Journey to the East

I’ve just returned home from a short get-away trip east to the city of Qingdao, and the beach. I’ll post a more thorough report on the city and my impressions of it (complete with photos) very soon. For now, I just wanted to give a small introduction to Qingdao while it’s still pretty fresh in my head. The city lies on the east end of Shandong province in which Ji’nan is situated. By bullet-train, it’s about three hours away from Ji’nan and makes for a really easy trip between teaching weekends. The city is famous in China for lots of different reasons: its seaside location, its former status as a German concession, its self-proclaimed title as the beer capital of China, its hosting of the sailing events for the 2008 Beijing Olympic Games.  More importantly, it is, for us, the perfect spot to get away to for a while.

Some friends and I decided that this week would be a good chance to get out and away from the scorching heat of summertime Ji’nan. Temperatures have been in the nineties on average for at least a few weeks in a row now, and there’s been a pretty thick haze lately (whether this is induced by heat, or pollution, or both is difficult to say). Getting out to Qingdao to enjoy some sea breeze, and cooler weather made a lot of sense. So, we enjoyed a good two days of taking in all the city had to offer: cooler weather, (comparatively) cleaner air, good seafood, and a chance to relax. After a few days by the sea, I’m feeling a little more rested and happy to have had a respite (no matter how brief) from the heat.

I’ll post pictures and more reflections on Qingdao in the next couple of days. Stay tuned…

So, to wrap up my blogging on the trip to Xinjiang, I thought I would post the best of the rest of my photos from the trip. To enlarge a picture click on it, and click again on the picture in the screen that pops up. Enjoy!

A solitary hawk circles high above the frozen surface at Tian Chi, "Heaven Lake."

One of Xinjiang’s major attractions, aside from it’s diverse and vibrant culture (more on that when we get to the entry about Kashgar), is its raw natural beauty. Especially when compared to China’s east coast, where recent development and thousands of years of agriculture have transformed the land, much of the northwest in this country feels “unspoiled.” And there is true variety in the landscape as well. There are, of course, the deserts for which the region is famous, but there are also many other incredible natural phenomenon to be  seen in Xinjiang: the rolling grasslands of the central Asian steppe, the tall and foreboding forests of Asia’s north (think of Siberia here), and of course the Himalaya Mountains which tower majestically over everything. The land out here, like in all naturally spectacular places, simply appears unreal, too dramatic to be actually there in front of you. Such is the case with 天池 (Tiān Chí, or ”Heaven Lake”) near Urumqi.

Tian Chi is one of Xinjiang’s many “must see” natural attractions. It certainly lives up to it’s name. There have been few occasions when I’ve been absolutely stupified or dumbstruck beyond articulate language by a landscape, but my first glimpse of Tian Chi was certainly one of them. The lake itself is actually rather small (in fact a few of the advertisements I saw for the park had translated it’s name into the rather more diminutive “Heaven Pond” or “Heaven Pool”), but its size does nothing to detract from its beauty or majesty.

Rather, what makes Tian Chi impressive is its background. The lake is located at an already high altitude (4,500+ feet above sea level), and is ringed on all sides by the towering snow-capped peaks of the Bodga Shan mountains, the tallest of which is referred to as “The Peak of God.” The peaks are almost unfathomably tall and extend for miles into the distance behind the lake. Similarly tall are the enormous pine trees that grow densely on the rocky sides of the surrounding hills like giant Christmas trees (Many of them easily exceed 50 feet in height). Against the trees, the peaks, and an incomparably blue sky, Tian Chi does not need to be enormous to be captivating.

The road to Tian Chi is remarkable in and of itself for showing just how quickly and dramatically the landscape can change in Xinjiang. The lake is located a mere hour’s drive east of Urumqi, which is an oasis city on the eastern edge of the Tarim Basin. In the hour between Urumqi and Tian Chi the scenery changes from that of an oasis, into a sandy desert, and finally into the rocky, forested area in the foothills that surround the lake. The area very much reminds me of areas I’ve been to in the western United States (particularly the Black Hills of South Dakota and the Big Horn Mountains in Wyoming), and it was a very bizarre thought to think that only a few miles in the opposite direction, we would be back in the midst of the desert. The road to the park winds past several small communities of Kazakh shepherds who live in colorful, traditional yurts. On the hillsides near these communities sheep somehow manage to scale what looks to be impossibly rocky terrain. It’s all a very breathtaking drive.

Most of the people who go to Tian Chi go to amble around the ground-level path around the lake. While this undoubtably provides for some stunning views, we wanted to do something a little more strenuous. We opted, instead, to climb up to one of the lower-lying hills which surrounds the lake to see what the view looked like from a pagoda we saw perched on the top. We were cautioned by our driver that the steepness of this climb made it difficult, and that we should be careful. Naturally, we were undeterred. After an hour of strenuous climbing, we arrive at the peak and looked out on the entire park. Our reward for our daring was an incredible view.

The hike itself also provided us with some of the most incredible moments of the day. It was on the climb up the steep stairs that we were really able to grasp the remoteness and solitude one can find at Tian Chi. It is truly a place removed from the rest of the world. At the base of the park, the usual vendors have set up shops which vend overpriced nick-nacks, food and water. Of course, they advertised with blaring techno music and provided an obnoxious reminder of just how artificial a natural park can actually be.

At the top of our peak, however, such distractions had completely vanished. Instead, as we hiked we noted a different sonic phenomenon: silence. In this noisy country of car-horns, motors, construction equipment, street-vendors, blaring radio ads, and the constant chatter of other people, true moments of silence are rare and precious. When sounds did punctuate the silence at Tian Chi they were not the alien sounds of machinery or urbanization. Rather, the sounds of the lake were subtle, natural: the screech of a hawk circling it’s prey high in the sky (later we would watch as this same hawk circled slowly right before our eyes, probably not fifty feet away), a slight whistle of breeze as it whips through the tallest pine boughs, and the soft and distant rumble of avalanches in far-off snow-capped peaks. Hearing the last of these sounds was a powerful experience: I don’t believe I have even been so close to such a raw and potentially destructive force of nature. I could hardly even believe what I was hearing, but I heard it all the same, echoing like distant thunder. It was an incredible reminder: no matter how many chintzy stalls or obnoxious vendors show up, or how many stairs are carved into the sides of the hills, it will remain impossible to truly tame the “wildness” of Tian Chi. It is simply too much.

Here are some of the best photos from the trip:

Pictures will simply not do it justice: The view from the start of the trails at Tian Chi, Heaven Lake.

The peaks around Tian Chi are part of the Tian Shan range. The highest peak (seen somewhere here in the background) is known as Bogda Shan ("The Peak of God').

Gazing out at the scenery.

The forests surrounding Tian Chi were all populated by enormously tall pine trees.

We climbed up this hill at the edge of the park. That little pagoda you see is actually quite high up, and is, at times a bit of a steep climb.

Despite the warm air and sunshine, the lake was still frozen solid. Here you can see the cracks starting to appear in the ice.

Closeup of the cracks in the ice.

Sunlight falls through the pines on the trail up to the pagoda.

A view from the trail taken during our ascent.

Nearing the top.

The views of the peaks were absolutely incredible.

Overlooking the lake from the top of the hill.

A window on the world: The view from the pagoda.

Pondering the view.

Prayer flags flutter from the higher spots on the climb.

One of many yurts in the areas surrounding Tian Chi. These tents are the traditional homes of the Kazakh shepherds who live in this area.

Nimble sheep scale the hillsides near Tian Chi.

Tian Chi was a definite highlight of the trip. It’s raw natural power was something that provided a pleasant respite from the highly populated, urban energy of Urumqi. After Tian Chi our journey continued onward to Kashgar. Stay tuned for more posts about that city on the edge of central Asia.

High Lonesome: Life persists in the midst of the Gobi Desert.

Deserts occupy a truly fascinating space in the human imagination. In the unforgiving, barren, and at times alien surroundings of a desert we find something of ourselves. Perhaps this is because in the sheer absence of other living thing, in the midst of sheer exposure to the elements, in the midst of such inhospitable conditions, we are truly able to strip away the distractions which prevent us from honestly considering who we are. It’s almost an archetype throughout human history: one goes into the desert to reflect and seek some sort of deeper reality. Consider the staggering list of people (fictional or otherwise) who have arrived at some point of self-actualization in the course of their itinerant wandering in the dunes: Moses, John the Baptist, Jesus, Mohammed, Zarathustra– the list is extensive. Why are we drawn to these places where life is so scarce? Prior to this past holiday trip, I had never really seen a desert in person. I can’t claim to have any extensive experience now. But, even the slightest exposure sheds light on the issue for me. Simply put, these places are incredible. The vastness, openness, emptiness: it’s all absolutely captivating. I will not pretend to understand the search for truth in the midst of the desert. I will, however, say that I think I can now understand it’s appeal.

One of the truly amazing things about taking the train from Ji’nan to Urumqi is watching the change of landscape. It’s not a subtle or gradual process. Rather, it is a jarring experience. The verdant countryside of East China doesn’t slowly give way to the sandy and expansive west. Or at least it doesn’t when you’re riding in an overnight train. Our first full day of riding the train took us through the familiar landscape of Eastern China: low fields, green with miscellaneous crops, and the occasional rolling hills in the distance. Pastoral, if it can be called that. By the time we were approaching the city of Zhengzhou in Henan Province at around sunset on the first day (roughly 1/4 of the way done) some signs of a change of landscape had slipped in: the soil was turning into the cakey, yellow loess that surrounds Xi’an, the gateway to China’s west. But, as dark fell, my surroundings still felt familiar.

First light the next morning revealed just how different our environs had become while we slept. No more trees. No more farmland. No more rolling hills. We awoke in the midst of a world full of rocky, parched ground and scrub grass. The gentle roll of the hills of East China had been replaced by vast flatness, except in the distance where low, sharp, rocky mountains rose. At the roughly halfway point of the journey, we had entered a completely different world.

The sight that greeted us after waking up on the train: The Gobi Desert.

Wide open space in the Hexi Corridor of Gansu Province.

"Desert Pastoral?": A herd of sheep grazing near the train tracks.

Yes, those are real (and possibly wild?) camels visible from the train window

As far as the eye can see, craters and rock. At times, it really felt like we might have been traveling across the surface of the moon.

Our new surrounding was none other than the legendary Gobi desert.  The change was beyond surprising. Any vestiges of familiarity had been removed from the landscape. It was clear that we were far, far away from home. Our exact location was in the middle of China’s Gansu province, in a place called the Hexi Corridor, a long stretch of open land between the Yellow River and the Tibetan Plateau which was formerly a crucial passage on the Silk Road. Basically, the Corridor is a huge basin dotted with many tiny oases which made it a passable route for traders to haul large quantities of goods from the west (Tibet, India, Persia, and even Greece) into the ancient Chinese capital at Xi’an. Wikipedia has a pretty great description of the landscape:

There are many fertile oases along the path. A strikingly inhospitable environment surrounds them: the vast expanse of the Gobi desert, the snow-capped Qilian Mountains to the south, the Beishan mountainous area, and the Alashan Plateau to the north.

Strikingly inhospitable is right. It’s very difficult to imagine this region sustaining any kind of life. Waking up to the craggy, rocky, barren expanse of the Gobi was a shock. It was also incredibly transfixing. I found myself staring endlessly out the window, soaking up every inch of the alien terrain. I’d never really been in a desert previously, and this was pretty amazing. As we progressed further west, the ground got even more sandy, the scrub grass gradually disappeared, and the mountains began to rise higher. Suddenly, we found ourselves in the midst of completely lifeless flat expanses ringed in by the enormous, towering mountains of the Qilian range (actually, at the time we had no idea what these mountains were called we just knew that they were HUGE). Mountains have always fascinated me (maybe it’s because I grew up near the Appalachian chain? Who knows?), and these peaks– part of the vast and towering network of mountains which form the Himalayas– proved no exception. Like most people in the face of stunning or magnificent natural landscapes, I could only gawk as the train continued to roll on.

As we got further west, the mountains became taller and snowcapped. These peaks are part of the Qilian range.

More snowcapped peaks in Western Gansu province.

Sunrise in the dunes: Morning near Urumqi

The western end of the Gobi: Asia's Painted Desert?

From that morning on, desert scenery was par for the course. This made for some pretty dramatic background scenery while riding the rails. To say the least, our travel periods were not boring. Often, in the midst of these vast expanses of nothingness, I was struck by just how isolated this part of the world is. Clusters of ranch-style houses would sporadically pop up along the landscape, and beside them shepherds tending to large flocks of sheep, or herds of cattle, yaks, or horses. How did these people get here? How did they find their way to this place in the middle of absolutely nowhere? Around the houses were the occasional low lying stone wall, closing in little squares of the desert, and marking them as belonging to one person or another. Passing them, I couldn’t help but wonder: What’s the point? Why put up fences all the way out here?

As we moved farther west, closer to the great spine of the Himalayas, the mountains grew taller and more magnificent. We took in the vistas provided by the Tarim Basin, the Tian Shan and Karakoram ranges. It was an amazing ride. Here’s a look at some of the best photos from the train:

The vies from the Tarim Basin near Kashgar.

In the Taklamakan Desert near Kashgar the desert became much more sandy.

These peaks are either part of the Tian Shan or Karakoram Chain that runs between Urumqi and Kashgar through the Tarim Basin. Either way, they're VERY tall.