The joys of sleeping in a bed after a 22 hour train ride are endless, but this is life on the road and not a pleasure outing. At least, that's how I justified pulling myself out of bed as the sun was rising. I needed to go to the train station because I still didn't have an onward ticket, and I was hoping to leave for Turpan later in the day (the counter was closed when I arrived last night.)

Rather than paying for a taxi, I decided to walk the seven kilometers into town based on my memory from the night before. It may not have been the smartest idea, but my ankles were swollen from the long train ride and my body needed real exercise after being dormant for so long.

Let there be no confusion about the following: Jiayuguan is a steel mining town that is located in the middle of the desert. My 'pleasant morning walk' was actually a strenuous trek along a highway used solely by large trucks transporting either dirt, coal, or steel.  Maybe it was silly, but I kept looking over my shoulder to make sure I wasn't being followed. In retrospect, I think my situation came more as a surprise than anything else; I am sure it has been some time since the last westerner strolled down desert roads.

Despite such whining, the masochistic part of me loved every second of the journey. It felt good to do something that isn't on any itineraries, and to experience something entirely different from what I am accustomed to. If some one had told me I would be doing something like this today, I would have thought them insane.

But a part of me would have also hoped they would turn out to be right. Maybe that's why I got this far.

At the train station, I was forced to buy a standing-room-only ticket, and it was on another non-air-conditioned train. After the long walk I endured, I was feeling rough-and-ready enough to endure just about anything. With that said, I imagine things can only get better after 22 hours on a hard seat followed by 15 hours standing on a train.

On the way back to the hostel, I indulged in a taxi - and at a cost of $1.50, it is clearly a luxury I can hardly afford on a regular basis.

I visited the fortress that marks the end of the Great Wall, and while some of the views were worthwhile, the complex had an inauthentic feel to it. Maybe it was all the restoration work that has been done, but I think it had more to do with the touristy nature. There were several groups of Chinese tourists who were each wearing a brightly colored hat that signified their respective tourist group, and they were all quite noisy. Since riding camels and being banished in ancient attire were not exactly up my alley, I did not hang around long.

After gathering my clothes at the hostel - many were still drying after I washed them in the sink last night - I repacked my backpack. I decided to re-tackle the 7 kilometer walk back into town, but this time with a 50 pound backpack.

I started off well, but after about half an hour of walking I was drenched in sweat and my shoulders were beginning to ache. My only saving grace was that I knew how to hum the tune from Rocky (de-dun-DUN...) because if Rocky could climb those stairs, then by-God I could finish this trek.

Dumb American. Taxis were invented for a reason - especially cheap ones.

When I reached town, I was in serious need of water and a good clean; my shirt was drenched in sweat and my mouth was parched from the dry desert air. After washing myself off with bottled water and changing shirts, I found an internet cafe that was full of people playing Counter-Strike. I wrote a few emails and tried to find more information about my next destination before continuing onward to the train station.

I boarded the train at 2pm, and as anticipated, there were no seats available. I walked to the first railway car, and began reading my guide book. After two hours of this a Chinese girl, Hua Yin, approached to offer me a seat. I happily accepted.

The girl was studying English in Xi'an, so she introduced me to the five other people sitting around me. There was a Chinese professor of calligraphy and art who was on his way to Dunhuang (a place I would later visit), a young guy who just finished a one month tour of Tibet, two quiet adults, and the girl who did all the translating.

The professor was quite accomplished in China, according to the girl, and he wrote a poem for me using Chinese calligraphy. I was grateful Hua Yin could juggle ten Chinese voices at once because I felt slightly overwhelmed by all the attention. Invariably, each time I talk to some one on a train, a large crowd of onlookers form. The Chinese are very shy, but once they open up they are among the most generous and open people one can ever meet.

After several hours of chatting, it was dinner time. I only had instant noodles with me, but it didn't matter because I received endless food offerings. I was somewhat apprehensive about eating some of the food (such as low grade spam and hard-boiled eggs sold through the train windows,) but it is poor manners to decline. While I doubt I will become a big fan of the spam, nothing is ever as bad as it seems.

I didn't know how to show my gratitude, so I took out my laptop and displayed the pictures from the places I visited. The onlookers loved every slide, and were thrilled my impression of China was so high. I became embarrassed when I came across pictures of China's worst bathrooms because the Chinese want people to have a good impression of their country.

This was an important experience for me because it made me realize China, and the Chinese people, are not a zoo for my gawking. The sights, smells, and sounds are just as real and worthy as I am of being treated respectfully. I am glad to have learned this lesson from friends.