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Published: September 19th 2009
The birds have been winging it southwards, the winds aiding them. We’ve been steadily pedaling north, against the wind. The mountains and high grasslands are an almost distant memory as all we’ve seen for the last month has been flat dry arid scrubland. The sun sets quicker and we can smell the changing season even in the bleak blandscapes of one of the driest parts of China. The roads are long and flat often converging in the distant horizon in a hazy point. Apart from headwinds cycling is a breeze after the peaks and passes of Sichuan.
We left Langmusi to bump into another Chinese cyclist on the first slope out of town. Kevin had cycled in from the Qinghai Lake and seemed rather worn for it. Suffering from a strained muscle the slope wasn’t kind to him. He was considering hitching a lift till he met us. Mutually happy for some company we decided to see it through together till Lanzhou where we were all headed. It meant a slight change of plans as we decided to trail behind him to Xiahe, the monastery town at the edge of Gansu provinces border with Sichuan. Home to the Labrang monastery
the largest Gelupa School outside Tibet, Xiahe is a rather famous tourist stopover. We’d decided to give it a skip as it meant a 35 km uphill diversion from what could have been a 100 km steady altitude decline to Linxia from where we planned to catch a bus to Lanzhou mainly to avoid the industrial belt around what is one of China’s most polluted cities. Also after two days of cycling together it seemed too soon to bid goodbye.
Xiahe was mildly interesting and the monastery rather fascinating but I guess I’ve been rather detached about over visited monasteries after my share of taking in the solitary monasteries perched in wild parts of Bhutan. I can be a prude sometimes. But we had good fun meeting and sharing dinner with a huge group of Chinese backpackers. Next morning it was a beautiful rush down on the almost downhill all the way to Linxia. We covered 101 km in less than four hours. Linxia onwards was Hui Muslim domain, mosques dotting the skyline. The ride down was great to get a feel of the changing scenery as the landscape almost seemed to desiccate steadily with each kilometer we covered.
From here it was bus bound for the 3 hour journey to Lanzhou. It felt weird to think we would have done the same in 3-4 days by bicycle. I missed most of the scenery as I drooled on my seat the entire trip.
Lanzhou is built along the banks of China’s windiest rivers. The Huang He or Yellow River, a river whose heavy slit laden waters has witnessed and played a pivotal role in China’s long and tumultuous history. The river used to be called China’s river of sorrow on account of the death and destruction it wrecked every season it would flood its banks and engulf homes and lands. It was the same floods that would replenish the soil to leave behind some of the most fertile belts of China. The legend of the Huang He is as heavy and thick as the silt it carries. Following the many bend and twists of the Huang He is a dizzying affair. We’d crossed the first bend of the river high in the grasslands a few days before Langmusi and would cross the river again many times. While much of the lands along the river were once the rice
bowls of China, paddy now competes for space in what has become a heavy industrial belt.
The air is Lanzhou hangs as thick and heavy as the river that flows beside. Pollution was once so bad with the air trapped by the mountains around that some local officials came up with the rather ill conceived plan of blasting some surrounding peaks to smithereens to provide a gap for the trapped gases to escape. It didn’t seem to have worked for the skies remain a permanent grey. Apart from that Lanzhou has many distractions in the many wonderful restaurants and shopping avenues. We were able to find excellent Bicycle shops with all the latest equipment and gear. Our bikes earned new brakeshoes and our feet waterproof shoecovers, a must we realized after nearly freezing to death under the rain during a long descent at 4 Degrees Celsius. We also earned our first non-food freebie in Lanzhou when folks at an outdoor shop gifted us a small camping kettle after hearing about our journey. I leave out how sentimental I can be when touched by people’s kindness and encouragement.
We bid Kevin bye and decided to take a bus to
Bayin a 150 odd km away to continue cycling. This was where desert territory really began. We crossed Gansu and entered Ningxia and saw little but scrub hills and bleak brown all around. As the only road available was usually the highway we often had to compete with trucks and so much of our concentration was on covering as much distance as possible in a day. Water began to be an issue with no streams available to camp by. Evenings meant stocking as much water as possible at the closest settlement or petrol bunk and riding for a few kilometers to camp. Though few and spread apart settlements of a few houses and truck stop towns are not rare on this stretch.
Ningxia has a rather amusing diversion in Shapotou, the location of the Desert Research Institute which has succeeded in greening large stretches of what would have otherwise been overtaken by sand dunes. In a bid to attract people the place is now a thriving theme park replete with sand surfing spots and mini camel caravans to ferry tourist up the sand dunes they slide down. We chose to observe the activity and admire the green from a
far distance. Cycling along long deserted roads has made us a little wary of crowds of holidayers. We did spend an evening in neighboring Zhongwei a rather pleasant town that seemed to be a retired folk favorite. The town square is grand old folk turf. Little groups of them fill the place all of them who come carrying little foldable stools to join their gang in their preferred activity. There was the card playing gang, majong (a Chinese game that seems abit like cards with blocks) gang, the chess gang, the granny gossip gang, the musician gang, the dance to old tunes with fans gang, the simply soak in the sun gang, the babysitting grandkids gang….we loved it.
From Zhongwei my memory grows as hazy as the scenery we cycled across. Days of long arid stretches and distant disconnected towns is all I remember…and the late summer fruits. Melons of all kinds are grown in this area. Everyday we’d cross farmers with their tractor wagons overflowing with melons - water melons, musk melons and er…melons. We were offered many along the way. It was often hard to explain the difficulty of lugging a 3 kilo plus melon on our
Bactrian camel and I size up each other
Apart from the odd feral camel wildlife spotting was restricted to the numerous roadkill...splattered foxes, rabbits, hedgehogs, magpies and field miceloaded bikes. A few days of cycling saw us cross into Inner Mongolia, the border more legible on our maps than in reality. From here we got used to not seeing a soul or a house in the distance for many hours in a day. The few villages we crossed lay silent - their occupants slumbering in the lulling heat and monochrome bleak.
We arrived in Bayan Hot, the largest town in the South Eastern edge of Inner Mongolia where we’d hoped to be able to renew our fast expiring visas. As it turned out we couldn’t get it done there but had to head back to Yinchuan, the capital of Ningxia. We took the bus and ended up spending a week as the visa processing period there was 5 day(with a weekend in between)…it might have been on account that the officer was rather surly and very pregnant. 7 days of lolling in bed, late mornings and heavy debauchery in the city’s many restaurants saw us desperate to start cycling again. If ever in Yinchuan make sure you visit Uncle Robin’s Pizza at #278 Beijing Dong Lu. It was a treat to eat real excellent pizza. We caught
the bus back the moment we got our visas and continued cycling the very next day.
Reluctant to venture out too far out in the desert we ended up sticking to the road marked on our Nelles map - following the highway meant we were soon diverted back towards industrial towns. So far we’d been spared the worst of what Western Media loves to portray China as - a big bad ugly smoke stack capital - but we did get our fair share cycling through the towns of Wuda and Wuhai. The ugliness and noise was enough to send Ced scuttling to the next state owned Xinhua Bookshop (available in all towns) to pick up a Chinese road map.
Maps are one of Ced’s biggest obsession and can often be a cause for despair for the trailing behind. I smelt trouble from the time he disappeared and spent a few hours into the loo with the new book. The next day saw us taking numerous loops and turns in search of an elusive dirt trail that would lead us towards the direction we were headed. We coughed through coal mines, hampered road construction dynamite crew, slithered through rubble,
trespassed industrial property and finally after several false ends and a heavy session of me sulking and him choosing to pretend to broker peace while still stubbornly pursuing another lead we finally managed to find a rough road that locals said would lead us where we wanted to go. Maps cannot keep up with the massive change that plagues all industrial areas. Tiny roads don’t stand a chance.
Though I’m often frustrated by Ced’s manic fixation on chasing the smallest roads he spots on maps, thanks to it we found ourselves very far away from mass habitation and were soon back on roads that led through solitary goatherd homes.
We tried a dirt trail for several days and while it was sparse and beautiful it was tough maintaining our balance on slippery sandy patches. I couldn’t help but secretly gloat with glee when I saw Ced take a nasty tumble. It was payback time for all the times he’d playfully shows off to rub in my often maladroit tendencies. We missed a track from the many dirt trails that dot the plains and ended up doubling the distance. Houses are far apart and there’s often not a soul
for hours to get directions from. We guessed we had strayed too far east and our fears were confirmed when we finally met a lady who told us to head back and stick to the main big road till we reached a fork. We had to chuckle as the only semblance of roads were dirt tracks. After feeding us a whole melon she sent us away. We did eventually find the road and followed it till we hit tar at a nearby town. We decided to keep it safe for lack of time and stayed on the road all the way to Ordos.
Throughout our venture through Inner Mongolia the wind has been a tireless presence -whooshing constantly in our ears, sometimes aiding us but mostly going against us. It seems to be the only dynamic presence in these wide plains. I finally managed to get used to the constant fluttering of the outerfly of our tent at night. The wind has been harnessed by all houses here with each house marked by a tiny windmill that produces enough energy for the household. The whirring mills and green patches of planted trees along irrigation canals were a real treat
to spot from afar with the promise of rest and shade. We loved the desert houses built low and close to the ground with mud bricks. Not only they did blend in beautifully with the landscape but once abandoned they became part of it once again. As Ced put it “I love their biodegradable houses”.
Ordos was far from a biodegradable city. Spanking new and boasting the immense amount of investment the Chinese economy can afford, the city glistens and glimmers from all quarters with huge landscaped parks and extravagant sculptors scattered throughout the city. Finding an affordable hotel was hard especially since the city had just hosted the 12th Annual Asian Arts Festival. Though impressive there is a kind of fake newness that hangs around the city more like it was built for a gaudy display of wealth than for any practical reasons. I wouldn’t be surprised if sometime in the near future the provincial capital is shifted from Hohhot to Ordos.
From Ordos we were able to break away from the main highway and follow an older lesser used road all the way to Hohhot, crossing the Hung He once again along the way. Hohhot has
a Mongolian Consulate that used to issue visas according to our hopelessly outdated guide from 2003. Not any more it seemed as there wasn’t a scrap of tourist friendly literature around, everything being written in Cyrillic and Chinese. An extremely curt unhelpful officer told us in Chinese we could get only 14 days. He refused to reply when I asked if we could get the usual 30 day visa from Beijing. So it was onto a bus to Beijing, 6 hours away from Hohhot.
Beijing is quite a grand city. It was nice to be in a cosmopolitan setting again. After a long stint of being the only foreign face around, we tremendously enjoyed seeing other black, brown and white faces among the Han faces. We stayed in a hotel full of Zimbabweans handicraft sellers who’d come for a fare. Beijing’s best parts for us were its numerous Hutongs, wide green parks and the huge Indian buffet we had at Mirch Masala, an Indian Restaurant we found north of Ritan Park. We gupshupped awhile with the Delhiite owner who happy to meet another Indian bitched about Chinese cooking and the Chinese in general for a good while.
“And you know what they do with their dal the few times they have it? They boil it and mix sugar and drink the soup!!....What do they know about cooking and food….business with Chinese is no good. They know nothing about good food. My customers are all expats and foreigners….and the Chinese…so slow for everything…you tell them something today and they understand tomorrow….”. It went on for a good while. I meet an Indian after a long time and he turns out to be an obnoxious loudmouth, a reminder of the few things I don’t miss about home. Sigh!
We tried visiting some site but the National Museum was closed for renovation and the Forbidden City and Tiannamen Square turned out to be the most populous section of the most populous country on earth. We stuck to aimlessly meandering along the cities many green shady little lanes and sampling street food along the way deciding to leave site seeing for when we’re old and grey. Mongolian visas for Indians are free and I paid only the 45Y processing fee while Ced had to cough up a rather hefty 495Y. I guess we’re signing some strategic trade alliances. As I found out
the Mongolian Prime Minister was currently visiting Manmohan Singh and his crew.
We shuffled back to Hohhot by bus and continued the road towards the border. Road 101 leaves Hohhot to cross over the lovely Qing Shan mountain range that runs along the Northern fringe of the city. It was a beautiful road and though not very high the air was crisp and fresh. Along the way I realized autumn was settling in. Shades of mellow gold and red were slowly covering the slopes. January and Thailand from where we’d started the trip seemed light years away. I had witnesses the seasons turn from my saddle. It struck me again how lucky I was to be doing what was doing and being where I was.
The journey to the border was uneventful apart from a few splendid sunsets and long stretches of lovely roads. We also crossed a huge flock of migrating cranes and craned our necks awhile following their route as they continued their long journey somewhere south. It struck us as a little absurd that we were heading towards the frigid north. But birds are inbuilt with common sense which is man’s to develop.
A
slight turn of events saw us back tracking our steps as we happened to be on a sensitive road off limits to foreigners. It was too close to the border I guess and a border police patrol stopped and made us ride back the 50 kilometers we’d come on to take the main highway. We pleaded to be at least allowed to go the nearby town to eat but our request was turned down. They escorted us painfully following us in their jeep. Sympathy seem to have come quick because two of the junior officers soon got off the jeep and made us climb in and offered to ride our bikes for a while. The jeep had been too small to load the bikes on to. I suspect they thought we were deliberately going slowly.
As it turned out they decided we had to eat soon so the two others drove us to a colleague’s farm nearby for lunch. The two who’d offered to ride our bicycles eventually showed up all sweaty breathless and evidently more sympathetic for us. They realized the huge detour they were making us take wasn’t as simple as they previously though. They accompanied us
Diplodocus sentries
At the border town of Erlianhot till a junction and told us of a new road we could take as a short cut to the highway. I will never quite figure out Chinese police. It was the second time we’d been detained, mildly harassed, fed and been sent off with warm wishes and tummies.
The last two days to Ereen or Erlianhot as the Chinese call it was a monster affair as we rode more than a 120 km each day. Thankfully the wind wasn’t much of a nuisance. As we crossed the two giant diplodocus sculptures that form an archway into the city I realized I was going to miss China in many ways. I had spent six months in this country, learnt a bit of the language, loved the food and tested my mettle on its challenging roads. But a new challenged awaited less than 10 kilometers away. From the most populous country we were a check post away from the least populated corner of earth - into the Gobi wild of Mongolia.
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feddabonn
non-member comment
oh...my...god. i'm like...this is SO TOTALLY cool. [heh. so proud o you i lapsed into american for a minute]