Ge'ermu: A Tibetan Permit and My Ticket to Lhasa

Gobi Desert Photo Gallery

Early this morning, my bus from Dunhuang arrived in the small and nondescript town of Ge'ermu. The town is desolate and hardly worth visiting were it not for one very important factor: a Tibetan permit and accompanying transportation can be arranged from the small office shown to the right. The total cost of the visa, 20 hour bus ride, and four pre-paid nights at a Lhasa hostel came to 1700RMB (roughly USD$220), which is a massive rip-off - locals only pay 400RMB. Regardless, I wasn't going to walk away from my chance to visit Tibet.

After filling out the necessary forms and explaining my intentions for visiting (tourism - NOT journalism), I was left with a couple hours before the bus departed. I found a small market where I bought a People’s Liberation Army jacket for USD$8, and my fear of the Tibetan cold was slightly allayed. This jacket is the only addition I am making to the wardrobe that saw me through the heat of the Gobi Desert.

Truthfully, what I could use more than clothing and permits is a proper shower. It has been four days since I have last bathed, and although I have done my best using bathroom sinks and garden hoses, I will be relieved to un-encrust myself of dirt. Under normal conditions, four days is a long time to go without cleansing, but after factoring in the desert dirt, recycled clothes, and dried sweat, I am a real sight to behold...

As far as the bus ride is concerned, it will take roughly 20 hours and an altitude adjustment of 3100meteres. I will post more once I reach Lhasa.

This closes my journey into the Gobi Desert. My lasting impression is that it is a region far separated from the rest of China - the language, cultures, habits, and people are all different. While safety is obviously something that should always be at the forefront of one's mind, it is entirely within reason to enjoy every second of travel here.

If I can do it, any one can do it!

Finally, some interesting facts to re-cap my experience since the journey began...

Nights spent in a bed: 2 / 8 (25%)
Days without a shower: 6 / 8 (75%)
Average money spent per day (excluding Lhasa permit): $19
Journey of a lifetime: Priceless.

Hidden Wonders of Dunhuang

Gobi Desert Photo Gallery

                A little about Dunhuang (敦煌)…

Dunhuang, or Blazing Beacon, is a southern city in the Gobi Desert that is hemmed in by Egypt-like sand dunes and a bleak, pebbly desert. Before becoming a Han garrison town, the early residents were mostly Tibetan and Uighur - signifying its pivotal location along the Silk Road. The world-famous Mogao Caves (Mogao Shiku) are located here, making it arguably the most important archaeological site along the Silk Road (the caves are the most significant site for Buddhist statues and frescoes). In total, there are hundreds of caves containing Buddhist figures and paintings on the inside, but only several dozen are open to the general public.

I hopped off the train at 7:00 this morning, and immediately set out in search of a bus for the remaining two hour ride to Dunhuang. Since time is never on my side, I also went ahead and booked an evening bus for the city of Golmud (Ge'ermu), which is the launching point for buses to Tibet. After taking care of logistics, I found a Western café called Shirley’s where I spent two hours talking with all the other travelers who happened by. In the process, I hooked up with a brother and sister from Holland, as well as a Czech who would also be continuing on to Lhasa.

Much like Turpan, the weather was unbearably hot in Dunhuang. However, the various sites (particularly the caves and sand dunes) made enduring such discomfort worthwhile - this might as well be the theme of traveling. Pictured to the left is a surviving oasis nestled between towering sand dunes.

The first place I visited were the Mogao Caves. There was an impressive museum at the entrance, but this was nothing compared to what could be found inside the park.

An English tour guide was provided, and it turned out to be very useful since I know so little about Buddhism - although I still found the entrance price of 200rmb (USD$25) to be extremely expensive. Inside the caves, there were a couple of astonishing creations of Buddha that measured 35 meters in height. Try to imagine walking through a small opening set in the side of a sand-encrusted wall and being confronted with such an imposing sight. The toes and fingers alone were as large as me!

Although pictures were strictly forbidden, I a quick internet search yielded what I was looking for. The massive sleeping Buddha (shown to the left) is a sight I will not soon forget - pictures simply do not do justice to the imposing size and intricate artwork. Our guide explained artisans were recruited from places such as the Middle East, India, and southeast Asia to complete the detailed sculpting and painting.

Later in the afternoon I continued touring the city of Dunhuang, and in the evening I caught a bus to Golmud. For the first time in the past three nights I actually had a bed to sleep on - even if it was only a five foot sleeping compartment on a bus without any shock absorbers. I had to curl up in the fetal position so I would fit and I had my backpack tucked against me for safety. I left me window open and enjoyed the setting sun as I left the Gobi Desert.

Of everything I have seen in the Gobi Desert, the evening bus-ride was easily one of my most rewarding experiences. The desert winds whipped across my face as the shadows from the setting sun danced across the dunes. It was as moving a sight as any I have seen. I tried to take pictures and video, but they don't come close to re-producing the moment.

Later in the night I happened to wake up and look out my window. What I saw was something I have only heard about: a sky glowing with more stars than could possibly exist in the universe. The bus was quite literally in the middle of the desert (we traveled 30 km/hr because of the dreadful road conditions), and the sky was alive with stars. I looked around on the bus, but since everyone else was sleeping I felt an even greater sense of amazement. I could see entire galaxies and constellations… I am not sure if these sort of experiences make me any better as a person, but they are certainly some of the most rewarding experiences I have ever had.

A little about Turpan (Tulufan, 吐魯番)…

Turpan is the picturesque oasis town in the Gobi desert. Complete with a complex irrigation system (karez) that filters water down from the nearby Flaming Mountains, the lush green vineyards stand in stark contrast to the encroaching sand dunes. Mix in the drastically different culture of the Uighur people, where even young boys still carry a curved knife in their belt, and this city turned out to be one of the most memorable places visited.

At 5am, I felt a great many hands dragging and pushing me off the train for my stop at Turpan. There was actually very little chance of me missing the station because it was impossible to overcome the discomfort and sleep. I will file this away as another trying experience on the train (as far as sleep and rest are concerned), but I gladly accept the hardships for the places I get to see.

Getting off a train at 5am in China is an experience that can hardly be explained. One quickly learns what it means to be on your own, and how important it is to keep your wits about you. This morning, I had a close call with a tout who acted as a cab driver, only to put my bag in the trunk of an illegitimate car. Fortunately, I knew enough to start yelling and banging on the hood, getting the attention of everyone around. The driver was clearly embarrassed, and while using him may not have been that bad - I likely would have paid 3x the proper fare - it is still frustrating dealing with such people.

After an hour of waiting on the side of the road, I caught a public mini-bus that drove me the remaining two hours to the town of Turpan. Even this bus-ride was not without incident: Only ten minutes after boarding the bus a police convoy stopped us. Three officers, all with their handguns drawn, climbed aboard while another two officers stood guard from the outside. The police had their flashlights out and carefully looked everyone over, me included, but they didn't find the person for whom they were searching. Oddly enough, it was not all that harrowing experience. I figured this is simply the kind of thing that happens when you travel.

So before the sun even came up this morning, I had: alighted from an exhausting 15 hour train-ride, fought with a tout trying to cheat me, and sat placidly while our bus was searched for what I can only assume was a highly dangerous criminal. Who wouldn't love life on the road?

When I reached town, I had to haggle with more touts as I negotiated the hiring of a taxi for the day. Eventually, I found a driver who agreed for only USD$15, and he would take me to the main sights outside the city. I was fairly apprehensive getting into his vehicle because we would be alone in the middle of the desert, but I couldn't just sit around doing nothing all day either. So I hopped in the back seat, prayed he wasn't affiliated with any criminals, and off we went.

The first place I visited is probably my favorite village in China. Named Tuyoq, it is a small Uighur village about an hour and a half outside Turpan. I heard about Tuyoq while reading an on-line travelogue detailing places off-the-beaten path, and I was thankful it didn't disappoint. To put the village in context, Turpan is known as China’s hottest city (today was 45 degrees Celsius), yet it has some of the greenest vineyards in the world. The secret is a renowned irrigation system, called the karez, which carries water down from the nearby Flaming Mountains.

Speaking of the Flaming Mountains, on the ride to the village the desert came alive as the sun's shadows played upon the dunes.

When we broke off the main road and began winding our way through the outskirts of Tuyoq I fell under a trance. The town was exactly what I would imagine an untouched "Uighur village" would look like.

The Uighur people are primarily of Muslim origin and their colorful and airy apparel, jet-black beards, and electric blue eyes give them a distinct look. Coupled with the sun-worn clay buildings and draping vineyards and it was easy to forget that this is still China.

The center of Tuyoq is nestled in a ravine of the Flaming Mountains, with lush greenery sheltering the town from the encroaching sands. I hope my pictures do justice to the views because I cannot think of words to describe how picturesque everything was. I was able to wander up and down the alleys, and no matter which way I turned there was a perfect picture waiting. As is customary, I always request permission before taking a picture of someone and it was obvious the local people did not want to be intruded upon. Honoring their wishes, I stuck to the scenery and architecture.

As I neared the end of the town, I climbed the crusted dunes rising behind the village and was afforded breathtaking aerial views. I continued climbing higher and higher in the dunes hoping to find a perfect shot, but I was also conscious of where I was stepping - scorpions and snakes are the norm here.

Later in the morning I made my way into another part of the village where a deep ravine leads to a set of famous Buddhist caves from the 8th Century. Since there were only a handful of Chinese tourists around, I struck up a conversation with the guide/guard who spoke passable English. After explaining the significance of the works and how both the Red Guards and earthquakes destroyed much, he unlocked several caves that were off-limits to all the other tourists. The cave-paintings, primarily of Buddha, were astounding - even for some one with no background in such things. Colorful and vivid, I was in the Gobi Desert’s version of the stained glass windows at Notre Dame.

After exhausting myself in Tuyoq, I met back up with my driver and we headed off for the second place we agreed on: GaoChing. Formerly the capital of the (aptly named) GaoChing empire, the archaeological site was full of rubble, ruins, and Chinese tourists. There was not really much to see, so I took the time to rest and catch a tan in the sun. There I was: lying down on sun-hardened ruins, basking in the afternoon sun, and listening to the grunts of mules as they pulled Chinese tourists around in carts.

The last stop of the day was an impressive minaret, but I foolishly forgot to take a picture. Oddly enough, what I remember the most was sitting down outside the minaret walls and eating several ice-cream cones with my driver.

In the early evening we arrived back in Turpan, and I used the time to catch up on writing emails, keeping this journal updated, and planning the rest of my trip.

Late in the evening I caught another train, and once more I was cursed with only a "hard-seat" ticket. Fortunately, I had the entire bench to myself making things slightly better for the 14 hour ride.

**Sigh** It's the small things in life.

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.

Finishing a 22 Hour Train Ride to Jiayuguan

Gobi Desert Photo Gallery

A little about Jiayuguan…
Outside of this steel town is where the mighty Great Wall comes to an end in western China. Still standing is a formidable fortress that was formerly used to launch military campaigns into the Uighur and Mongolian (barbarian) territories. The end of the Great Wall also served as the banishing point for all those condemned to exile by Chinese emperors. Quite literally, the exiles were marched through the gate and had to wander through the desert with very little hope of survival.

I didn't get much sleep through the night because it was impossible to stay comfortable. My head couldn't quite decide to lean left or lean right, and whichever way it chose made my neck hurt.

At around 9am, a Chinese student boarded the train. She was learning English at her university, so I was able to communicate fairly well with her. Since I was literally the only westerner on the entire train, this caught the attention of our cabin and most of the people gathered around to watch. I must have given them some great entertainment when I practiced my Chinese because the crowd kept breaking into laughter. Surely, my tones are still horrible, but I didn't realize they were this bad!

By the time evening rolled around, I was desperate to get off the train to shower, eat, and stretch my legs. Amazingly enough, I only went to the bathroom once on the 22 hour journey. I don't think I ate or drank very much, though, because I was basically in survival mode.

After disembarking from the train, I took a taxi to a hostel listed in my guide book. It was a small consolation for all that I endured on the train that I was able to negotiate the price of my hostel room for only $10. It is never easy to bargain with night setting in because the chips are stacked against me.

My room was furnished with classic Chinese furniture, hot water, a “real” toilet, and plenty of wall sockets to recharge my gadgets. Making things better, the hostel was designed as a Ming-style residence with arched walkways, colorful flowers, open courtyards, sliding doors, and so on and so forth - basically, it was exactly what one would imagine a fine Chinese compound would look like. I suppose the overwhelming heat was to blame for only having three other visitors spending the night, though.

I was grateful to have a real meal for dinner, but it was awkward eating because three of the young employees (all girls) who were watching me the entire time. I suppose they didn't have much else to do, and I must have been interesting to them, but it was still a bit weird.

After dinner, I went back to my room and passed out before my head hit the pillow.

I woke up early this morning so I could watch the sunrise from the highest point on the mountain. I was afraid it wouldn't be worth the hassle (or danger) of climbing through the dark, but the weather was clear and the air was crisp.

The sunrise was worth savoring because the air is actually clear in this part of China. Also, the ivory colored rocks have a slight hue of pink that is exacerbated in the morning sun - making photogenic shots child's play.

By 8:30am I realized I had to get moving if I wanted to climb back down the mountain and get back to Xi'an. After all, I had a train to catch later in the evening. Since I had my rucksack with me - comprised of toiletries, fresh underwear, and a spare T-Shirt - I quickly climbed back to North Peak without coming across excessive crowds.

Rather than risk destroying my knees on a six mile downward climb, I opted for the quick gondola ride. It wasn't nearly as exciting as the gondola at Tai Shan, but I was more focused on collecting my belongings in Xi'an and taking a shower. The bucket of collected rain water didn't quite do the job last night.

I hailed down a minibus near the town's main road, and I arrived back in Xi'an in the early afternoon. The hostel I stayed at several nights before was kind enough to watch after my backpack and allow me to bathe.

Since I still had a few hours to kill before my train's departure, I made my way into the Muslim quarter of the city. Other than visiting a large Mosque and Islamic complex, I took a local's advice and tried a Muslim restaurant he recommended. I ordered guantong baozi, which is a kind of dumpling with piping hot soup and beef inside. Every time I tried to eat a dumpling the soup would squirt out of my mouth and dribble down my chin, but after a few glances around, I was relieved to know I wasn't the only one. Besides, given the general degenerative state of my body, there was heaven in every bite.

The crowd at the train station was an impressive sight. Impressive, that is, until I realized most of the people were waiting for the same non-air-conditioned train as me.

Once the gates opened and boarding began, the mob of people began pushing every which way since seating is first come first served for much of the train. As for me, I was in no real rush because I was fortunate enough to have a hard-seat ticket. I had every intention of upgrading to a soft-sleeper as I had done on the train from Shanghai, but there were none available at the time of purchase. The idea of sitting on a hard seat for the 22 hour train ride was not something I was all that excited about.

To my dismay, there was no possibility of upgrading on the train. In retrospect, not getting the soft-sleeper was a good experience because it was another way of toughening me for life on the road. I must have sat to long in one position and pinched a nerve because a part of my buttocks is numb to the touch, and it isn't getting any better.

Predictably, the seats are nothing like those found on planes or buses in the States, but instead are closer to benches with backrests - three people to each bench, with three others sitting across. Made of wood with only a dirtied cloth on top, the seats are unadjustable and painfully unergonomic. The real difficulty is having no leg room to stretch my legs and constant body contact with people on both sides. Perhaps such things sound minor, but hour after hour under such conditions can wear anyone down.

Most of the other travelers were clearly labor workers who had all their belongings stuffed in large potato sacks. The elderly women all took to the floor of the train and slept on newspapers. I suppose there wasn't much else they could do, but it made my life difficult because I didn't want to follow other people's lead and just rest my feet on top of them.

"Oh how the mighty have fallen," I reflected after considering the tremendous high with which I started my day.

A little about Hua Shan…
While the first king of the Shang Dynasty made a sacrifice at the peak as early as 1776 B.C., it was not until 100 B.C. that the mountain was declared China’s "Sacred Mountain of the West." The mountain’s popularity increased tenfold with its inclusion in many popular Chinese novels, soap operas, and movies. It is characterized as having “granite bluffs, precariously perched pine trees, and Taoist temples dangling from precipitous peaks.” It practically goes without saying that “Hua Shan sees few foreign visitors.”

Today was a big day. By 7am, I was on a bus heading toward 华山 ("Magnificent Mountain"), another of China’s five divine mountains. Since I was the only one to pass on the 20 minute chair lift to the peak (why take the easy way), the bus dropped me off in the middle of a small town.

I was on my own to find my way up the mountain, which was probably for the best because I was in dire need of a bathroom. I would not continue mentioning the bathroom issue, except this particular one was in exceptionally bad condition – probably the worst I have seen so far. Perhaps I should have expected as much considering it was located inside an abandoned building, but I didn't have time to look for anything else. The one bonus was that the door was fixed in place giving me a nice breeze.

Next order of business: figuring out where the hell the mountain path started. I was walking down the street gesturing with locals when a friendly Chinese woman began explaining to me that there was a guide center I should visit before beginning the climb. At the time, I had no idea this is what she was saying because it was all in Chinese, but when she eventually pointed at the back of her motorcycle a smile crept across my face as I realized she was offering to take me. How could I pass this up?

Before I really knew what I was getting myself into, we were dodging traffic, and swerving all over the road. China’s streets are a constant battleground as larger vehicles blare their horns demanding smaller vehicles get out of the way. This form of communication carries on among all vehicle sizes, making the roads uncomfortably loud. Also, there are no real traffic laws outside the main cities, so vehicles are free to drive as they like so long as no one is hurt. I felt like every car was driving straight at us, and the woman was doing her best to scare me, but the woman was not flinching at all so I suppose it could not have been that bad.

Eventually I found the information desk and was given a map complete with directions that a cheerful group of employees drew.

The climb up the mountain was everything I hoped for. There was over over six miles of steps, paths, and walkways - including portions that were nearly 75 degrees steep. I took video of some of these spots because I knew there was no way anyone would believe just how close the climb was to being vertical at points. Similar to Tai Shan (a mountain I climbed earlier in the summer), there are no roads to the summit – meaning all supplies must be carried up using physical labor. At one point I was stuck behind a man with two huge baskets balanced on the ends of a pole as he struggled to maintain his balance and still climb. If he had lost control, there was no getting out of the way.

Despite the exhaustive effort, the vistas made the climb worthwhile.

China is very different from America in that you are on your own as far as safety is concerned. I have a wild picture where I climbed out onto a rock ledge thousands of feet above the ground. With a ten second camera timer, I had to run to get into position without allowing my momentum to carry me over the ledge. The scary part is that no one would even know I fell. All that would happen is some one would eventually come across my camera sitting on a rock, and figure some one forgot it. Maybe they would suspect some one could have fallen, but after reporting this to the police they wouldn't be able to keep the camera - and that is hardly a desirable outcome.

When I reached North Peak (where the chairlift lets people off), I was blown away by the loud shouts and noise of the Chinese tourists. I went from being alone and at peace to having to deal with overflowing tourists in brightly colored hats (signifying respective tour groups). I quickly moved through this section, but not before wielding a few more smirks of pride for having earned the views the old-fashioned way.

If I had known how much more climbing there was once I reached the first peak, I may never have climbed the mountain. It took me another two and a half hours to reach East Peak, which was where I checked into a hostel for 80 yuan ($10). The beds were much cleaner than I had feared (still substandard, of course), but I was happy to have somewhere to lie down after six hours of intensive climbing. Without any running water, I was only able to wash off my feet and face before passing out for a few hours' rest.

There was still some daylight when I woke up, so I set out to reach the tallest point on the mountain with a few other Europeans who checked into the same dorm room. The view as the sun was setting (typically referred to as a sunset) was well worth the wait, as was the feeling of having conquered the mountain (2160m, or 1.3 miles high) in a single day.

Finally, the slow progression of the sun as it makes its final descent...

Xi'an

Xi'an Photo Gallery

Terracotta Warriors Photo Gallery

A little about Xi’an…
As the long-time capital of China, Xi’an has a richer and more significant history than Beijing, which only recently (in relative terms) became the capital city. In the 8th Century, there were over two million taxable inhabitants in Xi’an, making it one of the world’s most cosmopolitan cities. This is largely a result of Xi'an serving as as the start, or end depending on one's perspective, of the famous Silk Roads with the west. The influx of silk traders resulted in strong Buddhist and Islamic influences that can still be seen throughout the city.

Stepping off the train in Xi'an at 7am was a real wake-up call. Armed with only the belongings on my back and a travel guide published in 2001, there was a prolonged moment of indecision.

Maybe this was a bad idea, I wondered.

After realizing that bad idea or not here I am, I regained my composure and set out with the confidence necessary to survive. In broken Chinese (which is bound to improve), I purchased a railway ticket and caught a public bus in search of a hostel listed in my guide book.

After a bit of searching, I found the entrance to the hostel. Stepping through the doorway and being confronted with an eclectic mix of Europeans (no Americans, unfortunately) had me feeling much better about my odds. Further boosting my moral was taking care of my hostel accommodations without resorting to any English. I do not think my Chinese is good by any stretch of the imagination, but it is at the point where I can communicate what I want.

Of course, there are a limited number of things I could possibly want at a hostel or at a train ticketing counter, but that is beside the point.

After booking a dorm room and leaving my belongings in a locker, I hopped on another bus to the long distance bus terminal. From there, I took a mini-bus to the famous Terracotta Warriors. Along with the Great Wall and Tian’an Men Square, the Terracotta Warriors rank as one of the images that immediately come to the minds of most Westerners when they think of China.

Although I was not dying to see the “Eighth Wonder of the World” (according to the Chinese, presumably), I approached it the way I did the Forbidden City: get in, give it a chance, live with disappointment, snap a couple of cheesy photos, and get out before the day is wasted.

As it turned out, the warriors were as uninspiring as I feared.

My best advice for visiting China is to go ahead and visit everything you are “supposed to see," but focus more on what you cannot find anywhere else in the world. Many of the tourist attractions are miserably over-dramatized (think: Disney World), and hardly worth traveling around the world for. Read here for my advice on visiting China.

After riding another fly-infested bus back to Xi’an, I began checking off the city’s primary sights. The “Great Goose Pagoda” was worth visiting both for the ice-cream provided outside and the views of the city. I also found a large supermarket and ravaged several bananas and fruit drinks as a part of my ongoing battle to ward off scurvy.

I continued walking the city, sticking to the main throughways and looking through the small shops that line the streets. I found a quaint restaurant in the Muslim quarter that served great dumplings and the owner directed me to a small market selling various nuts and dried fruits.

Later in the evening I drank beer and Irish whiskey with a couple of students from Ireland (both studying at Cambridge University) and a British woman on her way to work in India. One of the Irish students just finished a 6 month leave of absence to live in a Buddhist monastery in China. It was interesting to hear him speak about the experience, but he said that 6 months was probably a little too long.

I completely understand his situation: I can hardly handle a semester of university life back in Atlanta.

Fortunately, Atlanta is still a long way off, and not getting any closer for the foreseeable future. I will sleep easy.

Train Ride: Shanghai to Xi'an

I had not even made it through the doorway of my hotel before I was hailed down by a group of drunken Georgia Tech students. We finished final exams the day before, leaving the entire night for drinking and partying as a goodbye to Shanghai. After everything that we saw on the trip, it is understandable that many students were savoring the last morsels of the trip. I said my final goodbyes, received many drunken hugs, and pushed onward into the deserted Shanghai streets.

It was the kind of rainy Sunday morning that can only be found in the movies. My Chinese-made umbrella did not make the experience any better. Struggling with it while being weight down by my overstuffed backpack must have been a real sight to anyone brave (or desperate) enough to be on the streets that morning.

Other than a pair of jeans, dirtied Lacoste sneakers, a t-shirt, a 65 liter backpack full of whatever necessities I could think of, and a small day-sack with my valuables, I was on my own. I thought it was hard deciding what to take in two suitcases from America to China, much less what to take in a backpack! All my earthly possessions were left with a Chinese Jiaotong student who promised to watch over them for me. I intend to retrieve them by the end of August, but who knows where I will be by then.

Things did not get much better for me when I reached the train station. My 7:15 train did not board when it was supposed to, leaving the entire waiting hall bustling with 300 angry Chinese. Sitting in the chair wondering what on earth is going on, I began recognizing a disturbing smell. Afraid to look, but knowing I had to, I saw a mother wiping up the remaining poop on her son’s butt. Making matters worse, there was a large puddle of urine on the tile floor that she was doing nothing about. I do not know what was worse: the knowledge that people were going to walk unknowingly through the urine for the rest of the door, or my own lack of surprise toward the third-world habits of many Chinese.

Almost as if God wanted to make sure I knew what the boy was going through, I felt a calling of my own. To put this in context, for the past several days I have been suffering from traveler’s diarrhea. It came late on the trip for me, but at least 3 times a day I run for a toilet and experience my own Vesuvius eruption. If I could only capture the chemical processes going on inside me I could help kids across the nation make amazing volcanoes for their science fair projects!

Making a run to the bathroom meant I had to take all my belongings with me. To put this in context, I must explain Chinese bathrooms…
They are as disgusting a place as I have ever seen, or have ever imagined. I believe the sewage system in America has higher standards of sanitation in their pipes than China does on their bathroom floors! As far as logistics are concerned, there are two options: pee on designated walls with drains in the floor, or use the opposite wall where there are holes in the ground arranged in a fashionable linear pattern. Sheltered only by a divider from those on either side, there is ever-changing scenery looking forward as people wait in line to pee!

Back to my story of running to the bathroom (there is a joke in here about having “the runs”), I was trying desperately to figure out what I would do with my bag. I saw a woman unloading bread from crates, and grabbed a crate when she was turned around. Pushing my way into the bathroom with an over-stuffed backpack, a crate, and a look of desperation, I must have been quite a sight to the crowded bathroom! I was relieved to be able to leave my backpack on a clean surface right in front of me while the Ghost of Mount Helen wreaked her vengeance!

The train ended up boarding four hours late (I pieced together that heavy rains along the route were the cause of the delay). Unfortunately, my seat on the train could not have been any worse (knock on wood since this trip is not over). I was crammed between two men in a military-style chair without any legroom because of three people opposite me. Knowing I had to endure this for 20 more hours, I turned on my iPod, and fell asleep.

I lasted only 4 hours before I headed off in search of upgrading my ticket. Fortunately, I was able to point out an empty soft-sleeper in the rear of the train, and received an upgrade for the best $20 I have spent in China. The soft-sleeper was a dream come true, and I made full use of my re-location. I slept the remaining 15 hours with only a few interruptions, and awoke freshly at Xian. Given my severe case of traveler’s diarrhea, I doubt I need to go into further detail…

Start of My Journey

At 5:15am on Sunday, July 23rd, I began my solo trek overland from Shanghai to Delhi. I am “winging” my travels in the sense that I have very little idea of how exactly I will make it all the way to Delhi, but I will figure out such minor details along the way. My overall plan is to travel west through China into the Gobi Desert, continue on through Tibet and Nepal, and finally move down to India. Having left a suitcase with a friend in Shanghai, I am traveling with only a 55liter backpack.

Traveling alone across third world countries means there are bound to be some unwanted close calls, but there are also bound to be tremendously rewarding experiences. Most of what will happen is up in the air, and I am free to make of this opportunity only as much as I am willing to go after. With that said, safety will never be far from my mind because if I screw up, there is no one to bail me out or make things better.

Sound exciting?

Welcome to my world for the next 40 days and 40 nights.

Touring Beijing, Tiananmen Square, and Peking Duck