Andrew Duff

Western China definitely marches to its own beat.

In the past few days travelling along the ancient Silk Route, it has been impossible to ignore the very Central Asian nature of this region; a ride in the fringes of the Gobi desert, a drinking contest 80m below sea-level, and the melting pot of Urumqi have all kept me on my toes.

Into the Gobi desert

Despite having already “done” the camel thing in Rajasthan, when the chance to spend a night out in the Gobi desert, travelling on double-humped Bactrian camels arose, I jumped at it.

I set off with four others, escorted by the face-scarred Mr Lee, a man who none of us doubted would make Chuck Norris look like a pansy in a fist-fight.

As we all struggled to find the optimal camel-riding position (there isn’t one), Mr Lee started to reveal his feminine side, screeching local songs in an odd little falsetto voice, lending a faintly authentic feel to the ride.

It was a great relief to discover three of my camel-borne companions were Mandarin speakers (2 Americans ex-pats, 1 Russian student) and therefore able to converse with our glorious leader in his mother-tongue. As we watched the sun go down, Mr Lee brewed up some dinner over a camp-fire, explaining that by day he was “daddy’ at home, and by night “mummy” to crazy foreigners. (Given that dinner consisted of instant noodles and dry bread-rolls, we judged that “mummy” was the smart one, and was probably bringing home enough dough for the entire village).

Night came quickly, and with it an incredible celestial array filled the sky. It felt like a great opportunity to sleep out under the stars. I asked Mr Lee if it was safe. The translated answer was wonderfully enigmatic. “No problem as long as you’re not scared of the snakes…”

I lay awake tightly rolled up in my sleeping bag, looking up for hours. The incredible beauty of watching a moving night sky outweighed the consequences of the fitful night’s sleep that followed.

Rule #643: Don’t get into a drinking contest with Uighyurs

My next stop was the town of Turpan. Reputedly the hottest place in China, Turpan is situated in a dust-bowl 80 metres below sea-level with temperatures reaching 49 degrees at times.

As it was too hot to do anything meaningful on the evening I arrived, I decided to stop under the vine trellises in the main street (the local Uighyur people have cultivated pretty good wine for centuries) and have a beer. Within minutes I had been beckoned to another table by 4 young Uighyurs, Central Asian to their wavy brown roots, and keen to surmount the language barrier with alcohol.

The 200ml glasses were small, but as I was forced to down a toast with each of the four, twice, I was soon starting to feel the heat in more ways than one. Nevertheless, I convinced myself that this was as good a way as any to get to know a local culture, and settled in for the long haul as we all became the best of friends in no time.

I thought I had detected early on that there was a whiff of tension in the air with the neighbouring table of similarly inebriated young locals, who looked suspiciously like my boys, possibly cousins. The occasional Uighyur word that was exchanged left me none the wiser, and despite the growing tension, I continued to partake in the toasts. One side of my brain was gently reminding me that discretion was the better part of valour, and suggesting a discreet exit; the other (befuddled) side was unfortunately confusing matters… “… but Andy… what if… sometimes valour is actually the better part of discretion?”

Luckily, I wasn’t given the opportunity to pursue this line of thinking. Both tables had clearly been on the sauce for a while and started (literally) dropping like flies without any valorous deeds required, such that none of us had any choice but to retire with discretion in tact.

I reflected the following morning that I should probably steer clear of getting involved in familial disputes between hard-living Uighyurs. Interesting evening though.

The melting pot of Urumqi

The city of Urumqi is in the Guinness Book of Records as the most remote city from any sea in the world at a distance of about 1,400 miles (2500 km) from the nearest coastline.

Despite this, it (slightly bizarrely) benefits from the status of a “port”, giving it a leg up in the economic race that is China.

It is a strange city, truly a melting pot. Chinese characters contend not only with Uighyur script, but also with Russian script for space in shop signs, a sign of a growing trade access with Russia and the Central Asian republics.

Despite the large-scale Han Chinese migration here in recent years (which has resulted in a city centre with high-rise office-blocks and imitation Western shops lining the streets), the feel of Central Asia in the south of the city is still predominant, with headscarves, beards and the occasional hijab replacing the bland western clothing of the city centre.

From here, I go to Kashgar, as long as my visa extension request (submitted today) is granted. It will be the fulfilment of a 15-year wait – Kashgar is a city that a friend Andy Simpson and I tried to reach in 1994, along the Karakoram Highway from Pakistan. Landslides blocked the road.

As there is deep concern that the old city will not be there for much longer, it seems that now is a good time to visit. Click here for the story

I left Tibet three days ago, and have been in Dunhaung, in Gansu province, for 24 hours. This evening I decided it was time to sample the local cuisine.

Taking my guidebook’s advice, I headed for the Shahzhou covered night market, “the most atmospheric place to eat Dunhuang, where you can sit on deckchairs and drink babao tea”.

I grabbed a deckchair, and opened the menu. The first item stared back at me, uncompromisingly. “STIR UP A SHEEP’S HEAD”. Undeterred, I decided to read on.

The following page was no easier to decipher. “CRAM FOOD INTO ONE’S MOUTH PIT MEAT” was followed by “EXPLODES FRIED (COLD FOOD IN SAUCE) THE ASSES SKIN”, not to be confused with “EXPLODES FRIED THE SHEEP’S INTERNAL ORGANS”.

I skimmed past the “TINTIN OF SPECULATION”, and decided I didn’t fancy “THE PORK PESTERS A BOILED DUMPLING”. Delightful as the next three items sounded – “EGGPLANT BURNS FACE”, “HAIR BLOOD IS FLOURISHING” and “GARLIC FIRED THE BLOOD CLOT” – I didn’t feel any of them would quite hit the spot.

Ignoring the “ELEMENT STIRS THE NAKED CATS VEGETABLE”, I turned back to an earlier page, and selected the least threatening item on the menu, the “YANGBUO INQUISITOR”. Despite the scaly looking skin on the meat, it was surprisingly tasty. Let’s hope it doesn’t make too may inquiries of my digestive system.

These wonderfully off-the-mark translations are representative of a major challenge inherent in traveling in Western China. In a country with an internal market of 1.6 billion and a strong belief in their nation’s destiny, there is little desire or will to kow-tow to foreign tourists and their languages, even English. In India and Nepal, everyone at least understands English. In Tibet we had been cosseted by our English-speaking guides. In mainstream China, it is undoubtedly going to be different. It looks like a dictionary is going to be rather handy.

Terrific Tibetan beauty

My final two days in Tibet earlier this week were spent in Lhasa, the capital. They proved to be insightful, intriguing, and inspiring.

On reaching Lhasa, the excellent male Tibetan guide that had accompanied us from the Nepali border was replaced by a stunning young 20-year-old female Tibetan guide. It would be fair to say that none of the men in our party were immune to the our new guide’s considerable charms. She combined great beauty with an ability to slip easily between history and religious belief, between stories of kings and stories of Bodhisattvas (incarnations of the Buddha).

For Tibetans, there is little distinction between, for instance, the story of the king Songtsten Gampo who unified Tibet in the 7th century, and that of the flying Guru Rinpoche who spread Buddhism across the Himalayan region airborne on a lotus flower. Myth merges with reality in a delightful way.

We were privileged to have her as a guide – there are not many Tibetan guides left, and it is wonderful to see Lhasa with someone who lives this belief system. In one monastery, I overheard another guide (more reflective of the 80% Han Chinese population in Lhasa) quite deliberately point out that “Religious people believe…” and “Traditional Tibetan religion says that…”

We visited the amazing Potala Palace, home of Dalai Lamas through the ages, and the compact Jorkhang temple, a magnet for Tibetan pilgrims, before moving on to two monastic establishments which once rivalled anything in the world for religious devotion. Over 50 years ago, Drepung monastery held 10,000 practising monks while Sera had 7,000. Today they cannot hold more than 500 combined. The sight of huge 15-foot wide vats designed for cooking meals for thousands brings home the changes that have occurred here, as did the strong government presence. Nevertheless, the monasteries – and the Potala and Jorkhang – are fascinating places to visit.

As my 7 days in Tibet came to an end, I reflected on the fascinating experience of entering China through Tibet. The majesty of the landscape, snatched and insightful conversations with the wonderful people, and the sheer force of the ever-present beliefs all made it a hugely enlightening experience. I highly recommend it.

North by Northwest – across the Tibetan plateau by train

While 10 of our party returned south (from Lhasa to Kathmandu by plane), two of us boarded the train North into China from the imposingly monolithic new train station, which connects Tibet to the outside world like never before.

This incredible railway (which passes through a permafrost dotted with yaks and the occasional human) crosses 5000m passes as it wends across the barren plateau. It brings home the scale of investment that China has put into this region. The railway has forever changed the dynamics of Tibet, making the movement of people (in and out of the region) relatively simple. India may have benefited from the remarkable rail infrastructure left by colonial occupation, but with new railways like this, China is catching up – fast.

At 2am, I finally arrived in 3000m-high Golmud, one of the most isolated cities in China. I scurried through the freezing drizzle to my hotel. As sleepy Chinese girl rose from her camp-a-bed to check me in, the language issue hit me square between the eyes as I struggled to explain what I needed. Hmmmm… that dictionary….

I awoke the next morning; looking out of my window at a statue of a flying horse, adorned with the moniker “TOP TOURIST CITY IN CHINA”, against uniform grey skies. (Some places seem destined to be grey, at all times. Cowdenbeath, for instance. Actually I’ve never been to Cowdenbeath, but it strikes me that it might be a good twin for Golmud. Which is grey, grey, grey).

I gave Golmud a day, before deciding to move north by bus to meet the ancient Silk Route at Dunhuang. This decision meant another visit to the local Public Security Bureau, where I was required to get an “Alien Travel Permit” for 50 Yuan (about five pounds). Perversely, if I hadn’t had to purchase this, I would have never have known that the endlessly flat plateau was in fact pretty close to Lop Nur, which my guidebook tells me “happens to be China’s nuclear testing site.”

The bus journey was dominated by a loud static-ridden DVD of Chinese comedian-singers blaring from a small screen above the driver’s head. I still can’t decide if made the journey more or less bearable. It was hard to decide whether to laugh or cry.

Dunhuang (where I am currently) is the stepping off point for the incredible Mogao Caves full of carvings of Buddhas (the largest 35 metres high) and intricate wall paintings, some dating to the 5th century. I happily spent the entire day there today.

Tomorrow night I am venturing into the desert with Mr Lee and a Bactrian camel. Considering Mr Lee’s (very) limited English, I am looking forward to more interesting food choices.

After that I have decided to head west, along the Silk Route to Kashgar.
That’s all for now.

[Still no pictures I am afraid – as reported in The Telegraph
there’s still a ban on Blogger.com in China, so photos are difficult].