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Friday 2004-05-21 - Silvan, Turkey
Peek into the middle ages
Today is a travel day: we go to Van. The landscape upon leaving Diyarbakır is getting more and more mountainous, and we seem to be climbing gradually as well. The mountains are beautiful, and there are many spring flowers — sitting in the bus and looking out is no punishment.
Just after Silvan I notice some holes in the rocks high up in the mountains on the left just when others shout “stop” for a picture of the beautiful view over the valley on the right. I walk resolutely back to get the holes in the rocks back into view and to take a picture. It turns out my hunch was right: these were rock dwellings, dating back to the middle ages. A few of us walk all the way up to them and manage to look inside one of the holes but (as expected) they’re completely bare. Building rock dwellings so high up inside a steep mountain side must have been a form of defense, I think — though simpler than building a citadel on top of a mountain. Maybe they were farmers rather than city dwellers here.
Somewhat farther on there is a big dam on the left of the road; on the right is a large bridge with one very high arch, built in 1147; it’s well-preserved: you can walk over it (no other traffic allowed though). The size of the bridge is impressive, and it has some nice decorations in the stonework as well. The water below is a beautiful blue-green, cows are drinking and bathing in the water below. We spend quite a bit of time enjoying the view here, before we go on to Van, passing over the highest mountain pass in Turkey, Kuskunkıran, at 2235 m high. The view of the Lake of Van we soon get is stunning: blue-green water, surrounded on all sides with snow-capped mountain ranges.
Saturday 2004-05-22 - Akdamar, Turkey
Church on an island
Van is a big city but (apart from a museum that’s said to be nice) not very interesting in itself. Instead, we go to the island Akdamar in the Lake of Van. We’ve decided not to take the (expensive) official tour but arrange our own. With our own bus we drive back along the east and south side of the lake, with again a spectacular view of the green-blue lake with snow-capped mountain ranges all around. Where the ferry boats leave for the island, our tour companion arranges with the boat owner that he will take us there, make a circle all around the island, then give us three hours to spend there. We’ve taken along food for a picnic lunch, bought before we left.
Our main goal is the old Holy Cross church built on the island, dating back to the 10th century. There are beautiful reliefs on all the walls; inside there are still some fresco fragments, mostly blues but hard to discern what the scenes are. Around the church is also a number of grave stones, most half-toppled, some also finely decorated with reliefs.
The island has two tops; I skip the high one to spare my painful knees the steep climb but go with Vera to the lower one on the south-east side. From there you can still overlook almost all the island, and I attempt to make a panorama photograph — a bit hard to do balancing on the rocks… no idea how this will come out. The island is covered with many types of flowers, different kinds of lillies and hyacinths, wild onions, beautiful euphorbias, many species I don’t recognize. I take a lot of pictures! After our picnic lunch we return to Van, where I decide to spend the remainder of the afternoon writing.
After our extensive lunch on the island we’re not terribly hungry so in the evening we head back to the ‘soup salon’ for a light meal, where we find most of the group also enjoying their delicious soup! After dinner it’s back to the Internet cafe in Van (there’s one conveniently right next to our hotel) to catch up with my travel blog!
Sunday 2004-05-23 - Doğubayazıt, Turkey
Border town
It’s not far from Van to Doğubayazıt but we go via a beautiful scenic route with spectacular views and over a high pass (the highest we encounter in Turkey); on the way we make a photo stop near a huge lava field near Soğuksu, encrusted with lichen in many different colors.
Doğubayazıt has a typical border town atmosphere - hard to put into words, but unmistakable.
Sunday 2004-05-30 - Qom, Iran
Shrine of Fatima
Through a beautiful landscape of rounded mountains with wide, fertile plains and valleys in-between and snow-capped mountains far to the south, we ride to Qom, a holy city for Shi’ite Muslims. Surprisingly, there are very few trees in this fertile area; the ones we see are clearly planted: some poplars (construction wood), and orchards with nuts and fruit trees. After we pass Arāk the landscape changes and becomes less fertile but now there are more trees — strange.
In Qom we stop to visit the Hazrat-e Masumeh complex: a very large complex around the holy shrine of Fatima (Fatima al-Masumeh, sister of Emām Reza (789-816AD), who died and was buried here in 816 AD. The first buildings date back to the Safavid era, started in the early 17th century under Shah Abbas I (1587-1629) and extended during later rulers. The complex comprises a large mosque with three inner courtyards, each in its own style, and many other buildings, most dating back to the 17th century but new ones are still being added.
Usually non-Muslims aren’t allowed in, and all women have to wear a chador but we’re very lucky today: our guide Showān manages to arrange that we’re allowed in anyway and (after a short inspection of us ladies to see if we’re decently clothed, which we are!) even without a chador. To promote international relationships, we’re received in the office of the Mullah, an obviously very intelligent and sympathetic man who welcomes us warmly, tells us something about the complex (we all get a picture and a brochure as well), asks some questions of us (like what’s the most surprising or new thing we’ve seen in Iran — veiled women —, what made us decide to visit Iran, etc.) and invites us to ask questions of our own. The complex is being restored at the moment, and he tells us it will take several more years to complete; when I remark that I hope to once come back to Iran and see it again in its full glory, he answers he wishes that for me, too. If we make a wish here, he says, no matter if we are Muslim or not, the wish will come true. He answers our questions subtly and politely; clearly a deeply religious man without being extremist — a man who commands respect.
Part of the complex is a school where people from all over the world come to study to become a mullah: a basic study of 6 years, and another 10 years to become fully qualified (10 years in all if you study very, very hard); there are 92,000 students per year, 18,000 of them from foreign countries, including from Europe. Also part of the complex is a kitchen, normally catering to the personnel but on Wednesday and Friday evenings food is distributed to the poor; there’s a small hospital as well for those who are sick and clearly too poor to pay for medical help.
After the visit to the Mullah, we’re allowed to walk around for 20 minutes in the courtyards (but not enter the buildings); from the third courtyard we can actually see a glimpse of the shrine though. Today is a special day — the anniversary of the death of Fatima, I think — and we see Pilgrims from many countries, Arabs and Pakistani clearly recognizable by their clothes, Shi’ites pounding their breast as a sign of mourning. I feel really privileged to be allowed to witness all this and experience the deeply religious atmosphere — something we have mostly lost in the Western world. I won’t be able to share my photographs though: they’re all just pictures in my head since (understandably) photography is not allowed here.
Wednesday 2004-06-23 - Song Köl, Kyrgyzstan
Coal and cold
Today we pass through some of the most beautiful landscapes of Kyrgyzstan that I know. At first we continue along the main road from Osh to Bishkek. Then we make a short shopping stop in Chayek (where I buy a nice shawl); this is the last occasion to shop for now: we turn off the main road onto the track that will take us to Song Köl. The track first goes through a valley but soon starts to wind higher and higher into the mountains; on the road we start to see chunks of coal and their origin soon becomes clear: high up in the mountains there’s a huge open-face coal mine — a desolate place in the middle of beautiful mountains where the workers live in old railroad wagons near the mine. This settlement (one cannot call it a village) is called Kara Kichi; we have a photo stop to record the ugliness. Once past the mine we go over a high pass and a little further on we make another short stop: nearby horses are grazing in meadows full of flowers and in the distance we can see glimmering Lake Song Köl: our target for today.
To get to the lake, we take a side track, then an even smaller track through a river bed. Here it becomes really clear why we have a “truck bus” instead of an ordinary bus: it would not make it through this terrain. The truck bus, like a bus built on top of the chassis of a heavy truck with very big wheels, has no problems with it though; such vehicles were (in Soviet times) originally used either by the military or to transport workers to the factories; now they’re very much part of the fledgling tourist industry in this country.
When we arrive at the lake we stop near a yurt to have our picnic lunch. The woman who lives in the yurt (she welcomes us traditionally with fresh bread and cream) recognizes the family in the pictures I took here two years ago: their yurt is a distance away, but maybe I can walk over there this afternoon.
In summer, grazing is good on the meadows around the lake (a nature reserve) and many nomads bring their horses here then. However, the lake never completely freezes and in winter fishermen camp out here in the harsh cold to fish the lake. Lots of birds also take advantage of the fish in the lake. Unfortunately, it’s so cold now (like it often is around the lake, even in summer), we decide to move on and camp in the valley across the mountains where it will be a lot warmer. Alas, that means I won’t be able to deliver my next set of photographs either.
We go back along the side tracks and continue on the main track again which soon takes us into the mountains up to another high pass. There’s a very steep descent with a spectacular road winding down the face of the mountain: some of the turns are so narrow, the truck can’t round them at once. The pass marks a striking change in landscape: while the high plain around the lake is completely bare of trees and even shrubs, right from the pass we see a landscape with mountain sides dotted with shrubs and trees, both deciduous and coniferous. During the steep descent, the changes in vegetation are remarkable, too: buttercups are replaced by white clover; small compact alpine plants are replaced by big sturdy ones; flowering wild roses appear farther down. Our camp is a way into the valley, where we ford the river to reach our camping spot: no problem for the truck but not so easy for humans to get through! Next to our tent is a small meadow with lots of purple orchids, and in the field between our tents are lots of bunches of blue irises (probably Iris germanica): a lovely spot to camp!
Thursday 2004-06-24 - Tash Rabat, Kyrgyzstan
River valleys
Our trip today takes us through a variety of beautiful river valleys. The valley where we camped soon widens; this river is a tributary to the Naryn river which we follow east (upstream) after crossing it over a long bridge. The Naryn valley is very wide here and fertile; mountains on each side are of sandstone and thick packs of sediment, with colors ranging from a pale sandy to dark red.
We make a stop to shop on the market in Naryn, capital of the province of Naryn, both named after the river. Naryn is a regional center, and the only decent-sized town in a large area. There’s a lot of unemployment here though since the factories that employed a lot of inhabitants were closed when the Soviets left after independence. Still, the town does look a little less depressed than two years ago, with buildings clearly in better repair — maybe the economy is picking up a bit? I notice the trolley busses are still going: they have one for each direction on the long central road in this longitudinal town streched along the river (and keep a third one as a spare). But people at the market look sombre and aren’t as friendly as I remember. Others in our group notice the slightly unfriendly atmosphere as well - it’s not just me. We never find out the reason for this atmosphere, but this isn’t Naryn as I remember it. Strange.
After Naryn we turn south again and pass yet another mountain range over the Kyzyl Bel, called “Red Pass” because these mountains consist completely of red sandstone and clay. Soon after the pass, we turn into another wide river valley, first with a lot of agriculture supporting Naryn (we see a lot of fields with bright pink flowers again, which I think must be buckwheat) but later turning into sparse meadows where nomads herd their flocks. Constantly accompanying us on the left now is the long At-Bashi range with snow-capped mountains. Finally we reach the side track which takes us into another narrow valley where — at the end of the 15 km road and the end of the valley — is the building called Tash Rabat.
Tuesday 2004-06-29 - Kuqa, Xinjiang (China)
Buddha caves - from the outside
A two-hour drive away from Kuqa are the Kizil Buddha cases; similar to the Thousand Buddha caves near Turpan (which I visited two years ago), but supposed to be more beautiful.
The road out there takes us through some really spectacular landscapes: the Tien Shan Mountains here consist mostly of layers of sediment only partially hardened into real stone. In some place, these layers are still perfectly horizontal and water erosion (!) has worn them into near-perfect pyramids — these formations are a protected landscape. Farther on, the layers have been pushed around and in one area are now nearly vertical: erosion here has worn away the softer layers, leaving near-vertical ‘walls’ of the harder stone; sometimes such a wall has toppled but many stand. After an hour of such impressive views from a fairly good road, we suddenly take a turn to the left onto a track which first takes us through a wide river bed and then on into the desert which looks like a flood plain (maybe there are flash floods here when it does rain?). Our driver actually gets off the bus to check the track (marked with a line of little flags) before turning into the side track. We’re vaguely worried: are we really heading into the right direction? When a taxi with one passenger overtakes us a little later, it seems we are; after another hour over rough tracks, half-finished roads and detours around road-building works we do indeed arrive at the site of the caves.
Another bus arrived just before us. At the gate, the ticket-selling lady waves us through but when we have climbed a lot of stairs and arrive at the first of the caves — all locked with a padlock — it turns out we do need to buy a ticket after all, as well as a guide to open all those locks for us. So down again we go, with my knees and my hurt foot screaming in protest: stairs are not good for me now!
So I pass: I’m not going to climb all those stairs again (and then lots more) and descend them again; these caves may be better than those near Turpan (the pictures I see later do suggest that) but at least I have seen something similar already. Instead, I take a nice quiet (and slow) stroll in the little wood at the foot of the mountain, where I spot two cuckoos who refuse to sit still for a photograph, and (at last!) make my first picture of the elusive flowering tamarisk bush (until now always only seen from a moving bus). Pity about the caves but I have a nice time anyway, and the landscape on the way here was worth the trip all by itself.
On the way back over the same tracks, half-finished roads and detours our driver suddenly stops. Photo stop? The landscape is beautiful. No — it turns out we have a very tire: no surprise really on these tracks covered with sharp stone fragments. Our driver is quick replacing the tire, obviously having done it before.
Thursday 2004-07-01 - Daheyan, Xinjiang (China)
Deserted desert
I wake up at seven; the sun is shining and an attendant is bringing a new thermos of hot water. We’re riding through a nice mountain landscape, obviously quite high but these mountains are covered with coarse grass; we see some snow-capped peaks behind. Every now and then we go through a tunnel or over a viaduct across a valley. There’s very little sign of human habitation.
Farther on, the landscape gets harsher, a mountainous desert. Curiously, we see a lot of small groups of houses along the railway, even villages — all completely deserted: only the walls stand, all roofs have disappeared. There’s no sign what the inhabitants of these houses could have lived from: no fields, no stables, just houses; yet they must have lived from something. The very sparse vegetation seems barely enough for grazing a few goats. At one point, we cross a river and upstream we see a whole town, also completely deserted: no roofs, no windows in any of the houses and apartment blocks; a power station that no longer works. Why were all these houses, villages and towns built? Were they here before the railway came — or built because of the railway and abandoned again when the railway was completed? Something else? The number of completely deserted villages here in the desert is remarkable but we see no explanation, no clue.
At a little past noon we arrive at Daheyan, a small factory town in the middle of the desert; a bus is waiting to take us on to Turpan, which isn’t on the railway line.
Sunday 2004-07-04 - Dunhuang, China
End of the known world
The section of this trip covering Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan and Xinjiang in China was “the known world” for me: I’d traveled in all these countries before and visited most of the places we visited now (with the exception of Mary in Turkmenistan and Kuqa in Xinjiang). Not that that was a problem though: it was great to be back in Central Asia and it provided some ‘mental rest’ during a trip otherwise rich in new impressions.
Today I’m definitely in a new country: neither in Liuyian nor all along the road through the flat desert to Dunhuang is there a single word to read in the Arabic script of Uyghur as was the norm in Xinjiang where practically everything is bilingual. We’ve left the Turkic languages and peoples behind now: I’m in the ‘real’ China at last.
Looking out of the window of the bus that takes us from the station in Liuyian to Dunhuang, the landscape isn’t very interesting at first: just very flat and almost completely bare desert and a very straight road. After about an hour of this, we see a slight dip in the desert ahead of us and when we get close it suddenly gets a lot greener, obviously because the water table is closer to the surface. First, tamarisk appears, always a sign of the presence of a little water; later, we see irrigation channels and fields; even tree-lined roads. Checking my map: this must be the area of the Shule He (He means river, but I don’t know what Shule means). When we leave the oasis behind, the ground stays a little greener than before, until we reach the outskirts of Dunhuang and we see fields and trees again.
Dunhuang, my first contact with a real Chinese town, has a friendly provincial atmosphere, immediately apparent when arrive after the two-hour bus ride. This town (population: 100,000) at the edge of the feared Lop desert was originally at the extreme western border of the Chinese empire — its name means “Blazing Beacon” — and the Great Wall was extended to here.
Our hotel, Fei Tian, is unremarkable but we have a comfortable little room — and John’s Cafe is right next to the hotel’s forecourt, along the street.
Tuesday 2004-07-06 - Xi’an, China
A variety of fields
We’re on the train again, continuing after our short break in Lanzhou. Looking out of the windows, the landscape resembles the “Chinese scroll” watercolor landscapes we’ve all seen: green and lush, with rivers flowing in the valleys. Gentle mountains at first, almost completely covered with terraces with fields (no rice though), and more fields in the river valleys. The desert is truly far behind us now.
Gradually, the landscape changes, the mountains becoming steeper and stonier, no longer allowing agriculture, but with a velvety cover of shrubs and small trees; in the valley we see the muddy-yellow water of the Wei He, a tributary of the Yellow River (Huang He), sometimes crossing it but mostly following the course of the river, occasionally taking a shortcut through a tunnel.
Farther on, the valley widens, the railway hugging the mountains on one side, the mountains on the other side far away. The valley is obviously very fertile, completely covered with fields with a great variety of crops grown — but some fields are different. Whereas the Kirghiz locate their cemeteries preferably in a beautiful spot far from the villages, the Chinese here do it differently: this valley is dotted with small cemeteries, at most the size of a field, most a lot smaller. And they’re right in-between the fields with grain, onions, and cabbages: although not inside or close to the villages, the dead are close to the living here, and rest in beautiful spots.
About an hour from Xi’an the scenery gets very urban very quickly; we make a stop in Xianyang, before arrival in metropolis Xi’an at 20:40. We have a very nice hotel here, Jie Fang, right across from the station: we can simply walk there.
Wednesday 2005-09-21 - Beijing, China
Great effort on the Great Wall
Today is the big day. Last year when I was in Beijing I wasn’t able to do the hike along the Great Wall because my foot hurt too much (I only later found out it was broken). Now, with an ankle sprained not a week before we left and a heavy cold still bothering me, I’m not exactly in optimal condition for this undertaking, but I’m not to be deterred: I promise myself to do this and I’m going to: you really haven’t been to China unless you’ve visited the Great Wall, a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1987.
The alarm goes off at 5:15 in the morning: we have to leave at six! The stretch of the Wall we’re going to walk, from Simatai to Jinshanling is about a three-hour ride from the city, and we’re soon in the middle of the rush hour. It’s amazing just how big this city is: it takes very long before we leave it behind us and see fields from the bus windows. Not so much afterwards, though, a little after eight, the engine suddenly starts to make a funny noise and the driver stops the bus along the road near what amounts to a truckers cafe: some plastic tables and stools outside where simple meals are served. The driver starts checking the engine, borrows a bucket of water at the cafe, brings it back, and declares it’s good to go, so we all get in again. He turns the key and … nothing. All out again. It seems the starter engine is broken. Are we really going to walk on the Great Wall today?
The driver arranges alternative transportation for us (mobile phones are ubiquitous now in China) and not too long afterwards a car and three micro buses arrive, and on we go — with just over an hour’s delay. After we turn off the main road, at 10 km from Simatai, the landscape gets more beautiful; we’re riding through a river valley now. At the entrance we buy our first ticket (30Ұ; every stretch that’s accessible requires a separate ticket, we’ll have to buy a few more). Our hike starts at 10:30.
I’m actually rather worried, my cold makes me feel rather weak, and my sprained ankle is still painful and I worry about making it worse. But Marie Josee promises she’ll stay at the back of the group, and that’s reassuring. Across a little bridge over the river and then up we go along a bit of “fake wall” to one of the towers. I take out my GPS to record where we start: N 40.66188, E 117.27609; elevation 306m.
The first stretch of the wall here is fully restored but it’s quite steep down to a (metal) bridge across the river where we have to buy our next ticket to be able to cross (5Ұ), and from there up a steep incline again. This is especially hard because there are very high steps on the steepest stretches, almost too high for my short legs: I have to literally push myself up and tire quickly. I’m soon the last of the group. But after the restored stretch ends it gets even harder: it’s still just as steep here but now on the broken stones and rubble it gets hard to keep my left foot horizontal to spare my sprained ankle. A good thing I took my monopod which doubles as a walking stick: I really need it here.
All around me is my reward: a landscape of endless rolling steep hills and low mountains, mostly untouched, over which the Great Wall snakes from hilltop to mountaintop with a tower on top of each. And all that in glorious sunshine with a blue sky. With still a long way to go, I can’t stop every moment to take pictures but I still take quite a few. Still, the enormous scale of this defense wall in the landscape is hard to capture in pictures. Tourists are coming by the bus full to look at the wall, and a few of them even walk to a tower and back, but it only really sinks in when you actually feel it with your feet, going from hilltop to hilltop, up and down and up and down. Hikers on the wall are from all over the world, but the only Chinese are their guides. At what I think is the highest point I take another measurement with my GPS: we’re now at N 40.67046, E 117.26532; and 502 m high (later I see the next tower is just a little higher still, but not by much).
Marie Josee worries about my slow pace and asks if I want to go back — but we just left the hardest part behind us: no way am I going back to walk those steep stretches again. So on we go and luckily we hear of an easy shortcut below the wall that will save us a several towers. We decide to take it. All over the wall are Mongolians selling books, postcards, T-shirts and other souvenirs: the Mongolian border is nearby. They can be quite bothersome though: if you don’t say “no” firmly enough they’ll come after you and keep following. When we want to take the shortcut, a Mongolian woman comes with us, and shows the way (obviously hoping to sell us something) — a good thing though since it’s only a narrow trail, at places hard to see, and not at all as “easy” as the people telling us about it suggested. Just when I think we’ve had the hardest part, already close to where the path joins the wall again, I suddenly find myself stretched out along the path flat on my belly! There was a tree root in the shadow that I missed completely… Marie Josee comes running back, and the Mongolian woman wants to pull me up and starts dusting me off. “No, wait,” I gesture, and just sit up first, putting out feelers in my body to see how it feels: no alarm signals come back. Then I allow the two women to pull me up and slowly I stand: I can still walk, but my legs are quite shaky.
The woman offers to take my backpack and camera bag, and Marie Josee starts bargaining with her — she asks 50Ұ: far too much, 15 would be OK. At first she refuses, so Marie Josee takes my bags but later she agrees after all. She helps me over all the difficult spots, too, giving me a hand for support or to pull me up: of course she’s earning some money but she is genuinely caring. After the shortcut, the wall seems easier; I stop every now and then to take pictures again. The Wall and the landscape are still breathtakingly beautiful and impressive.
We have to buy another ticket for the last stretch of the wall and Marie Josee nearly starts a fight with the woman selling the tickets: last year she was in the same spot selling fake tickets but after some to and fro it turns out this time the tickets are for real — and needed.
A little before the point where we have to leave the wall the woman says she has to go back now: the border closes at a certain time and it’s a long walk back. But the last stretch is restored wall again and easier to walk on although I find the inclines harder to walk down than the steps. But Marie Josee is now carrying my bags and I can manage on my own. We find Henk, Carla and Gwendoline have been waiting for us (the ladies are quite tired as well) and with our little group we walk down to the parking place to meet the rest of the group.
We find our driver with a new bus — and just two of the group: the rest has not appeared yet! First we all sit down to have a drink (Marie Josee treats me to a beer) and wait. But soon we get restless: where can they be? If they walked on, they’ll find they can’t go further at one point but will have to walk a long way back: we may be in for a long wait… When they finally appear we hear their story: they did indeed miss the road down to the parking place and walked on to the next tower, spotting us through their field glasses and deciding to wait for us there; when they could no longer see us and we didn’t appear it dawned on them they were too far and went back. Lucky for them (and us) they didn’t walk any further!
Back in the hotel at 9:30 after a long drive through the falling evening, I go out with Carla and Gwendoline to ‘our’ neighborhood restaurant where for a change I have a good appetite: the chicken with cashew nuts is delicious!
Only then, back in my room, I finally take my shoes off and inspect my toes which started to hurt after my fall and are hurting even worse now. There’s nothing to see though: no swelling, no bruise: it can’t be too bad. Hopefully it will be better before Nepal!
Sunday 2005-09-25 - Lanzhou, China
Chenglish
Surprisingly for the very punctual Chinese trains, we arrive early in Lanzhou: we’re expected at 7:13 but we’re outside already at 7:00 — our bus hasn’t arrived yet. Last year’s trick works again this year: we go to a hotel near the station where Marie Josee sweet-talks us in and we’re allowed to have breakfast there. As in Xi’an there’s no tea; no problem: Marie Josee simply walks into the kitchen and arranges tea for all.
After an excellent breakfast we find our bus waiting for us, with a very nice Tibetan driver and his wife. We drive out of Lanzhou along a very nice new motorway. The mountains around here consist of thick packets of sediment, very land-slide prone; we notice interesting constructions along the road to prevent erosion but inevitably nature is stronger than man: it’s he end of the rainy season and in two places one side of the road is blocked by a landslide which they’re busy clearing. On the mountains there are also many terraces, some just to prevent erosion many also for agriculture: some fields contain yellow-green ripening grain; bundles of herbs are drying on top of the mud walls. All along the road there are rows of newly-planted young trees.
I’m convinced the Chinese are inventing their own brand of English: Last year in our “breakfast hotel” in Lanzhou we saw an interesting example of what I call “Chenglish”; today, along the road, we see a few nice inventions as well. Although foreigners are not allowed to drive in China, surprisingly nearly all road signs are bilingual — sort of: The outside lane of the road is called a “climbing lane” and we’re warned: “Forbid to chuck jetsam”.
Sunday 2005-09-25 - Linxia, China
Muslim country
We can’t stay on the nice new road; we turn off onto a secondary road which is narrower and a lot worse. We’ve left Lanzhou and urban China far behind us now. When we make a short photo stop for the landscape, our driver checks his tires and finds he has a flat inner tire. While he changes the tire (with the help of his wife) we have a photo opportunity with the children from a few farms nearby. We’re at N 35.63526, E 103.45063, at an elevation of 2300m already — we’ll get still higher today.
In Linxia we make a lunch stop at a small Muslim restaurant. We taste our first “Muslim tea” here: a mix of green tea leaves, various herbs and fruits and lots of big sugar crystals; it’s delicious and healthy! This is a specialty of this area of China. We also have a wonderful vegetarian noodle soup (with fresh hand-made noodles) and various vegetable dishes.
I hadn’t realized it before we left but this whole area of China is actually predominantly Muslim; Buddhism arrived here much later. Both groups live peacefully together though and mix easily, buying in each others’ shops, Buddhist monks even eating at Muslim restaurants (though not the other way round since the other restaurants are not halal). We see many mosques in a bewildering variety of architectural styles but all somehow a mix of Chinese and Arabic Islamic; a minaret may look like it does in the Middle East or it may look like a Chinese pagoda. The men mostly wear white skullcaps, sometimes beautifully embroidered; women wear a simple white hat, sometimes covered with a headdress of black velvet lace; a flap that normally goes below the face is sometimes flipped up over the head. In one town where we turn off again I see a sea of white-capped heads along the main street.
Along the roads now we see many brick works: they make bricks and roof tiles while smaller workshops make stone or cement decorations — the whole area seems to support the building industry, as is also suggested by some big billboards along the road. The road itself gets really bad now: they’re building a new road but for now it’s just kilometer after kilometer of construction area. We’re being thoroughly shaken: it’s a long and tiring trip this way.
Tuesday 2005-09-27 - Bajiao, China
To the Ganjia grasslands
We’re having a slight change in our program: because the weather is rather cold and at times rainy, staying in a nomad’s tent (or army tent, as another group found themselves in) is not really an attractive prospect. Instead, we’re staying another night in our nice Overseas Tibetan Hotel in Xiahe and go for a day trip to the Ganjia grasslands today.
Our bus is on time but we leave a little late; shortly after leaving Xiahe we leave the main road and turn left onto a all-weather road in a narrow river valley. After less than a kilometer the driver suddenly stops, and starts to turn on the narrow road — a rather hairy maneuver, but he has good control of the bus. We wonder if he took a wrong turn but he goes straight back to town and turns into a gas station: he had forgotten to get gas! (Part of the reason is that bus drivers in China don’t carry a lot of money so he couldn’t have tanked before picking us up: they usually have to get the rest for the bus before they can buy gas.)
Then we turn back and turn into the same all-weather road again which takes us over a pass and then into a much wider landscape with grassy plains and hills surrounded by grass-covered low mountains. There are no trees anywhere, only coarse tufts of grass at times interspersed with the plumes of flowering long grass; it looks rather desolate but there is actually a surprising number of villages. The people keep cattle (with some yak blood), large herds of long-horned sheep and sometimes small herds of goats. There are birds, too — at one time I notice a number of pheasants, and on the electricity poles at times we see a big raptor, which at first we can’t put a name on. Then we see one flying up as the bus approaches: it’s a huge buzzard-like bird which Eelko finds in his bird book: an Upland Buzzard (Buteo sp.), much larger than our European buzzards (Buteo) and very impressive. Near the villages there is also some agriculture, mainly grain; people are busily harvesting everywhere.
Prayer wheels in Bajiao
After some two hours we turn right and come to Bajiao, but our driver goes straight on to the the Baishi monastery first, over what is now no more than a trail, with here and there big muddy pools which have to be carefully negotiated. Alas, at the monastery a service is just taking place so we can’t go into the temple, only walk around the buildings a bit. A monk comes out and offers to take us up to the canyon where there is an “open air cemetery” where bodies of the deceased are laid out for the vultures according to an old religious practice. But it’s a long, steep climb — the alternative is to walk back along the trail to Bajiao and spend some time looking around the old town.
Carla, Gwendoline and I don’t feel like a lot of climbing or waiting around for the service to end (possibly for hours) so we set out to walk back along the trail. Just when we sit down at a nice spot to enjoy our packed lunch, the sun finally comes out, making the landscape looking a lot less bleak: it’s actually very beautiful now. Lunch break included, it takes us two hours to get back to Bajiao.
Bajiao is a town of historical interest, completely surrounded by a mud-brick wall of over 2000 years old which has 8 corners — a bit like a citadel except it’s not located on top of a height. Only here, in on spot in the lee of the wall are some trees: poplars, obviously grown for building wood. All the houses inside the wall (much newer than the walls itself but all traditionally built) have a yard surrounded by mud-brick walls, with piles of hay and straw in sometimes ingenious constructions to keep it off the ground; here, too, people are busily harvesting. Pigs are running around the street (which doubles as a little stream flowing through the town) but they’re not too keen on us strangers.
The town is very nice, with visual surprises around every corner because of all the walls. Admission to the town is 8Ұ, spent on nice things for the community. The people are very friendly though, don’t mind us at all while we walk around and peer over walls.
Somewhere we spot some wind-driven prayer wheels on top of a roof and we go find them: we find a small temple, surrounded by a wall; the door is locked though. Soon the caretaker spots us and comes with a key to unlock the door for us: inside is a tiny courtyard full of flowers and a small incense vat. The temple itself is tiny, too, housing a little altar before two big prayer wheels — with a difference: instead of being turned by handles on the bottom like most prayer wheels, these are driven by an ingenious construction with ropes. The caretaker demonstrates: one never has to step inside, simple giving a tug on the two ropes is enough to turn the big wheels which in turn sound a number of small bells. It’s a very nice, intimate and peaceful place — a wonderful experience. We leave a little donation on the altar and thank the caretaker, who locks the door behind us again.
Near a little shop we can observe a modern way of cooking close up: many people in this area of China have a parabolic mirror in their yard (we saw them at monasteries as well); it’s covered with little mirrors and at the focal point is a metal loop on which one can place a kettle or pan to boil water or cook something: free energy as long as the sun is shining, and very useful in an area with almost no trees.
Wednesday 2005-09-28 - Xiahe, China
Mountains of all kinds
We’re going to Ta’ersi today, a long ride of 9 hours on the bus. The first part of the trip is along the am all-weather road we followed to the grasslands yesterday — only we don’t turn off for Bajiao but keep following the main road. After two hours of all-weather road we cross a bridge and turn onto a much smoother road. The landscape is spectacular, first the wide rolling hills of the grasslands, but then each time we cross a pass, the landscape changes in character. Wide valleys and narrow valleys, mountains of sediment, mountains of sandstone, mountains of granite… the one thing we don’t see is snow-capped mountains: apparently we’re not high enough for that yet. On one of the passes we make a short photo stop and I take some pictures and a measurement with my GPS: we’re at N 36.27385, E 101.97160, at an elevation of 3190m.
There is a lot of agriculture and as before everywhere people are busy with the harvest: sheaves of grain on the fields, drying sheaves of grain (oats?) on the mud-brick walls around the farmyards. I’m not bored for a minute, watching and watching, it’s so beautiful!
Saturday 2005-10-01 - Golmud, China
The Qinghai-Tibet Highway
I never feel comfortable leaning, so most of the time I sit upright — with the disadvantage that I can’t look out of the window very well, you only can do that from a reclining position. While we leave Golmud I take a measurement with my GPS: we’re at an elevation of 2775m (my book says it’s 3200m), at about N 36.34340, E 094.81511. We’ve embarked on the 1115km Qinghai-Tibet Highway from Golmud to Lhasa.
The weather is overcast and misty, so at first the landscape, near-desert with scarce vegetation, looks very bleak. I notice some tamarisk where run-off water collects along the road, but that soon disappears completely. Still, for the first time we now see snow-capped mountains in the distance; at first with only a very light dusting of snow, later a more solid snow cover. At times some very fine powder snow is falling but it doesn’t even seem to reach the ground.
Slowly the landscape outside the windows changes from a river valley into a tundra-like high plain; there are streams (with occasionally a dam) and pools of water, here and there it looks like a flood plain. Vegetation is still scarce, with small tufts of short grass and herbs.
Gradually, the weather gets better now; the sun brings out the rich variety of greens and browns: it’s not as bleak as it looked at first. Actually, it’s breathtakingly beautiful, this wide, wild landscape. Where the vegetation is a little denser we occasionally see herds of “yak cows” and sheep. One of our short stops along the way is near the Tibetan Antelope Rescue Center: within the fence some antelopes are grazing. Later we see some small herds of Tibetan Antelope, as well as some wild asses. There are birds, too: we note (white) Wagtails, Thick-billed Crows and an (unknown) kind of gull.
Our first high pass is at 5010m (higher ones come later). As long as we are above 4000m and getting higher we’re not allowed to go to sleep — mostly to avoid altitude sickness but it can actually be dangerous: when you sleep your breathing slows down and with the lack of oxygen on the high passes you might never wake up again…
Wednesday 2006-09-06 - Namp’o, Democratic People’s Republic of Korea
Three sets of slippers
Unfortunately, we don’t stop in Namp'o city on the way to our Ryonggang Hot Spring Hotel. First, we're on an enormous 10-lane highway (with very little traffic, and we note it's easily wide and straight enough to serve as a landing strip fro a large plane -- only half joking) but soon we turn off and drive through the countryside. Most of the landscape is very flat but with rather "pointy" hills sticking up from the flat base. The main crops I note are rice and maize. I ask Mr. Pak but unfortunately we can't stop for a picture of this typical landscape.
With all the rice paddies, there are obviously a lot of wetlands here, and when we arrive at the hotel grounds, large flights of Great white herons fly over.
The hotel is actually a kind of resort, with a central “recreation center” that also houses the reception and a dinner hall, and a number of houses scattered over the nicely landscaped grounds. When we (my room mate Thekla and I) arrive at “our” house, a lady welcomes us and shows us the ropes: downstairs, just inside the door, you take off your shoes and don a pair of slippers to walk over the marble floors and stairways. Our room is upstairs, and inside the door we find a set of regular discardable “hotel slippers” for walking about in the room (leaving the first set of slippers at the door); just inside the bathroom door is a third pair of slippers for each of us (one blue, one pink), and we’re to wear these plastic slippers inside the bathroom. It all sort of makes sense, but it’s a little elaborate…
The lady immediately opens the lower tap above the enormous blue-tiled bathtub, out of which comes hot, salty spring water, supposed to have healing qualities. Thekla and I opt for the most practical solution: we share the bath (easy since there are two seats sculpted in the bath tub).
Dinner is in the big, brightly-lit dinner room in the recreation center, where we are served by ladies in traditional costume; apart from the big slices of white bread (which I don’t touch), the foods is Korean — and delicious.
Thursday 2006-09-07 - Namp’o, Democratic People’s Republic of Korea
Taming the waters
In the Netherlands we’re used to large dykes like the Afsluitdijk and the great barrages that are part of the Delta works. So the West Sea Barrage we’re driving to this morning from our nice hotel in Namp’o should not be all that impressive for us Dutch visitors — but it holds a surprise. Not only is it big, with its length of 8km and 36 locks of which three are shipping locks of various sizes and a revolving bridge, with 5 gates set in a group normally open, and passages for the migration of fish; not only was it built in just 5 years with locally-developed building techniques; and it does not just tame the sea like we do in the Netherlands: it also — and mostly — tames the river to make it useful.
The Taedong river which flows through P’yŏngyang flows out into the Korean West Sea here. By holding the river waters back, it is possible to irrigate a huge area with the river water. But at the same time the barrage prevents too much sea water backing up during high water which would make the water too brackish for agriculture.
When we drive away over the 8km long dyke, the effect can be clearly seen in the landscape: near the barrage, the water is still slightly brackish, and there are large areas here devoted to salt farming; the salt farms produce (not: mine) salt by evaporation of the brackish water in shallow ponds. Farther on there is a landscape with endless rice paddies, with beans grown on the edges between the fields, interspersed with maize. The land is mostly flat, all of it devoted to agriculture, with the houses built on the sides of the hills sticking up through the flat land: this way the area devoted to agriculture is maximized.
Mr. Pak tells us that in the North they grow mainly potatoes though in Korean cuisine these are used mostly for side dishes, not as a staple food. As a result of the famines, the president has started a program to teach the people how to use potatoes as a staple food as well.
Monday 2007-04-09 - Wadi ’Adim, Yemen
Camping under the milky way
From Tarim we go into the valley of a side arm of Wadi Hadramawt, the Wadi ’Adim. The landscape is stunningly beautiful here: weird shapes both in the totally bare table mountains and in the water-eroded layers of sediment; in the middle of the wadi valley we see open water for the first time in this area. The available water enables the thick palm groves to be grown here (date palms); around the fringes there are fields with other produce. Although the surrounding mountains are bare, the wadi bottom is green and lush.
At a nice spot we go through a ford to the other side of the river where our drivers can have a quiet qat-chewing session in the shade, and we can go for a walk through the palm grove. Theoretically, we could walk to the village (that was the idea) but although we can see it in the distance, the water-eroded thick layer of sediment is hard going: you constantly have to find your way around deep grooves — there is no way to walk in a straight line. We only make it to a lonely little house; nobody home but a little goat. There are some small fields nearby so somebody must live here, but we see no one.
The qat session (and our walk) over, we go further into the wadi. Suddenly we go halfway up the mountain where there is a stony plateau. Here we set up our camp, with a nice view of the village Ghayl ’Umar in the middle of the lush palm grove. The idyll is somewhat spoiled by the sound of a generator belonging to the tank station at the foot of the mountain, but once it gets dark it’s offset by the sound of frogs calling to each other near the river — hearing that it’s hard to believe we are actually in the desert.
One of our drivers, Mohamed, cooks us a nice dinner, with some assistance from Hussein (mostly holding the lamp) and Khamal, as well as some of our group to chop the vegetables. Gradually the stars come out, and the Milky Way appears above us in all its glory — a sight we can rarely see any more in our crowded and light-polluted country. On Hussein’s assurance that it’s not going to rain tonight, I left off the outer tent when I set up my tent and go to sleep in my sleeping bag with a light breeze caressing my face.
Tuesday 2007-04-10 - Al Hajarayn, Yemen
Horseshoe town
Further into Wadi Do’an we make another stop: at the other side of the valley we see a town halfway up the mountain, curving round the promontory in a horseshoe shape: Al Hajarayn. After we take pictures from this side of the valley, from where we can see how beautifully the village almost merges into the mountain, the cars bring us into the village where we can walk along its narrow streets; we’ll be picked up on the other side.
Although the houses are the usual Yemeni tower dwellings here, too, it’s completely different from Shibam. Again, I see many beautiful doors (I can’t stop photographing doors here in Yemen!). But, possibly because of how the town is such an organic whole with the mountain, and how it curves around it, we manage to get lost a little, not knowing whether to walk on, or where to go down - or where, in fact, our cars are going to pick us up again. Luckily the people are very friendly and some guide us to the right street, down many steps to the foot of the mountain. Then we walk along a dirt road through the fields, and are relieved to see our cars waiting for us at the road!
Wednesday 2007-04-11 - As Sirrayn, Yemen
Shared riches
According to my map (copyright 2003), the road into Wadi Do’an stops in Al Khuraybah but it doesn’t — not anymore: A nice asphalt road leads us up and out of the wadi and it looks brand new.
Every little village here belongs to one family and it’s visible people here are wealthier than in other areas: the houses are more richly decorated, and the decorations are more colorful. Of every family here, one or two members work in Saudi Arabia, where they earn well, and send money home. As our driver Hussein tells us, just like the rich Al Kaff family financed the road from Wadi Hadramawt to the coast (and much else) in the 1930s, one man named Abdullah Boshan who got extremely wealthy in Saudi Arabia finances a lot of development project in this area. The new road we’re now following, which ultimately connects to the main road from Sey’un to Al Mukalla, is just one example of those projects. He also finances schools, drink water supply, and things like all the food during the Eid ul-Fitr celebration at the end of the Ramadan month. Also, if a couple wants to marry but doesn’t have the money for the wedding, he pays it for them.
We make a short stop at the fork in the road from where we can look down on his village, As Sirrayn; his house clearly stands out: an enormous family house, whitewashed with parts of walls painted in various cheerful pastel colors. Below us the road continues along the Wadi Do’an river to the village, while we just to the left fork which takes us up and out of the wadi.
Once out, after a steep climb, we’re on the high plain of the desert, the jol. Suddenly the landscape is totally different: the jol is almost flat, arid, with only very sparse vegetation — the green and fertile wadis with their rich palm groves completely hidden from view. You can see gullies eroded by water (when it rains, a lot of water flows, and there can be dangerous flash floods), but nowhere is there a view straight down. Yet, if you’d follow such a gully down, eventually you’d end up in a green wadi. For the early travelers in this area, the difference must have been astounding. During a short stop I take a few pictures of typical plants found on the jol.
The first part of this road probably follows the track indicated on my map, but farther on we dive down another steep pass at a point where there is not even a track; a sign says we’re at Mount Aballa Arib. Many hairpins later, we end up on the wide plateau along the south coast. Now we’re going down slowly, and after a while we can see the Arabian Sea in the distance. Along the road we stop for tea in Ladouas, a small village not found on our maps. The we join the main road from Wadi Hadramawt to the coast, and later turn right to Al Mukalla.
