The Silk Road - Mystical Periods of Times Past

With the desert sands firmly embedded in my shoes, my clothing and seemingly behind my eyelids, we bid farewell to the camels and the enchanting Crescent Moon Lake. Exhausted, but with hearts brimming with contentment, we boarded a bus to the train station in Loulan. Nobody could have prepared us for the couple of hours spent on that bus, along the road to hell. Our kidneys felt bruised from the vigorous jolting. The springs in the seats had clearly seen better days. The road was treacherous. Thankfully, beyond the windows, the landscape was blanketed in darkness. I had no desire to see the reasons for this epic bus journey. Miraculously I passed out for an hour or three.

Due to brutal riots which had left hundreds dead in Xinjiang the previous year, the original train station on our journey had been closed to enable the government to have stricter control over the movement of people in the area.  As the clock struck midnight, we arrived in Loulan. In what seemed to be the middle of nowhere, we boarded a local train to Turpan. Two thousand years ago Loulan was a prosperous commercial city. An important hub on The Silk Road. In the third century, the city literally disappeared from the face of the earth, leaving behind many theories on what exactly happened. The climate, politics and The Silk Road being diverted are but a few. About a hundred years ago, Swedish explorer Sven Hedin accidentally discovered the ruins of the ancient city buried in desert. The mysteries of this forgotten city were magnified when in 1980, the perfectly preserved body of a woman was unearthed. It is believed that the ‘Loulan Beauty’ died almost 4000 years ago.

Although we had booked and confirmed soft-sleepers for the night, these were not available. Government officials had been given preference. Nobody questioned this act. The eight-hour journey was warm enough. Each time the train braked, we were flung around in our bunks. A lack of tranquillity and awareness of the passengers’ desperate need for sleep was evident. I had already clocked up enough experience of travelling on local trains to know that going to the loo was an event to be avoided if at all possible. “An experience out of hell,” was the description used by many after attempting the complex balancing acts that are required in order to keep shoelaces and jeans dry. Made so much more challenging when the train is swaying from side to side. And the hole resembling a loo is overflowing. One could often hear cursing and shrieks of horror reverberating along the narrow aisles of the carriages when some poor soul was attempting to relieve themselves.

 Another of my issues when travelling by train in China, was the lack of privacy. Many people didn’t sleep through the night - preferring to sit at one’s feet and observe us whilst we slept. All this amidst shrill ongoing chatter and the endless scrunching of plastic packets containing those ghastly pre-cooked chickens, always available on every street corner in China. Then came the sound of slurping hot instant noodles in sync with the neighbour's snoring. Spitting and belching joined the symphony of human behaviour. Farting too. Raucous laughter bellowed forth. Stale garlic infused the air. Adding to the already clotted atmosphere of cigarette smoke. The exuberant nodding of heads and giggles occurred each time I looked down towards my feet. A memorable journey through the night took us to Turpan in time for breakfast and a hot shower in our hotel room.

A truly fascinating feature of Turpan, located in eastern Xinjiang, is the fact that it is situated in the world’s second lowest depression. Thus making it one of the few places on earth below sea level. In the centre of the depression lies Lake Ayding with an elevation of 154 metres below sea level – the lowest point in China.

Despite its extremely dry climate, the agricultural industry is well-established in Turpan. The focus being on grapes. It is believed that five to six different types of grapes are grown there. We had our fill of the most delectable fruit during the hours spent wandering around each of the intriguing gems the area holds dear. Never before have I had to take two bites to get one grape into my mouth. Huge and succulent. Each grape holding within its firm clear skin, a magnitude of health and vitality. Eating those grapes was an almost religious experience. Our heavenly meals, each and every day of the journey for 10 days, began with grapes, were interrupted for grapes and ended with grapes. Together with the most scrumptious lamb kebabs – huge chunks of meat dripping in juices and flavour – we would consume the local dried tomatoes and large pieces of the famous flatbread. Needless to say, the local Xinjiang beer was the best possible accompaniment to every meal. Mealtimes were wonderful occasions. Filled with laughter, togetherness and indulgence, they took place as we sat on exquisite carpets on the sand outdoors. The food was presented on huge platters, supporting the already strong, deeply embedded concept of sharing. Knee-high rugged wooden tables bore the magnificent feasts. From time to time, men would sing. Their hauntingly beautiful voices serenading us. Proudly showcasing their love and loyalty to their culture.

We visited the Karez Irrigation System. Built by the Han Chinese hundreds of years ago, this unique, ancient irrigation project carries water via a vast network of connected underground canals and vertical wells. The latter serving as points where water is collected and maintenance is carried out. The bottoms of the vertical wells are connected so that the water can pass through – providing everyone with access to the precious liquid.  Having the water covered, prevents evaporation in those extreme temperatures of the area. One of the hottest places on earth. Being underground, it is also protected from pollution caused by the many sandstorms. The system is literally the life force of Turpan. Carrying the water from melting snow on the Tian Shan Mountain to the north, the hundreds of Karezes make up a distance of approximately 5000 kilometres. 

With her unquenchable desire for knowledge, Yvonne was in her element exploring the Turpan Water Museum. I of course, was fascinated by the odd pieces of rustic wooden furniture, the paintings and the thick Xinjiang carpets – one of which remains one of my most treasured possessions. Murals found in caves in the region, celebrate the rich environment the Uighurs hold so dear. They are colourful and depict lotus blossoms, trees laden with grapes, Buddhist portraits and of course, the beautiful willow trees that are common to the region.

A fairly easy climb up a mountain took us to Jiaohe Ancient City. The heat was intense. The glare from the earth stung our eyes. We were tired and in need of a shower. Travelling, at times is exhausting. Especially when each day, for approximately eight hours, one is continuously on the go. No stopping for fear of missing out on something. This was more intensified considering where in the world we had found ourselves. Each and every waking hour brought with it its own form of mystery, fascination and intrigue. We were literally interacting with history. With bygone civilisations. At times on the journey, I needed to turn inwards in order to re-access and appreciate what I was seeing. What I was experiencing. For it truly was a journey back in time. 

I must confess that before climbing to the top of the plateau, I had wanted to sit in the shade of the willow trees and close my eyes. However, stepping into the well-preserved Han Dynasty earthen city with a history of 2300 years, literally stopped me in my tracks. Even in my wildest imagination, it was impossible to grasp how people managed to live in these mud caves. I guess everything in life is relative. Albeit a tough life, it must have been quite beautiful with the caves situated on a 30 metre loess plateau between two rivers. Fertile valleys, in which melons, cotton and grapes were grown, surrounded the Yellow Earth Plateau.

Jiaohe City, occupied an area of 230 000 square metres and served as home to 700 households, 6500 residents and 865 soldiers. All structures were dug from the earth and there was no need for city walls as the city was surrounded by cliffs. The exceptionally dry climate of the area has been responsible for preserving the buildings to date.

Having lived in China for many years already, I had heard of the famous Flaming Mountains. The stories surrounding these mountains had intrigued me. Had left me with a sense of disbelief that nature was indeed so powerful. Heading out in an easterly direction from Turpan, the Flaming Mountains greeted us. An aura of ‘warmth’ exuded from their reddish-brown sandstone faces. The gentle giants stood silently, peacefully reaching for the sky. Whispering, for fear of being heard, as the entire bus had fallen silent in wonderment, I mentioned to my mom, “So serene are they.” About forty minutes later, when illuminated by the sun, those gentle mountains appeared to be bursting into flames. In particular areas in the Flaming Mountains, the record highest temperature of 72 degrees centigrade was measured. A certain respect for those mountains developed. I was in awe of such power. Such extreme heat seems surreal. Not possible. The harshness of that environment was beyond comprehending.

At the foot of the Flaming Mountains, deep in the Tuyugou Valley, the ancient, but inhabited Mazha Village nestles in complete serenity. Its 1700 years of history quietly beckons one. To share that past. We spent about three hours in this enchanted space. Walking around in absolute wonder. Almost disbelieving. Trying to absorb and comprehend the scenes before our eyes fully, so as to store them safely in our minds and hearts forever. Describing this village, I find challenging. Emotions into powerful words. For others to share. How does one do that? 

The Mazha Village is the oldest Uygur village. The yellow-clay houses remain unchanged. Standing proud and as they did centuries ago. The people of Mazha speak with a  local accent. They dress in their traditional folk costume. Donkey carts are still in use. Transporting both Man and goods. Mulberry trees offer respite from the heat. A simple life. One which has been handed down from generation to generation. This in itself, is evidence that there is contentment. An acceptance of what is. We sensed that. 

The valley was once home to both Buddhists and Islam. The magnificent mosque, the Tyugou Mazzar, home to the first Chinese who practiced Islam, is dwarfed by the magnitude of the mountain behind which enhances the scene from a mystical period of times past.  The elegant steeples reaching proudly upwards towards the deep blue sky.

Walking amidst remnants of the past, I was filled with a sense of exhilaration. A deep fascination of where we were, coupled with a certain disbelief, offered both acknowledgement and respect for a culture I had stepped into. I could not have been further removed from my own history. My own culture. My own normal world, as I knew it. I felt that if we stood still long enough, we would witness life as it was. But then I realised that we were standing in that history. In that mystical past as it was. And still is today. We were honoured to have been part of both the past and the present simultaneously. There are not many places in the world where this can be realised.

Wooden beds placed outdoors held a certain captivation for me. Covered in brightly coloured cloths, I could think of nothing more wonderful than sleeping outside beneath those stars. The romance of what I was witnessing, was overwhelming. A sense of being safe and completely at peace walked beside me. Hand in hand. I was stepping back into the very fibres that made up Mazha. I wanted to know the people. I needed to understand how they coped with such an insanely harsh climate. I needed to know how they have evolved to such a degree so as to be in complete acceptance of this, their life. Their environment.

We wandered along alleyways, observing the well-preserved houses made of loess, raw soil and wood. Most door frames were covered in carvings. The buildings had spaces between bricks so as to allow any form of coolness to enter. The valley is famous for its seedless grapes, hence the drying-houses requiring air flow with which to dry out the grapes. The parched earth greeted us. The juice of fresh crunchy grapes, the only solution to that level of thirst.

To be continued …