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Note: Our photo upload capability seems to be blocked here in Qinghai. We will post these later when we can make it happen.
In China, drivers blow their horns. They blow them to warn pedestrians, to signal to other vehicles, to send a warning as they speed through a town, and to part livestock. It is also a habit perhaps concurrent with the excitement of the recent arrival of cars in the mainstream. In 2009 we observed a driver cruising down a six lane highway in the middle of nowhere blowing his horn vigorously at the empty road. It can be irksome but the system is quite useful at times. In many towns, a broken horn could be deadly; we recently sat eating breakfast at a gas station and watched countless scooters cutting straight across a major highway without so much as a glance for cross traffic. We have had many near collisions when motorists pull out right in front of us, totally oblivious of and shocked at a vehicle so large and fast without a horn. It is a noisy country in general with lots of bustle, yelling, loogie hocking, and of course, constant horns. But it is in
this noise that we can most easily hear the clammor of a rising society, the constant hum of industrial production, and with it, the displacement of old ways and peoples.
Uigher culture has been a mixed bag of experiences for us. Our first evening in China was spent in a small roadside cafe where we were warmly welcomed with hot plates of wholesome food and enchanting live music. As we sat there eating our flat noodles, the musicians jammed away on strings and carried us away with their wild, soulful vocals. We were reminded of the spirit of the old Silk Road that we had hoped to see the face of, if only in it's distilled, modern mask. Greatly moved, we rode away to our camp full of food, emotion and excitement for the journey through the heartland of one of China's great minoritiy populations.
By the time we rode out of Kashgar, we had already shared a few strange experiences with Muslim tradition, and it's modern predators. Conversations obviously wanted to lean towards our thoughts about the rapid changes in the west and we quickly became aware that (not dissimilar from Southern Kyrgyzstan) the tensions between the
old and the new were boilling just beneath the surface. For example, booths were set up all over the older parts of town where low level officials sat around and asked traditionally dressed Islamic women to remove their facial veils. These officers were all Uighers themselves and it was hard to imagine how they are able to walk home safely at night. This is not an authoritarian culture by Islamic standards and the decision to wear such garments is often the choice of the women themselves who prefer tradition to modern, secular cultural values that they (ironically or not) equate with the objectification of the female sex. At this point the officials are either mostly ignored or, more aggressively, ridiculed for cultural herecy by the women they reproach. This could change however as is evident by the sight of heavily armed riot squads that roam the streets. These patrols are not looking for small code infractions and lets just say they are not composed of Uighers. Security is taken somewhat seriously here and perhaps rightfully so.
The more we looked around, the more we found it easy to fathom the values of both sides. Traditional rites, architecture, cuisine, and
culture are all beautiful things that find themselves on the run in the wave of developement. Many are themselves the remnants of ancient empires and beg to be experienced, recorded, and (at least to some extent) preserved for the sake of posterity and historical reflection. However, the rising river of empire does not frequently part for the small stones of remnant civilizations. As children of an empire ourselves, it is easy to see the inherant frustration with antique cultures and their claims to the eternal sanctity of their way. Of course, both are imbued with their own perverse delusions, hence the conflict. It is promising to see the relative state of peace that exists between the two and the attempts on the behalf of the Chinese to integrate the Uigher minority into the changing society. On the down side, it is arguable that these attemps, regardless of their true intentions, will continue to fan the flames. Many Uighers deeply resent the Sino influence in their lives and the lives of their children. When a fundamentalist population feels backed into a corner with nothing to do but conform, it unfortunately sets the stage for extremism and protest. Although few are fond
of the sight of blood, it may come to that repeatedly unless the Chinese government can find a way to diplomatically, and forcefully, nurture a latant generation of tradition to its grave.
Most of the peace in Xinjiang seems based on the inherant seperation of the two ethnic classes. The divide is very obvious when we walk through one of many (rapidly growing) cities in the autonimous region; a single street can draw a perfect line between low, traditional, handcrafted structures and the tall, glassy, quick and cheap construction of the modern Chinese aesthetic. The class seperation is most noticable in the Oasis of the Teklemaken Desert. The villages that dot the southern rim of the vast sand dunes of Xinjiang are what is left of the pure Uigher heartland. They come out of nowhere, even at our pace, and are small, humid microclimates amidst one of the earth's dryest landscapes. Being in the oasis is an odd experience indead. The air is unbelievably humid and that has a way of magnifying the otherwise dry, tolerable heat of the desert. In windy cionditions, you can feel rapid fluctuations between the dry and the wet air as the mix of
influence changes its face from second to second as if the air were confused as to which mood it were in. Some of the oasis are large enough to hide large, towering Chinese cities that are growing like corn amongst the irrigated wheat fields of Uigher agraria. Others are only a few square kilometers and seem barely plausable in the surrounding and encroaching sands.
These places, where the trees grow and the people live, were our critical resupply points. Unlike the Chinese, who believe that cold drinks will make you sick, the Muslims of the desert like their bottled beverages half iced. They store them in chest freezers and carefully rotate the supply to keep things brain-numbingly cold. In the bottom of the coolers, things are frozen solid. This was great for us as we could swallow a few liters of icy fluids along with some salty snacks, then ride off with several fully frozen bottles in our stash. Cold drinks are really a luxury in places like that, and we felt much ablidged to the keepers of the cold. At times, these towns were less than a hundred kilometers apart, but other legs were quite distant and we
had to plan and budget our water carefully, often carrying over eight liters a rider for two day stretches. The pavement has been great, thanks again to the empire, but the dusty winds have been the make or break factor. Some stretches were almost too easy with tailwinds that pushed us along from chest freezer to campsite. Others have found us pushing long hours into screaming headwinds to reach requisite watering holes. Some of these days have had the character of high altitude summit pushes, epic long runs, and other suffer-fests that define the desires and weaknesses of a team. Such times are not necessarily favorable but they are important, and doubtlessly memorable, especially when paired with a nice, watery case of Diaorhea!
Frozen drinks and icy yogurt aside, the Oasis are where our experiences with the minority populations have been the most mixed. The worldliness and constant jovial nature of the Chinese is an appreciable virtue compared to the many unfriendly stares and general non-smiling attitude of the Uighers. At times it was obvious that we were not especially welcome and Allison especially drew a lot of uncomfortable attention. We also heard the same old Central Asian "your childless life is fruitless" schpeal repeatedly despite the fact that their hordes of children have a bleak future (if any) without the critical schooling that would in some way assimilate them into the present and coming changes. Instead, the kids play on the road while freight trucks speed by as fathers brag about their half dozen children that will surely bring them great prosperity as illiterate farmers in the middle of a massive desert. In some cases, large groups of people would stop to stare at us as we went about seemingly banal tasks. We are used to this sort of thing of course, but it is usually accompanied by a good natured vibe that was often absent in these situations. We can not call these times unfriendly, or dangerous, or anything of the sort, just not particularly happy. Perhaps they associate us with the wealth of modern China, or a break with tradition. Either way, we found one sure way to get a gaper to go on about his business; just have a nice, western female drop her pants and piss on the ground. That sight for sheltered eyes seems to work nicely when you want to be left alone to do something like dart into the woods and camp.
We had some really nice encounters as well and this was no surprise as Islamic cultures have often welcomed we strangers with warmth and food. By and by, it seemed like the friendliest and most genuine experiences came from those who have in some way learned to prosper in the environment of Chinese development in the great west. It would seem that in the greater scheme of "haves" and "have-nots" the most destitute are not always those who have not clothing and shelter, but those who have no future. Living without material goods is one thing, living without the means (or even the hope for a means) to those goods is altogether different and it is easy to see how so many feel dejected. Even though the ruling class seems to be giving them ample opportunities to change their status, many can not swallow their pride or put aside their way of life in order to embrace these opportunities. Those who can are the lucky few.
After several weeks of sprinting from water hole to water hole, we finally began to climb up and out of the desert. Our legs were not used to the test of pass climbing but a hundred kilometer uphill broke us back in nicely and left us high and dry on the edge of the Tibeten Plateau. Here we entered Quinghai province and immediatly passed the worlds largest, open-pit asbestos mine. We had been concerned about this for months but the wind was in our favor and we never had to cross paths with the giant plume of dust that blankets the ground for nearly a hundred kilometers to the east. The mine and it's adjacent dust field give it the appearance of a comet on sattelite images and we wanted nothing to do with it. As we stopped to take a look at the mountains of greyish, white dust, it was solemn to imagine that thousands of people work in the middle of that without adequate protection. On the other hand, given our lives on the open highway, we are happy for brake pads and all of the drivers who occasionally use them.
Qinghai was once the meeting ground for the mighty Mongolian and Tibeten empires. It is easy to imagine armies of half a million mounted warriors storming across these arid grasslands. Climbing passes at altitude and sleeping in the cool night air is a refreshing change up for our morale, and the maps promise much bigger country to come. The ethnic mix still reflects the past here and the sight of prayer flags suitably reflects our passage into a totally new region. The diversity of food is exciting after another month of mutton and dough. Chinese cuisine is fascinating and diverse and Chinese people have a way of welcoming foreigners with gusto. Our short rest here in Golmud has reminded us of just how much we love Sichuanese dishes and how easy going this culture can be with people who do not speak the language. The pantomime conversations often erupt into uncontrollable laughter and laughter, coupled with its cousin the smile, is really all we need. Well... perhaps a large air horn would help as well!
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Helga Sable
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Another Epic Experience
You two are awesome, very brave, and versatile to take all experiences, good and not so good, in stride. You take us into another world and I thank you for the honest descriptions. Pedal on and bon voyage .......... Helga