Quick note: I've been without wifi (and/or VPN) for several days so please back date the last few posts. Thanks!
(Backdate to 1/23/13)
Yesterday I boarded the K9788 in Kashgar bound for Turpan. Turpan is back up in the north of Xinjiang Province, not too far from Urumqi. But unlike Urumqi, which, as a city, breaks out of the Taklamakan Desert to the north and is situated comfortably in some mountains, Turpan breaks south into the desert. Turpan is the second lowest place on earth, second to Death Valley in CA - I think... It is one of the hottest places on the planet in the summer and one of the coldest inhabited places in the winter (i.e. right now). Settlers first came to this section of the desert because it had somewhat fertile ground in comparison to the surrounding infertile sand which makes it a desert oasis. But I'll admit it doesn’t feel much like an oasis at the moment!
The train ride out of Kashgar was painless enough. This time I had a seat. Most of the train passengers this time around however were not Uighur but Chinese (and not Han either - I couldn’t quite place them actually. They were speaking a very thick dialect of Chinese and looked differently from the Han as well.) Suffice it to say, there was not much conversation to be had on this ride. So most of my time was spent staring out the window into the bleak, but beautiful, desert landscape.
24 hours later we were in Turpan. Well, actually we weren’t in Turpan which I quickly figured out. Apparently, Turpan is a small town located about an hour’s drive from the station they misleadingly call Turpan. Turpan the train station is nothing more than a train station and is an important train hub because it is here that westbound trains either break north to Urumqi and up to the Kazakh border, or south toward Kashgar and around the Taklamakan Desert to the Pakistani and Kyrgyz borders. So when I got off the train and instinctively looked for buses into town and found none, I was a bit surprised. But in hindsight, based on the surroundings of the station, I shouldn’t have been too shocked. There were porters of course, and so I hopped a car with three other Chinese people for 20 kuai, and we drove for an hour further into the desert to the little industrial town of Turpan.
At first I was disappointed with this place. What used to be such a historically significant, desert oasis town on the silk road is now, at first glance, little more than a Han Chinese cement block town of industry. And the fact that it is winter and mind numbingly cold made it that much bleaker.
I walked through town to where my hostel was located only to find out that it is not a hostel at all but an expensive hotel. But, seeing as how the location and name matched that of the hostel described in my Lonely Planet guide book, I walked in. The lobby is huge and decorated with an impressive Uighur motif. And it’s dead quiet. I looked around to the check-in counter to the sole occupant of these grounds, and, looking behind her at the price board and seeing only outrageous prices (1250 kuai for a double - why?) , became quite skeptical. I asked her what her cheapest bed was and, as if she suddenly understood my bewildered face, said almost at a whisper that they have dorm rooms for 50 kuai per night which matched the lonely planet’s description. I agreed to it and she led me out of the main building to a side entrance that cuts down below the main steps up to the lobby. It leads to a door marked “staff” and leads to a series of dungeon-like hallways with no lights and several rooms. She gave me mine, a 3 bed dorm room, and then left. The room reminds me of a really crappy American motel room with three beds. Ripping wallpaper, broken TV, dingy bathroom, I prefer the hostel. Seeing as I, as far as I can tell, am the only guest staying in this massive hotel tonight and even further that I have been assigned to the dungeon, I expect I will have the room to myself.
Already weary from the last day and a half, I decided the best thing to do was to walk around and get acclimated to the neighborhood. This made me a bit sadder even because it is clear the Chinese have transformed this city away from its historical roots in the name of industry because the city itself has little character or interest for travelers. I guess I should have known this because all the sites that are of interest to travelers lie outside the city in the desert. That makes sense in the summer when there are tourists and buses to shuttle them out into the desert. But I’m quickly learning that in the off season, no such shuttles exist. So, I’m kind of hosed for any desert ventures. There are some sites that I can take public buses to however and I will plan to make a day of that tomorrow.
I did find one diamond in the rough today though. I found the local bazaar (which, despite the conversion of a lot of Xinjiang’s old silk road trading citites into industrial towns, every place I have been to so far still maintains a local bazaar which is one pleasant remainder of their past) and wandered around for a while taking photos. This is the best bazaar I have been to yet. It is clear that this bazaar is for locals and has not been “dressed up” in any way for visitors. It’s gritty, dirty, and crammed full of Uighurs and it feels unbelievably more genuine. Like this is perhaps what it used to be like hundreds of years ago. The wares are more local, the food was way better, and the market people wanted to interact with me more. It was great. They all thought it was interesting that I wanted to take pictures and they all asked me where I was from, etc. I spoke the few Uighur words I knew and everybody loved it. The bazaar made up for the rest of the day.
Anyway, I went up to the lady again in my hotel recently to ask if there was wifi in the dungeon, and, if anybody out there watches Family Guy, she responded to my yes or no questions just like the Hispanic house keeper that appears from time to time in the show: “Nooooo, ehh nooooo, noooooo........” But I know there’s wifi - my computer’s finding it! Maybe I will have to bribe her for the password.
(Backdate to 1/23/13)
The train ride out of Kashgar was painless enough. This time I had a seat. Most of the train passengers this time around however were not Uighur but Chinese (and not Han either - I couldn’t quite place them actually. They were speaking a very thick dialect of Chinese and looked differently from the Han as well.) Suffice it to say, there was not much conversation to be had on this ride. So most of my time was spent staring out the window into the bleak, but beautiful, desert landscape.
24 hours later we were in Turpan. Well, actually we weren’t in Turpan which I quickly figured out. Apparently, Turpan is a small town located about an hour’s drive from the station they misleadingly call Turpan. Turpan the train station is nothing more than a train station and is an important train hub because it is here that westbound trains either break north to Urumqi and up to the Kazakh border, or south toward Kashgar and around the Taklamakan Desert to the Pakistani and Kyrgyz borders. So when I got off the train and instinctively looked for buses into town and found none, I was a bit surprised. But in hindsight, based on the surroundings of the station, I shouldn’t have been too shocked. There were porters of course, and so I hopped a car with three other Chinese people for 20 kuai, and we drove for an hour further into the desert to the little industrial town of Turpan.
At first I was disappointed with this place. What used to be such a historically significant, desert oasis town on the silk road is now, at first glance, little more than a Han Chinese cement block town of industry. And the fact that it is winter and mind numbingly cold made it that much bleaker.
I walked through town to where my hostel was located only to find out that it is not a hostel at all but an expensive hotel. But, seeing as how the location and name matched that of the hostel described in my Lonely Planet guide book, I walked in. The lobby is huge and decorated with an impressive Uighur motif. And it’s dead quiet. I looked around to the check-in counter to the sole occupant of these grounds, and, looking behind her at the price board and seeing only outrageous prices (1250 kuai for a double - why?) , became quite skeptical. I asked her what her cheapest bed was and, as if she suddenly understood my bewildered face, said almost at a whisper that they have dorm rooms for 50 kuai per night which matched the lonely planet’s description. I agreed to it and she led me out of the main building to a side entrance that cuts down below the main steps up to the lobby. It leads to a door marked “staff” and leads to a series of dungeon-like hallways with no lights and several rooms. She gave me mine, a 3 bed dorm room, and then left. The room reminds me of a really crappy American motel room with three beds. Ripping wallpaper, broken TV, dingy bathroom, I prefer the hostel. Seeing as I, as far as I can tell, am the only guest staying in this massive hotel tonight and even further that I have been assigned to the dungeon, I expect I will have the room to myself.
 |
| The Turpan Hotel |
 |
| The dungeon |
 |
| Women buying scarves at the local bazaar |
 |
| Food stall at the Turpan bazaar |
Already weary from the last day and a half, I decided the best thing to do was to walk around and get acclimated to the neighborhood. This made me a bit sadder even because it is clear the Chinese have transformed this city away from its historical roots in the name of industry because the city itself has little character or interest for travelers. I guess I should have known this because all the sites that are of interest to travelers lie outside the city in the desert. That makes sense in the summer when there are tourists and buses to shuttle them out into the desert. But I’m quickly learning that in the off season, no such shuttles exist. So, I’m kind of hosed for any desert ventures. There are some sites that I can take public buses to however and I will plan to make a day of that tomorrow.
I did find one diamond in the rough today though. I found the local bazaar (which, despite the conversion of a lot of Xinjiang’s old silk road trading citites into industrial towns, every place I have been to so far still maintains a local bazaar which is one pleasant remainder of their past) and wandered around for a while taking photos. This is the best bazaar I have been to yet. It is clear that this bazaar is for locals and has not been “dressed up” in any way for visitors. It’s gritty, dirty, and crammed full of Uighurs and it feels unbelievably more genuine. Like this is perhaps what it used to be like hundreds of years ago. The wares are more local, the food was way better, and the market people wanted to interact with me more. It was great. They all thought it was interesting that I wanted to take pictures and they all asked me where I was from, etc. I spoke the few Uighur words I knew and everybody loved it. The bazaar made up for the rest of the day.
Anyway, I went up to the lady again in my hotel recently to ask if there was wifi in the dungeon, and, if anybody out there watches Family Guy, she responded to my yes or no questions just like the Hispanic house keeper that appears from time to time in the show: “Nooooo, ehh nooooo, noooooo........” But I know there’s wifi - my computer’s finding it! Maybe I will have to bribe her for the password.
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