverted he wants to share. No, it's an old Esther Williams and Red Skeleton movie dubbed into Chinese. He loves Esther Williams. I tell him I know her son. He is happy beyond words. So, dim the lights, we now have a laptop cinema going, as our iron-rail Silk Road caravan glides across the desert under the stars.

About 7 am, soft bird chirping coming through the speakers overhead wakes me. This is followed by classical Chinese and Western music--Vivaldi to be exact. By about 9 am, the music intensity begins amping up, followed by Chinese comedy hour at 10--sure to get you out of bed.

We arrive in Dunhuang, and my new Chinese friend accompanies me by taxi to town, makes sure I am happy with my hotel, then runs off to catch his bus for a 14-hour ride to his home. Amazing.

Dunhuang is an easy town to deal with, and I have to say, it's the first time since Italy way back in June, that I've seen store fronts where someone has made the effort to display things attractively, as well as seeing things for sale worthy of a second look. Also, since being in China, buildings, construction, interiors, everything is finished off a 1000 times better than the Caucasus or Central Asia. A pride of workmanship best explains it. Sidewalks aren't treacherous challenges to walk on (in fairness I did sprain an ankle in Italy); wires aren't hanging down inside hotel rooms. Here it seems someone finishes the plasterwork, the painting, the stairways. Weird pipes aren't jutting out where they shouldn't; carpets look washed since installation; window panes and windshields aren't cracked; drapes aren't shabby and hang nicely. I can go on and on and on about it. There's an aesthetic with the little things here I find a welcome relief.

The Turpan Depression--August 1-2

No, not that kind of depression. Turpan is the second lowest spot in the world (the Dead Sea is the first), as well as holding the record for the hottest place in China. This little oasis town lies smack on the northern Silk Road. All of Xinjiang province in China is full of ancient towns, half eroded away, and remains of Buddhist outposts. With limited time, it's a matter and picking and choosing where to go; the region is worth a trip in itself.

From Kashgar to Turpan, it is impossible to take the train. It's packed for days to come. Something about the weather and the track--standing room only for now. Uh, no. Not for 23 hours. I fly to Urumqi--nice new Boeing. From there, it's only 2 1/2 hours on the bus through the desert. It's not too bad; there's A/C, but typical of buses in China, they show martial arts videos--at full audio blast, and there's a speaker above every seat. The woman across from me sleeps the whole way.

Blogger note: I can log on to Blogger and post, but to log on to my site at blogspot.com--well, guess what? It's banned in China!! What is with it in these countries? At least I can post--pictures, too. I can't log on to BBC News either--that must be banned as well.

Anyway, Turpan hosts a variety of fun sites to see.

The Jiaohe Ruins: Thousands of years ago during the Han dynasty, the Chinese established a series of military garrison towns, of which Jiaohe is one of the best preserved.

Tuyoq: Surrounded on three sides by valleys lush with vineyards and at the base of the Flaming Mountains (so called for its color at midday) the tiny village of Tuyoq is typical of traditional Uighur life and architecture. It's also supposed to be a big Muslim pilgrimage site. Only 30 yuan, please.

Jiaohe Ruins

Jiaohe Ruins

Tuyoq

A little cafe at Tuyoq

The desert whizzing by at 70 mph.

Camels out here are the two-humped variety.