Close to spending two months in China. What did I learn? A lot! Seen? A little less? And cycled? That's a whole different story..
Crossing the border was a challenge that I didn't tell about last time. Kyrgistan was lovely, maybe one of the easiest border-crossings in the last year, but China was a different story. Manoeuvring along a narrow mountain road and along a rolled over cotton truck, waiting at the fence, and off to the small cabin for collecting a stamp. That's what I thought, as the man at the border refuses to give me back my passport. Speaks only Chinese, no comments of any sort to it, so time for war. That pas belongs to me and no-one else.
Friendly demands become less friendly, and eventually I go as far as quickly sneaking my hand into his pockets to get back my travel documents. I am going to the edge, and he even threatens to kick me out of the country, when I find some help with a nearby truck driver. He explains me in Russian that the border is now closed, but if I hand over my passport to the border guard I will be allowed to cross over for the night, to find a place to sleep and have some tasty Chinese food. In the end I decide to opt for this extra bonus night, get myself a decent diner and collect my pas and stamp the morning after.
Crossing the border is a whole different story as the initially want me to leave my bike at the order site, but it all works out. I pitch my tent just across the border, while the rest of the world is enjoying the ever present Worldcup footbal matches, and the next day I am ready to head off into China.
The thirteenth of June is the name of that day. Feeling bad about it, don't really know why, all day long I ride into the wind in an area that turns out to be quite mountainous. Keep on pushing and at night I decide to camp out in a wind-free river valley. Bad move, as I later find out.
The sort of nice skies close up, and some light rain start to fall. No problem I remember thinking. I am sleeping on a little plateau, so nothing can happen to me. Night falls, darkness comes, some thunder, some rain, and the weather slowly passes by. Then, just when I am about to fall asleep, a big bang. BOEEEFFF!! Shit! My bike!
In an extremely quick reflex I try to struggle out of my tent, but already I feel a huge wall of water pushing into my tent. Zipper doesn't open, so I pull out one of my tent pegs, and struggle through the small opening that creates. Just centimeters besides my tent a huge flood is coming down. In it I feel for my bike, but I seem unable to find it. Bent over a bit, and a little more, and slowly I let myself slip into the water. Why can't I find my bike?
As soon as I go into the water I find out though. Immediately I am caught up, and drift about 20 meters down stream. This is wrong. Really wrong. Grab a tree root and pull myself up to the dry. Back to my tent, where I stand in front, thinking. Obviously a flash-flood, so maybe the water will go down again soon. Just wearing my underwear and soaking wet, so not really a smart idea to keep on standing there. Survival instinct takes over, decide to grab the bag containing my passport and walk off. I need to find a dry spot.
A dry spot I find, some 50 meters further up. Stand about for a while, and then decide to grab my other possessions. Five bags, mattress, sleeping bag, never mind about the rest. Bring my things back to the dry spot, but also there, water starts rising. Now this is real trouble.
Middle of the night, pitch black, lost my flashlight, and bare-footed as my shoes where among the first things to float away. Decide my only options is to just start walking. Load all my stuff up on my body, and start walking into the river. Cold, sharp stones, tremendous pains, crying and cursing, but I must get back to the road.
Eventually I manage to get there. Lay about all my possessions, maybe they will dry. Then the thought of hypothermia occurs to me. I need to get these clothes off. Lucky for me the bag containing my clothes is the only one that has kept completely waterproof. I towel myself and start dressing up with every piece of clothing I own, making myself look like a fool.
Luckily most of my electronic gadget and photo equipment have all held the impact of the muddy waters. I pop in my mp3-player and start marching about and screaming with the music. Getting warm. Why o why did this happen?? My trip is over, I am sure of it.
Then a truck approaches. I wave like mad. Salvation! But no, even though I am standing on the middle of the road, the driver chooses to completely ignore me, as goes for the next five trucks that follow. I curse them one by one, and just can't believe my eyes. During daytime I just have to lift my hand and everyone will stop to help me, but now, in extreme emergency, they just ignore me?
Finally a truck decides to pull over. I can't believe my eyes, and stumble to his cabin, crying. With sign language I try to describe what happened to me, the driver understands, helps me hauling in my luggage and starts driving me to the next village. Seeing I am cold the wrap me into warm blankets. A little further down an avalanche of mud and stone has blocked the road, and we spend the night waiting for improvement and some more daylight vision, before we very slowly ride on to the border.
At the border town the put me up into a small hotel, let me rest for a bit while my clothes are slowly getting dry. After this first care, good food in a restaurant around the corner, which, after hearing my story, is free of charge.
I decide to rent a cab and go back to last nights camping place. Together with a couple of shepherds we recover my tent, some of the things still inside, and find back my stove which is miraculously waiting for me in front of my tent.
My bike seems to be lost, until we find it back some 200 meters down-stream, while dragging a big muddy bag with the remains of my tent. Covered in a huge pile of branches and mud, my friend seems to be ok, just lost its water bottles and handlebar foam.
The next couple of days I spend in Kashgar cleaning my equipment, and having my bike cleaned and fixed. Mud is everywhere, so the local bike shop ends up taking my bike apart and completely reassembling it again. Damage seems to be only slight; some lost parts of equipment, and a couple of broken tent poles. A miracle, for spending a night in a flood that I was lucky to get away from alive.
In Kashgar I also meet a multitude of cyclists. Fabian and Micheal (http://www.fblock.com/) from Germany, that I had been following for the last couple of days, and Kate, Mel, Ben and Alisha (http://www.cyclingsilk.com/) from both Canada and the USA. We are getting along just fine, and I take a slightly too deep look in the beautiful blue eyes of Kate, so in the next couple of days I work like mad to repair all my gear, to join the six of them for riding to Lhasa.
This breaks me up though. The though ride through Tajikistan, the flood and a lack of sleep make it difficult for me to push through, and during our second day on the bike (and the first day we are actually riding together with the seven of us) I get seriously ill. Probably a Giardia infection, suffered that a couple of times before, but this time it comes really inconvenient, since I am already having a hard time keeping up with the others, and we are about to enter high mountains and one of the most difficult roads in the world.
Spend that particular day just riding on mental strength, and make myself a battle plan for the next couple of days. Medicine, minerals and a massive amount of positive energy. In the meanwhile I use a couple of chopsticks to repair my broken tent poles. When I about to leave for the next day of riding, all of a sudden Kate, who already left a couple of hours earlier, shows up.
Alisha has decided that riding the planned itinerary through Tibet is a little bit too much for her, and that she would like to return to some lower lands for an alternative route. Makes me thinking. Would really like to continue, but after a long consideration, I decide it would probably be best for me to return as well, however sad that may be. Silently we ride back along the road we know all too well from riding there just the day before. Bummer.
Also the days after Alisha and me don't talk too much. Too many things to think about, sad about the goodbye and the feeling of failure. Though riding through the desert, too hot and not enough water, some passers by feed us with apricots and water, but it doesn't make the ride any more pleasant.
On the third day we are awaken from our monotonous routines when we ride into a massive sandstorm. Red tearing and painful eyes, vision is less than five meters, but that doesn't really mater as there is no other way of riding then head-forward. In over two hours we cover a mere 15 kilometers, after which we reach a small oasis. Alisha considers pushing on, but I refuse. This is no fun at all, and actually quite dangerous. Hands up and waving, waiting for a bus to pass by.
Positive side to the story is that this bus ride takes care of reaching the town of Hotan on a Sunday, which is famous for its weekly market just then. Some really craftsmanship to be sen here. Right in front of us stray mats are made, knifes sharpened, and teapots welded. Beautiful people, great faces, and a very hilarious situation when I ask an old man if the soap he sells is for consumption.
From there on a bus ride us straight through the desert all the way to Urumqi. Shaking and bumping, a headache and not enough leg space, as unfortunately I am slightly taller than the average Chinese person. In Urumqi we are offered a great introduction into town by co-cyclist Pete, and enjoy the flavours of 'real' beer; a delicious Leffe Blonde cold from the bottle, a true joy!
Close to getting into a fight with the bus driver that is supposed to bring us to Dunhuan, where a couple of very imposing Buddha caves are hewn into the rocks. Together with a couple of Israelis and an enthusiastic tour guide we head off, enjoying open-mouthed of its splendour.
Original plan was to continue to Jaiyuguan, but Alisha decides that Lanzhou seems like a better destination. I get so angry with the driver that is supposed to take me (he bluntly refuses to carry my bike as he preferes to take melons) that I pull down my pants ride next to the bus and change into cycling outfit. I am so completely fed up with those bus drivers, I'd rather ride my bike all the way over.
So, my roads with Alisha part, and I head off into the desert, setting goal for the next village. The winds show no mercy, and when I stop for a short break a couple of truck drivers pull over. They give me some water, and offer me a ride. Don't really feel like it, but they convince me by telling there is only dry and windy plains ahead, without a drop of water to find anyway. Ok, let's take me to the next village in that case.
Once we get there, the refuse to let me out; the road further down is going to be just dust, stones and a lot of traffic, impossible to ride a bicycle. The let me no choice, the will bring me to Jaiyuguan. Agree somewhat holding back, would rather cycle, but on the other had, going there by public transport was my original plan anyway, so way complain?
I find out about that later. The truckers are great guys, and have a whole lot of hobbies, but riding their truck is not really one of them. Every two hours we pull over at yet another restaurant, to eat, play Chinese Chess (that I can't seem to understand) and Mah Jong. After dark the engines are switched off and it is time to sleep. In the end it will take us over two days to cover a distance of only 250km, and to make the whole scene complete, they drop me off at my destination at three in the morning. Looking for a place to sleep a new adventure follows, when a student invites me to his hotel room to watch football for the rest of the night. So no reason to complain.
From Jaiyuguan I start riding again, and now for real. Leaving town after a sleepless night, and without seeing the end of the Great Wall, riding through endless fields of green, heading East. Busy road, boring tracks. After some threehundred kilometers I am fed up, and decide to head up into the mountains, which I just seem to like a little better.
Without acclimatisation I ride up above 4000 meters several times. Change of perspective, been there, done that, just keep a close watch to your body, and it's gonna be just fine. Route is a whole lot more interesting than it was in Tajikistan, or maybe that's just my option, because every time you get up on the hill, you are rewarded with some very nice and crazy downhill sections. And let's be honest, isn't that what it is all about anyway?
For the first time in months the Muslim people at large make way fro Buddhists, stupas and temples, red robes and bald heads. Upon visiting the first temple I find out time didn't stand still in these places either. The modern monk nowadays uses a cellphone for quick communication, knows how to use digital camera and computer, and transports himself on an electric motorbike, just like everyone else.
Lack of respect by Chinese tourists that see the holy monastery as a big open air museum, take pictures on places where they are not supposed to, and cause a large number of prayermen to act as guards. A blond head causes a lot of friendly smiles though, and within minutes I am made part of their community of Yellow Heads.
Massive contrasts with the poor Tibetans on pilgrimage, earnestly and dressed up in their best outfit, praying and processions, donating money on the holy places and to monks that are actually better of than themselves. The whole scene makes me blink away a tear in the corner of my eye.
The road winds on, climbing up to a peak that counts close to four kilometers in vertical direction, and in the direction of the Yellow River. The area of some Muslim minority, the Hui, hospitable and a great cuisine, where I come to the sad conclusion that my Arabic is still better than my Chinese. Going up with a rising thunderstorm, and along some Buddhist shrines into a Hidden Valley.
The scenery opens up, completely different. Dry becomes wet, happy running streams, pine forest. Small villages show up, but forever surrounded by to hazy lights and cramping waves of fog. Sort of dehydrated the way to hot day comes to an end, but with a cooling downhill of over forty kilometers as a bonus. Riding over 60 kilometers an hour I whoosh down through an eroded landscape heading for a wide stream. The Yellow River, still blue up here, running right in front of me and being held up by a wide dam in the middle.
On my birthday I continue my trip along the water the makes up the root of Chinese civilization. Densely planted fields, huge watermelons, and grain being harvested as I pass by, old-fashioned using a sickle and the sun to try them by the bunch. Through a gorge I make my way up to the artisan village of Rebgong (or Tongren, as the Chinese like to call it).
I share my steamed dumplings with an old and begging lady, and while I try to make a fruitless attempt to set my exhausted body to licking a quickly melting ice-cream, a young monk stops me and asks if I maybe need some help. Giant helps me finding a nice hotel, and while we are dining out and getting ourselves a nice meal, all of a sudden beautiful Madla and her friend Martina turn up. Two Czech girls teaching English wondering what their student is doing there with a this tall blond foreigner.
We decide to meet up the next day to visit some kind of traditional piercing ceremony; that's what I call lucky. The ceremony happens to be a day later than we expected, so we head of to a village festival, traditional dance, singing and theater. Wonderful. Starting this year the village has emancipated, which means all women are also allowed to envoy the whole celebration, and are allowed to share in food and drinks as well. Beer for the men and watermelon for the women. No explanation necessary for the fact I prefer to be on the side of the women in this case. This means I am surrounded with traditional long pigtails; two dark tails knitted together on the bottom.
The day after is the day of piercing; a couple of sharp needles through the cheeks by means of a blood sacrifice to the local mountain god. Young and old all join in, but just the men. Fancy hat, and then parade through the village, accompanied by a hoem-padda-boem of the town's local drummer. The shaman is waiting on the village square already, possessed by the mountain god of course, and very content on the whole show. Huge amounts of sacrificial gifts, a big fire in the middle, and after a couple of rounds marching around and showing off courage, the whole pile is thrown into the fire. Cookies, tsampa, peaches, all things sweet and tasty. A huge puddle of alcohol on the ground, the shaman dancing like a madman, and acting like a drunk.
For us it is a party as well. Weima's family (one of the other teachers on the school of the girls) dishes up a meal of over fifteen courses, more and more every time, and every time something different. Fruits and vegetables, momo (Tibetan sandwiches with meat), chicken, tofu, spicy or mild, a bit of everything. We start thinking out various plans of escape, but simply can't just turn our backs to their great hospitality. Once one of the last courses, a couple of big dishes of yak meat are brought out, I can no longer control myself. I eat so much of this delicious juicy meat, I can hardly move after. Just declining to be polite is no longer an option, I am really really full now.
There is said to be yet another festival the day after, but we have seen enough for today. Swimming in the river with the girls, and chasing off local kids that seem to find just a little too much joy in watching the contents of their bathing suits. Another couple of days in Rebgong, relaxing, and doing some cooking again in the kitchen of a friend, accompanied with happy sounds of singing Tibetans influences by some alcoholic substances (two things they really seem to like over here), until at one point I start to realise I should really get going. In a couple of days I will have to receive an important package in Xi'an, time to leave. Don't really feel like it, but don't have a lot of choice to do otherwise.
Gazing out of the bus window with a painful heart. A great cycling area in which I won't be able to ride for now is passing by, and my mind goes out to the great girl I am leaving behind. Luck is one my side when it comes to travel; in Xining I find a bus to Lanzhou, and from over there a night train to Xi'an. Riding the train is a story on itself. No reserves seat, so make sure you find something by yourself. Busy busy busy, no seats left, total chaos. Almost ridiculously sad, but in the end I manage to find myself a small edge to seat myself. Sleeping is not really an option, mainly caused by the annoying bunch I try on sharing my seat with, and a bike in the cargo section. Upon arrival it takes at least two hours before my luggage and faithful bike show up again, and then it is time to set off to Nancy.
Nancy is a very jolly American lady, that invited me to her place. Great fun, feeling like home, taking it easy, and endless talking, because just like me, she has a very loose tongue. The first couple of days we are also accompanied by a couple of English language students, that just can't seem to understand that I manage to keep on traveling for such a long time. Waiting for the mail to come in, DHL in Beijing seem to have a lot of trouble just forwarding my packages without asking a lot of difficult questions. In the end it all works out, and I can call myself the proud new owner of a tent, donated by Miyako Sports (http://www.miyakosports.co.jp/) from Japan (jaaai!!), and a nice new pair of sunglasses. Ready to head of again!
At Nancy her place I also met Dutch cyclist Linda (http://www.bangkok-beijingbybike.org/). Together with one of Nancy her students we visit the impressive and world famour Army or Terracotta Warriors, and maybe in a couple of days we might head off for a couple of days of cycling together.
