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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.
