East is West

TURFAN on China’s Silk Road

May 1982

The great nothingness of the Xinjiang Desert on the way to Turfan.

As our Japanese-built van bounced along at 85 kilometers (50 miles) per hour across China’s Xinjiang Desert, a member of the group exclaimed, “I’ve never seen so much nothing in my life. There’s no color anywhere!” True, eyes strained to find color, any color, but there was nothing at all. Just monotonous gray all the way to the horizon. Even the horizon was difficult to find. Outside our air-conditioned van, the temperature was 35C (95F), a cool day. In summer the temperature can rise to 73C (165F), which is so hot that when it rains, the water never reaches the ground; it evaporates in mid-air. It is so hot that there is a mountain range called the Flaming Mountains, because they actually glow like hot coals in a fire. Prior to my trip, I had read an article about this area entitled “I’m Burning Up!” Never was a title more accurate.

Our party of four were world travelers. All of us had been to China several times and one had visited 109 countries, yet we all were awed at this vast nothingness, whose very desolation was terrifying. Unlike the deserts of the United States’ Southwest, neither cactus nor sagebrush can survive in the Xinjiang Desert. That morning, as we set out across the desert, we had seen herds of camels – the only animals we would see for hours – grazing on the outskirts of Urumqi, and we could easily picture a caravan making its way across the burning wasteland, like something out of a movie.

It didn’t take much imagination to envisage the difficulties of those who traveled the Silk Road 2,100 years ago, when Emperor Wu Di of the Han Dynasty sent Zhang Qian to explore as far as present-day Afghanistan and Central Asia. For centuries, officials, emissaries, and merchants traveled this route of nearly 12,872 kilometers (8,000 miles). As our van followed in their footsteps, the exclamations continued: “Nothing, just nothing! Burning dust and nothing else.”

At last, Dr. Watrous, an American anthropologist traveling with our group, declared, “There’s something!” Off in the distance, on the horizon, we could just barely see our destination, the oasis of Turfan (or Turpan).

* * * * * * * * * * *

This adventure had begun several months earlier in Osaka, where I was living at the time. I had made nineteen trips to China in five years, but had never actually made it to the Silk Road, so one day I placed a phone call to China International Travel Service (CITS) and arranged the trip over Japan’s “Golden Week” holidays beginning at the end of April.

Since we had no idea what to expect, our imaginations ran wild as we discussed what to bring. I packed a sweater and ski jacket in case of snow and cold, while Inga, a Canadian teaching English in Osaka for the Panasonic Company, packed a swimsuit. Brian Taylor, an American with the Vicks Company, brought a bottle of Canadian Club, which he figured would serve in any contingency.

We flew to Urumqi via Shanghai, where we spent the night. The hotel assured us it would be cold in Urumqi, as the spring snow was just melting. So much for Inga’s swimsuit!

An air of excitement prevailed as we left for the airport anticipating our five-hour flight to Urumqi. Dressed in my long-sleeved wool sport shirt, sweater, and ski jacket, I was ready for the cold, early May weather. Clouds cheated us of a preview until minutes out of Urumqi, when it suddenly cleared and we saw a magnificent panorama of 5,032-meter (16,500-foot) towering, snow-capped peaks just like the Swiss Alps! As the plane circled in, we saw the city of Urumqi, located on a barren steppe at the foot of the mountains. The sunny 26C (80F) temperature assured us we would need neither sweaters nor ski jackets just yet. Our guide, Mr. Li, greeted us warmly in excellent English, flashing a smile we were to enjoy throughout our stay in the Urumqi area.

Those not familiar with China might think that all Chinese have similar features, but as we drove to our hotel across this city of one million inhabitants, it took only a few minutes to realize that this was far from the truth. With close to twenty-five percent of the world’s population, China has fifty-four nationalities, though the Han represent approximately ninety-four percent. Urumqi claims thirteen minority nationalities, making it a melting pot of peoples. These minority groups, most of whom are Muslim, comprise seventy-five percent of the local population.

Local dress was quite different from what we’d seen in Beijing and Shanghai, where the fashion at that time was pretty much limited to loose-fitting trousers and a Mao-type jacket in basic blue and green, for both men and women. From our van window in Urumqi, we saw a different China. Many women wore their hair braided and twisted across the back and top of the head, which was covered with a colorful scarf of sheer material, often decorated with sequins. They wore pierced gold or silver earrings, and a skirt over slacks, with a fashionable blazer-type jacket.

The faces of many people reminded us of those we’d seen in the Middle East or in the Caucasus area of Georgian Russia. The men, and even male children, wore a squarish, colorful hat that we were later to learn indicated which minority group they belonged to.

The traffic scene was dominated by horses and donkeys pulling two-wheeled carts, tractors pulling farm wagons and, of course, buses. Since there were relatively few private cars in China at the time, the few cars we saw were taxis for tourists. As in the rest of China, the major form of personal transportation in Urumqi was the bicycle.

We arrived at our two-story, motel-like hotel and found we were four of a total of eight guests! We were greeted at the door with cool face towels, which the staff handed to us each time we returned to the hotel. Since it was nearly 4:00 pm, we barely had time to tour a carpet factory – carpet-making being one of the major industries of this area, along with agriculture and mineral and petroleum exploration..

Though Urumqi was a five-hour flight west of Shanghai, China Standard Time remains the same all across the country. People simply adjust their working and dining hours. Fortunately, “watch-time” was only about two hours ahead of “sun time,” so it took us no more than a day to adjust.

The following morning we left early, passed the herds of camels on the city outskirts, and entered the vast nothingness of the Xinjiang desert. Specifically, we were crossing the Turfan Basin which, at 154 meters (464 feet) below sea level, is the second-lowest point on earth after the Dead Sea. Shortly after noon, four hours out of Urumqi, Dr. Watrous spotted our destination: the ancient city of Turfan, population 175,000, which dates back to the second century B.C. As we entered the city, I had the impression that little had changed in hundreds of years.

Our tour began at the edge of the oasis, where we inspected aqueducts that bring water from underground natural reservoirs to the farms. These reservoirs are filled with runoff from the distant Bogda Mountains and, strangely, hold vast amounts of subterranean water beneath the inhospitable, burning desert. Due to the natural incline of the land, water travels easily through the aqueducts, called kares, from a distance of 3 to 10 kilometers (2 to 7 miles), though the longest aqueduct extends 48 kilometers (30 miles). Some of these aqueducts were constructed over 2,000 years ago. Thanks to this precious supply of water, the oasis produces dates, grapes, melons, cotton, and wheat in abundance.

Almost every street of the city had, running alongside it, a small canal about 60 centimeters (2 feet) wide and 45 centimeters (1.5 feet) deep, carrying fresh water throughout the oasis.

As we drove out to the ruins of Jiaohe, we saw children everywhere along the streets. Such dusty children you’ve never seen! Not dirty, but simply covered from head to foot by the same yellow, powdery dust that was filling our van and coating us too. No disposable diapers here, we noticed, just a convenient slit in the pants of the one- or two-year-old children. We laughed to see their bare little bottoms sticking out!

Built in the second century B.C. and abandoned for unknown reasons in the fourteenth century, Jiaohe was a strategic point on the ancient Silk Road. Constructed atop a natural, flat-topped hill between two small rivers, it was protected by the cliff-like drop on all sides to the rivers below. We climbed atop one of the higher walls that was still standing so we could get a panoramic view of the ruins and try to visualize how the city had once looked. The soil was yellow clay, and the houses were dug partly down into the clay base. All the walls were constructed of clay bricks. Jiaohe was mentioned repeatedly by poets of the Tang Dynasty. One oft-quoted line is: “At sunset, water the horse by the Jiaohe River.”

Later, en route to the Imen Pagoda at the edge of Turfan, the guide shouted, “Look, a wedding party!” There, in front of a mosque facing the narrow, dusty road, was parked a truck with about forty wedding guests standing on the flat bed, while in front of the mosque stood the bride and her mother. We stopped and hopped out to ask permission to photograph the bride, who wore a tightly crocheted veil to hide her face for this Muslim wedding. I had my Polaroid and was pleasantly surprised when she not only agreed to be photographed, but even pulled back the veil so we could see her face! Since there were very few private cars in China at that time, the communes – groups of families sometimes numbering in the tens of thousands – owned trucks, and these trucks were used as a kind of community bus service. Today the truck was being used to transport the bride and her guests to her husband’s home.

The truck left in a huge cloud of dust and we heard music coming from the courtyard of a home behind the mosque. We soon found ourselves wandering into the party, which was in full swing, even though the bride and a number of guests had already departed. The lively music came from a drum and a strange-looking wooden horn about a foot long, which sounded rather like a flute. The young men and women were creating a storm of dust as they danced energetically, quite uninhibited by our presence. In fact, they invited us to join in, but it had been a long day; that, and the heat and dust, convinced us it was time to move on. The following day we saw another truck just ahead of our van, and as we pulled out to pass it, we could hear the beat and melody of the instruments. Ahead was another truck filled with guests. “Wow, a two-truck wedding!” exclaimed a member of our group.

Returning to our hotel in Turfan, we washed the dust out of our mouths with ice-cold beer. Over dinner, we met a young American who had been traveling in China for three months, wandering from place to place as the spirit moved him. Since he didn’t speak any Chinese, we were intrigued by the stories he told of his adventures and how he was able to make himself understood. We also met a Japanese student on holiday from his studies in Beijing. Our bags were full of potato chips and dip, the makings of a party, so we invited them to join us, along with our guide and the van driver, for a drink in my room.

Darkness had just fallen, and the heat of the day was easing into a pleasant cool evening, when the power failed. Evidently, this was not unusual, as the hotel quickly supplied us with candles, and we moved the party outdoors. We parked ourselves under the grape arbor that covered the entire patio of the hotel, set our snacks and drinks on a stone wall beside the walkway, and spent a pleasant evening exchanging travel adventures.

The next morning I woke up with a sore throat and, looking out the window, noted the yellow skies that presaged the arrival of a dust storm – hence the sore throat. Since the storm was still several hours away, we decided to continue our sightseeing, as we wanted to visit an ancient ruined town at the foot of the Flaming Mountains. Emperor Wu Di of the Western Han Dynasty had sent troops to build a castle there two thousand years ago, but it didn’t become a flourishing town until A.D. 640-840. About 840, a forty-year feudal war broke out among the Mongolian aristocrats, laying waste to much of the surrounding area, and the city began to decline. Today it’s a dusty wasteland. One can barely discern the outline of where buildings once stood. Only remnants of the adobe walls remain standing and the outer wall is nothing but a pile of rubble. These ruins, maimed yet imposing, gave us a fascinating glimpse into ancient times along the Silk Road.

Not far from the ruins, we stopped at the ancient graves of Astana, where the bodies of over five hundred people are preserved like mummies in underground chambers. Due to the extremely hot, dry climate, even the eyelashes and eyeballs are clearly discernible after 1,500 years. Documents, books, silk, linen and flowers crafted from silk speak convincingly of the level of civilization this region attained during that era.

We pressed onward, behind the Flaming Mountains and over a jarring gravel road only recently bulldozed along the side of the mountain, until we reached a sheer cliff into which had been carved scores of caves about 3 meters (10 feet) wide and 7 meters (24 feet) deep. These were the Bezeklik Thousand Buddha Caves, of which about sixty remain intact. Construction began about AD 420-550 and continued for nearly 1,400 years. A large number of relics and precious scripts were stolen from the caves during China’s domination by foreign powers, yet enough of the Buddhist frescoes remained intact to make our visit well worthwhile.

Another long, bone-jarring ride, and we were back in Turfan in time for lunch. Our guide announced that the dust storm was fast approaching, so we packed hurriedly and headed back across the great desert to Urumqi. This time, thanks to the impending dust storm, our throats were dry and sore, and our view was limited to only a mile in any direction. We were relieved when we finally reached our hotel in Urumqi.

The next morning, we headed for the Heavenly Lake at the foot of Mount Bogda, nearly 4,800 meters (16,000 feet) high. We were treated to unexpected views of the Gobi Desert, where we could make out herdsmen moving their flocks of sheep, goats, and horses to higher mountain pastures for the summer. Of course, they needed shelter too, so along with their herds, they also moved their families and the family house, a circular, tent-like structure (called a ger): a wooden frame covered with protective layers of soft leather. Each ger was about 3 meters (10 feet) in diameter and 2.7 meters (9 feet) tall. Camels or horses were used to transport the materials used in the construction of the shelter, as well as the furniture used inside. The nomads had no electricity or running water, so most gers were built along or near mountain streams. Rocks were piled to create a fire pit. The gers’ interiors were decorated by colorful tapestries hanging on the walls, and outside a horse or two might be grazing. In the background rose a green mountain studded with yellow dandelions. The baaing of sheep and goats completed this very Mongolian scene.

Our van continued bouncing over the narrow mountain road, and soon the gentle hills ended and great cliffs were towering on either side of us. We wound our way upward, looking back in awe at the valley far below and at the great snow-capped peaks all around us. There were patches of snow along the road, and the driver pointed as Heavenly Lake came into view just below us. Mirrored in this mountain lake was a reflection of towering Mount Bogda. Nothing -- not the Swiss Alps, the Rocky Mountains, or the Cascades – could have been more impressive.

We ate our picnic lunches and then found a grassy spot on the meadow above the lake. After the dusty, inhospitable desert, the cool, fresh mountain air and towering, snow-capped peaks were balm for the soul.

A few hours later, we found ourselves flying over these same mountains and desert on our way back to Shanghai, and then to Japan – ending our great adventure on China’s Silk Road.