Journey to the East

This is a brief update. I returned from my holiday on the Yangtze River this morning VERY early (like 6 AM early) and as such, don’t have it in me to really recap the trip at the moment. It’s been a great several days, and (rest-assured) there will be plenty to come about the last week and a half or so. Stay tuned over the next few days for reflections on Chongqing, Chengdu and the legendary 3 Gorges. For now, I’m going to rest up and get ready for a full week of teaching!

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!

Late afternoon sunlight falls on Kashgar's Old Town.

When I decided to take a holiday in Xinjiang, Kashgar was always the one place in my mind which served as a final destination. As the cultural heart of Xinjiang it is a place that has long captured my imagination. Any trip to the province without going to see Kashgar would seem, in the end, to be somewhat incomplete. Thus, as we set out on the 24 hour train ride from Urumqi to Kashgar, I was incredibly excited. I will say this: the city is worth it. Worth the hype. Worth the distance. Worth the time. Worth the effort. There is, quite simply, no other place in the world quite like it.

Like much of Xinjiang, Kashgar bears the stamp of being a true border town. This is apparent everywhere: in the city’s architecture, religion, food, music, art, culture, daily rhythm, etc.. Kashgar looks and feels much like it neighbor cities, all of which are located in countries ending in “stan.” Where else could you find a place that can boast such strong flavors of  Central Asia (it was used as a stand-in for Kabul when filming the movie version of Khaled Hosseini’s The Kite Runner… and indeed, when you are here, you can almost imagine what it would be like to be in a peacetime Afghanistan) while still remaining within territorial China? This city is a world unto itself.

There is a certain romanticism hanging around Kashgar, especially in the Old Town, which surrounds the famous Id Kah Mosque, the city’s beating heart. Here the sense of community among Kashgar’s majority Uighur inhabitants feels very strong. There is a liveliness and a vibrancy reflected in the local culture absent just eastward in Urumqi. This catches a visitor up in the swirling atmosphere of a place that seems truly magical when first viewed with fresh eyes. Certain aspects of this romanticism strike you immediately.

The smell: the heavy odors of sewage, pollution, garbage, etc. that one finds in Ji’nan are almost entirely absent here. Instead, Kashgar is a place of much more delicate aromas: baking bread from the naan ovens all over the old town, charcoal and grilled meat, dried fruits and nuts, flowery tea, fresh-sliced melon, fresh market produce and the heavy smell of spices like cinnamon, cardamom, cumin, chillies, coriander and anise.

The sights are magnificent too. For instance, the architecture: graceful and delicate carved archways and woodwork that is almost Arabesque, slender twin spires of minarets which rise slightly above the slanting old rooftops rooftops, rounded domes of mosques (often times in Kashgar’s Old Town, one finds themselves lost and wandering amongst the buildings only to look up and see the crescent moon on the spire of a minaret and realize that you have stumbled on a small mosque), seemingly ageless oven fired brick homes the color of mud, wooden carvings on doors whose patterns almost match the complexity of the woven designs on the brightly colored carpets sold on the streets, brightly painted second floor balconies of teahouses.

Even such magnificent sights get lost amidst those that are happening in the streets, which are filled with a constant level of buzz. In the Old Town one often finds men pulling donkey carts. There are  barrage of people on scooters zipping down the narrow alleyways. Most of the things sold on the street (from ornate tea kettles and ceremonial knives to homemade ice cream and kebabs) are also produced there in the street as well. Thus, much of the Old Town’s industry is on immediate display. In front of music stores, men sit playing their instruments. The streets are crowded as food vendors push carts full of brightly colored fruit, green produce, baked bread or other sundries. Walking in the streets, one encounters women in brightly colored headscarves, men with long beards and traditional prayer hats, and children at play. You catch the gleam of copper from newly made pots and pans hanging in storefronts, or the absolutely brilliant array of color coming from a rug imported from Pakistan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, or even Iran.

The center of all of the action is the Id Kah Mosque, a spectacular building right in the center of the Old Town. The structure is built in the Arabic style and painted a beautiful and bright yellow with bright tiled flourishes. Every afternoon the square in front of the mosque is crowded. Merchants set up stalls along the side hoping to sell prayer hats, prayer beads, copies of the Qur’an, tailored shirts, guidebooks, maps, water and myriad other items to would be pilgrims and worshippers as they pass. At 5pm you can hear (as you can all over the city) the afternoon call to prayer, and the proclamation “Allahu Ackbar” (or “God is Great” in Arabic). Venture inside the mosque, and you’ll find it surprisingly verdant. The grounds in between the front entrance and the main prayer hall are filled with trees. I remember a lesson from my Intro to Classic Islam course at Davidson in which my professor explained that in Islam, all things in their natural state are believed to be submissive to Allah. He pointed out that this had an incredibly natural connotation: life, when in a purely harmonious state, is completely in line with the will of God. At the center of the mosque in Kashgar, with ample shade and calm, this idea feels almost tangible. The lushness of the interior, and its general removal from the hustle and bustle of the streets make this a particularly quiet and peaceful sanctuary. I can only imagine that those who come here seeking something of the divine must surely be able to find part of it. Around the mosque, much of the city turns. At night, people gather in the square in front of the Id Kah Mosque and it remains a lively and buzzing place. Want to see the heart of Kasghar? This is the place to do it.

Part of the charm of the Old City lies in its authenticity. Unlike the “Ancient City” model of development and tourism being put in to place in other cities in Eastern China (in which the core of an old city is preserved and filled with tacky souvenir shops and cafes aimed at tour groups, particularly foreigners), Kashgar’s Old Town is not set up for the benefit of tourists. There’s not the element of show or spectacle in the Old City here. Or at least not yet. By contrast, Kashgar is local. There is an incredibly strong sense of community in the Old Town, where the population is still predominantly Uighur (a Turkic minority community in China’s northwest, which is the majority population for Xinjiang and find the center of their traditional heartland in Kashgar). Everywhere one sees examples of how much the Old Town feels small-scale, and close knit. The men who gather at local ice-cream stands to sit in the shade, eat ice-cream, talk and watch the frenzied pace of Kashgar’s streets pass by them every afternoon are regulars and old friends.  All of Kashgar’s merchants are Uighurs, locals, and have often worked in their trade for several generations (one of the largest rug dealers in Kasghar is a father-son operation which has been in business for nearly 40 years). The expertise of these merchants is real, and their goods are authentic, unlike the tacky souvenir swag sold in other places. But the good are not meant for tourist consumption (or at least not all of them). The copper pots being made in storefronts, the fresh produce in the streets, the sliced melon and fresh baked naan are mostly consumed by the people who live and work in Kashgar.

We were fortunate enough in our time in Kashgar to feel the warmth of that community personally. As guests we were made to feel very welcome in most of the places we went in the Old Town. Once in wandering the streets, my friend Chris and I heard live music coming from a short distance away. After following our ears, we came to apartment block where the music was streaming out. Naturally, we were invited inside by one of the residents to find a four piece Uighur music ensemble. The player were all very insistent that we join them, sit with them, listen to them, and drink tea with them, and their children who were gathered on a rug playing and eating a picnic dinner. We stayed for maybe ten minutes, thanked them profusely, and quickly left, feeling like we had just experience a completely singular cultural experience. Similarly, one afternoon, on we decided to take in the streets of Kashgar from the upper floor balcony of one of Kashgar’s teahouses (because liquor is strictly prohibited at most establishments due to Islamic standards, much of the dining culture here centers around drinking tea). Upon our arrival we were greeted by a local man and his son, who had come to drink tea and enjoy a sunny afternoon. Upon seeing that we had purchased a Uighur-to-English phrasebook, our new friend took a good deal of interest in us, and asked us to sit and chat with him. Of course, we were asked to eat naan and drink tea as well, and the encounter turned into a very friendly conversation about life and customs in Kashgar. Further chat (in a combination of broken English, broken Uighur and broken Chinese) revealed that this man was a local Imam, and of some standing in the community. Again, we felt incredibly fortunate that a man of such local importance had reached out to us, a group of foreign strangers.

In this way, Kasghar feels different from Urumqi. If our presence in Urumqi’s neighborhoods was at first greeted with suspicion, in Kashgar we were met with openness. If looks we received in Urumqi suggested “What are you doing here?” in Kashgar, they suggested “Welcome friend! Have a seat!” The openness of the people and the culture in this town make it an easy place to feel at ease. While much of the “tourism” here may revolve around such simple activities as taking a walk and watching people work, it is easy to feel completely enthralled with such activity, and to feel that in doing so, you’re seeing something very real and very special.

Sadly, however that community is feeling the effects of development as well. While the core of the Old Town is well preserved, “modernization” is creeping in from the periphery. On the outskirts, Kashgar is evolving into a city of glittering multi-story shopping complexes and towering apartment blocs. It is in no way as close as Urumqi to losing that core of its true identity (and in some cases never will, as the Old City will inevitably be kept alive for the sake of tourism), but you can’t help feeling, as you walk in the streets in Kashgar, that what you see today may well be gone tomorrow. It’s yet another tale in the already thick anthology of communities which struggle between development and tradition. The city is a cultural wonder. I only hope it’s able to stick around.

As always, there are more photos from Kashgar than I know what to do with. Here are many of the best shots. Enjoy!

Welcome to Kashgar: A scene from the heart of the Old Town.

Streetside vendors like these ones selling fresh samsa (meat filled, baked dumplings) make Kashgar's Old Town an incredibly vibrant and interesting place.

Traditional multi-story architecture in Kashgar's Old City.

A major crossroads in the Old City.

Naan in Kashgar: The smell of baking bread was prominent in many areas of the Old City.

Traditional Uighur musical instruments for sale.

These presses are used for making the elaborate designs on naan. Even beyond being functional, they're actually quite colorful, and cool to look at.

Fresh, locally-grown watermelon, ready to be sliced (also, check out the size of that knife).

Uighur prayer hats for sale near the Id Kah Mosque.

A very tall minaret near the central square in the Old Town.

Dried fruit and almonds on sale at an open air market near the Id Kah mosque in Kashgar.

Traditional architecture in Kashgar's Old Town.

A typical sight in the streets in Kashgar: a donkey cart.

Kashgar's Id Kah Mosque: The spiritual and cultural heart of the city.

Locals gather outside the mosque before the 5PM call to prayer.

Seen from afar: the minarets of the Id Kah Mosque rise above the tree line.

Minaret at the Id Kah Mosque.

A shot from the interior of the mosque: These are the gates before the main prayer hall.

Inside the mosque everything seemed incredibly green and verdant.

Cooking up a local specialty: lamb kebabs.

Locals gather on the second story balcony of a teahouse to take in amazing views of Kashgar.

One of the very friendly locals we met at the teahouse was an Imam and his son.

A typical morning activity in Kashgar: Making naan.

Preparing the meat for lamb kebabs.

Kashgar city skyline.

An alleyway in the heart of Old Kashgar.

As seen in a Kashgar alleyway.

Late afternoon in Kashgar's Old Town.

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.

Welcome to Urumqi

First on our tour of Xinjiang was the bustling provincial capital city of Urumqi. I’m probably not going to be able to say exactly what I want about Urumqi… its a complex place. In many senses, it is growing and bustling like its counterpart Chinese cities on the east coast. In another, completely different sense, Urumqi is infused with a strong flavor of central Asia. That much becomes apparent as soon as you arrive and see the multiplicity of culture which abounds in every place. The hallmarks of cultural fusion are everywhere: Street signs in both Chinese and Uighur (the language of Xinjiang’s local minority people), Arabian-style mosques standing next to very traditional Chinese-style buildings, the broad array of cuisine from local favorites to traditional eastern Chinese staples, the dizzying number of people from such incredibly different places (Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Pakistan, Kirgystan, Mongolia, Russia, Tajikistan, Eastern China, etc.) who are out walking on the streets. The web of multiculturalism, when layered over Urumqi’s ancient history and recent surge in economic development, make it a place with a complex and fascinating identity… one which is hard to adequately summarize or describe.

Like many of Xinjiang’s cities, Urumqi has a pretty long history as an oasis town in the middle of the desert, making it a pivotal stop on the ancient Silk Road. However, the city has a tendency to be historically overshadowed by it’s western neighbor, Kashgar, which has long been the center of local Uighur culture, a major nexus of cultural exchange, and a strategically important city located on the edge of mountain passes. This is not to say that Urumqi should play second fiddle: it’s got a vibrant and cosmopolitan feel of it’s own these days. It is to say, however, that we knew fairly little about it when we arrived. We knew it was a big city, but what was there to do there? No clue. In a sense our time in Urumqi became very flexible. Some cities are like paint-by-number portraits: you know that there are certain things you’ll have to see when you stay there. Urumqi is more like a choose-your-own-adventure novel.

The attractions in this city aren’t so much buildings as they are neighborhoods. Whereas in other cities in China, tourism revolves around touring specific temples, mountains, nature preserves, or other areas of cultural or historical significance, Urumqi’s appeal comes in visiting whole areas to get a feel for it’s cultural uniqueness. There are no huge temples to tour in Urumqi. While there are plenty of mosques (Xinjiang’s majority religion is Islam), these are not frequently open for public visitation, and rather must be seen from the outside. To see the real attractions in Urumqi, one must head out the Uighur neighborhoods in the center of town. There, you can experience a bit of what has always made this area famous, trade.

Yes, the place to go in Urumqi is the Grand Bazaar, a network of outdoor markets and street vendors in Urumqi’s Uighur neighborhoods. Starting out in the midst of markets for fresh produce, baked goods, meat, and handicraft gives you an idea of how important market culture has always been in Xinjiang. Here you see a fairly real slice of Urumqi that is as it has been for a LONG time. While the outer parts of the city are being modernized at a fairly alarming rate, Urumqi’s Uighur neighborhoods still display a good deal of the kind of bazaar-culture that has driven the economy of this region for millennia.

The sights, sounds and smells of the bazaar are pretty cool: roasted meat, fresh baked bread, freshly sliced melons, spices, towering Arabic-style domes, the shouts of vendors, the insistent honk of car horns, women in headscarves and men in prayer hats. It’s an absolute attack on the senses. From these areas, its easy to wander off down any number of other, smaller streets. We spent most of the afternoon on our first day there winding our way down these backalleys, following the spires of minarets toward what we though would be interesting buildings. Inevitably, we found ourselves amidst the real neighborhoods of Urumqi, away from the bazaar. Here, I think we witnessed a very real culture. Children played in the streets, people gathered in front of mosques before prayer. This wasn’t a show. This was Urumqi without any tourist pretense.

Ending up in these neighborhoods wasn’t an entirely comfortable experience. They were for the most part, fairly poor. We were received with some pretty strange looks. There has been some recent tension in this city (I won’t recount the history of that particular incident here) and there is still a sense of unease that lingers over areas like this. The curiosity about our presence there was less hostile and more confused: Why would tourists want to come and see this part of the city? What was there to see? In the end, though, when we were able to engage these people in whatever limited conversation we could, the barriers were lowered slightly, and people were generally warm towards us. If there is suspicion in Urumqi, it melts away after a little bit of communication.

After a full day of wandering through it’s streets, I still don’t think that I can pretend to understand all of the undercurrents which are running through the city. However, I am a little closer to feeling what lies at its heart. While Urumqi, on it’s face, may be a very complicated place to navigate, it is one that I think is worth getting to know and understand.

In any case, here’s a glimpse of Urumqi in photos. More updates will come soon.

Urumqi's buzzing cultural heart: The Er Dao Qiao Bazaar.

The view at the center of Urumqi's lively Bazaar district.

Multi-lingual street signs in Xinjiang: The language written with Arabic script is Uighur.

Fresh watermelon for sale in Urumqi's Bazaar.

Freshly baked naan: the flatbread which is the staple food in Xinjiang.

Mosque domes peek out from down an alley in Urumqi.

Roast Chicken, anyone?

Melons are a local specialty in Xinjiang, and can be found in abundance just about everywhere.

Vendors with carts line the streets in Urumqi.

A mosque in the Er Dao Qiao Bazaar in Urumqi.

Unlike their counterparts in Eastern China, most of the mosques in Xinjiang, like this one, are built in a Middle Eastern architectural style.

Women's fashions on display in Urumqi.

... and in menswear: all the hottest styles from Pakistan (not kidding).

A typical storefront in Urumqi.

An ornate gate in front of a mosque in Urumqi.

A common sight in Urumqi's Uighur neighborhoods: minarets.

Inside of the Grand International Bazaar in Urumqi.

Dried fruit, another local specialty, is certainly available in Urumqi's Grand Bazaar.

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.

Time to shake the dust off the blog again, I suppose. I got back from “Spring Break ‘10: Wild West China Edition,” last night VERY late. Unfortunately I was unable to update in real time during my trip like I hoped that I would be able to. So, as a result, all of my posts about my recent adventure will be retrospective… Luckily, I have plenty of stories and pictures to post and it’ll be a good read, I hope. In all it was a really exciting trip, and I can’t wait to share it with all of you… except that I have to. Just through the weekend. My return to Ji’nan means a return to classes and so I’ve got to get through a full weekend of teaching before I can really get down to sharing tales of far-flung adventures and epic train rides. So, just sit tight. Hopefully, by the time that Monday rolls around I’ll have some new stuff up. Until then, stay tuned…

As promised, here’s the photo re-cap of my recent trip to Beijing.

One of the best parts of this trip to Beijing was getting to explore new places within the city, places that I’d never been to before. One of the first was Yonghegong Lama Temple, one of the most renowned Buddhist temples in China. It was built in the 1600’s to honor the visit of a very important Lama to the Emperor of the Qing Dynasty, who was a devout follower. It’s a pretty colorful place, and it boasts lots of significant items, like the Emperor’s ceremonial robes, and the world’s tallest wooden carving of the Buddha made entirely from one tree (couldn’t take pictures of this, sadly). Because of its history and prominent location in the heart of the capital city, this temple draws LOTS of pilgrims. During our trip it was especially packed, as people who were looking to make a visit to this holy place at the start of a new year. Here’s a look:

A tower at the entrance to Yonghegong Temple in the heart of Beijing.

Prayer flags at Yonghegong Temple.

Spinning one of the temple's many prayer wheels.

Prayer wheel in mid-spin.

Pilgrims flock to this temple. The place was especially crowded on our visit, as it was during New Year festivities.

Prayer flags at Yonghegong Temple.

The signs at the temple are written in three languages (From the left to the right): Manchu, Tibetan and Chinese.

For me, a highlight of this trip was getting to see Beijing’s old city walls. They’re mostly gone now, due to being demolished in the ’50s and ’60s to make way for modern highways. What remains, however, is fantastic. The walls are crumbling, but something about the fact that they are in ruins lends an air of authenticity to them. Much like the acropolis of Athens or the Colosseum in Rome, the fact that the walls have been left in their disarray makes them feel much older, much more real. A restored gatehouse sits at the end, and gives you a good sense of just how magnificent the walls must have once been.

The entrance to the very small park which is devoted to preserving the old city walls.

Some views of the ruins:

Gazing up at the heights to admire the wall.

The restored gatehouse at the very end of the park.

The stairs up to the top of the wall.

The view from the top of the old wall.

Though in the midst of a hot day in June or July you’d never know it, Beijing is very much a northern city. While it may not get as cold as Haerbin or the extreme northeastern part of China, winter in Beijing is chilly to say the least. As a result, Beijing is a city where people know what to do with cold weather, and how to have fun when temperatures drop. No place is this more apparent than around the center of town, where the lakes that draw strollers and pleasure boaters in the summer are FROZEN SOLID in the winter months. What do you do with a large, solidly frozen lake? Improvised ice-skating. Such was the case at Hou Hai lake (后海) during our visit. Here’s what our venture out onto the ice looked like:

The residents of Beijing flock to the ice at Hou Hai.

Cautiously, my friend Dave takes to the ice.

Standing on the ice at Hou Hai.

I think that the look on my face says everything you need to know about how eager I was to be out on the ice, and how confident I was to be out in the middle of it when we first stepped out. After about 30 seconds it became totally apparent that we were completely safe- the ice was well over a foot thick.

This woman was offering to tow people around on the ice in a psuedo-sled ride arrangement for a small fee.

Improvised sledding: A chair and a pair of ski poles.

During the summertime, this is a boat dock.

Out of place: Frozen boats on Hou Hai

The Drum Tower in Old Beijing as seen from Hou Hai, at night.

This trip to Beijing was my third. Like all major cultural centers, Beijing is a place that holds far too much to be seen in one trip. In fact, you can go to Beijing multiple times, and still not even hit all of the major tourists sites, let alone the smaller attractions. For instance: I’d really never been able to thoroughly explore the large lakes in the center of town. Bei Hai Park (北海) is located at the center of Beijing. It used to be part of the vast Imperial complex during former days, and served (as I understand it) as one of the Emperor’s many pleasure gardens. It’s renowned for the very surreal White Dagoba, a Buddhist stupa planted on an island in the center. It’s also home to a very odd network of caves, previously used as sacred grottoes for local monks. If nothing else, it’s a pleasant place for a walk, even when it’s freezing cold.

The Jade Islet in the middle of Bei Hai, home to the strange White Dagoba.

The White Dagoba: A close up.

Peeking out on Bei Hai from the top of the Jade Islet.

Like its neighbor, Hou Hai, Bei Hai was completely frozen.

Scenic spot: A restaurant at the edge of the Jade Islet.

In search of some seclusion: Bei Hai offers some peace and quiet at the heart of Beijing.

Down under: exploring the caves at Bei Hai.

These guys were kinda creepy when we first happened upon them in the Bei Hai caves.

One of the most interesting (and rapidly dissapearing) parts of Beijing is its core of old neighborhoods (called 胡同, hútòng). These low lying buildings, tucked away down winding and narrow alleyways and cobblestone paths provide a glimpse of a much older time. Exploring here is fun, and worthwhile, even though these old neighborhoods have largely been converted into souvenir shops, coffee houses, bars and restaurants. Sometimes while exploring a hútòng, you’ll happen upon a slice of authentic Old Beijing… a really rewarding experience.

A typical house in a Beijing hútòng.

The Drum tower, in the middle of the maze of hútòng in Old Beijing.

Rooftops, Old Beijing.

The REAL Beijing? A typical hútòng alleyway.

As seen in Old Beijing: Peking Roast Duck, an enduring symbol of the city.

More updates will come later… including, at long last, a photo recap of my journeys to Nanjing and Hangzhou in January.

I thought I’d give a brief update about my trip from the last few days. Spring Festival can be a hectic time to travel, and train tickets are occasionally hard to come by. My plans had been to get out to Haerbin (in the very north of China) during the break. The northeast of China, much like the northeast United States, has a really large and concentrated population, and when they all attempt to buy return tickets to their individual hometowns tickets become nearly impossible to get. Such was the case with my attempt to get to Haerbin. Instead, as you’ve no doubt seen from the pictures posted here, I stayed here in Ji’nan for most of my break, but not without a brief interruption/vacation to Beijing.

Going to Beijing is nice because it’s relatively close and inexpensive to get to from Ji’nan. There’s also a lot to see and do there, so on any given trip you can go and have a new experience. That’s what this trip was all about: seeing new things. I went with another friend who had tried to get to Haerbin and ended up in the same boat that I did. He’s made multiple trips up to the big city as well, and between us we’d seen most of the “must see” tourist sites: the Great Wall, the Forbidden City, the Summer Palace, the Olympic Stadium, the Temple of Heaven, etc. This time, we thought we’d see something new.

Beijing is a city with an obviously long history, as all of the buildings which speak of its imperial past will attest to. Many of its best historical sites, however, are as grand and large scale as the Forbidden City. These small landmarks are much more subtle and are easily lost in the shadow of the city’s central axis. Take for instance the old city walls built in the Ming Dynasty. They’re practically in ruins now after being mostly torn down in the 1960s, but what’s left of them is truly amazing. They’re enormous, and in an age before skyscrapers and high rises the guard towers must have seemed incredibly intimidating. The entire center of the city was ringed by the wall, and each gatehouse had an accompanying temple or shrine alongside it. Supposedly, had it stayed intact, it would have formed the longest ring of ancient wall in the country (longer than even Xi’an, whose walls are similarly amazing and are left almost entirely whole).

There’s not too much left of the walls now: most of what remains is contained within a small park on the south end of the central part of the city. The park is devoted to the preservation of the wall, and its history. When we arrived at the park near what used to be Chongwen Gate, known primarily for its beautiful gatehouse temple to the God of Literature (or at least I think that’s what the  sign said…) we walked alongside the ruins, and scaled a still intact/partially restored section with a gatehouse. The inside had been converted into an art gallery, yet another instance of China learning to fuse ancient and contemporary culture together and preserve its heritage while moving forward as well.

Another highlight of the trip was getting to see Beijing in the winter. Most of my previous experience with the city had come during the month of June (with another brief foray in December). Thus, I saw much of the city during the warmest part of the year. Seeing the city in the cold is another story entirely. Take for instance the lakes near the center of Beijing, which were once pleasure gardens used by the Emperor in the nearby Forbidden City. In summer, the parks at Hou Hai are a good place to go for a drink by the lake. There are lots of cafes and bars which ring this large lake in the middle of Beijing’s hutong system, and when it’s warm outside dining or drinking there is a pleasant experience. In February, Hou Hai could not be any more different. Both it, and its neighbor Bei Hai Park (which also features a large lake), were frozen solid (and I mean solid… the ice was well over a foot thick). In the summer, Hou Hai is a place for riding around in paddle boats. In the winter, Hou Hai becomes an impromptu ice-rink as residents of Beijing poured out onto the ice. For some, venturing out into the middle of Hou Hai seemed to a be practical matter: crossing the ice on the lake was faster than going around it. However lots of people seemed to be out for just having a good time. Many residents were sliding by using ski poles to push deck chairs, mothers and fathers pulled their children on improvised sleds of all sorts, and some merely glided around on their own two feet, no need for ice skates. It was great fun. We, of course, could not resist jumping out onto the ice ourselves and joining in.

Experiences like these made returning to Beijing an entirely new and exciting experience. There’s plenty more to say about it, and more will come (including pictures later). Meanwhile, back in Ji’nan, New Year related celebration continues. Tonight there were, again, fireworks all over the city. I’m told that this will continue on until Lantern Festival, somewhere around the 1st of March. Expect more pictures from Spring Festival in Ji’nan (as well as updates from Nanjing and Hangzhou which still need to be posted) to come soon (maybe after classes this weekend… cross your fingers). Until then, stay tuned!