The Desert: Journey to Ningxia Day 4, part 1

We’re off to see the desert

“Maybe we can be partners today?”  The young man sitting in front of me on the bus going to Sha Po Tou says to me.  For the past few minutes I’ve noticed him turnning around to glance at me, as if he wanted to speak with me.  When I got on the bus, it was full and so I sat in the back in the only available seat.  Next to me was a girl, probably 22 or 23 years old.  She complimented me on my Chinese, and I felt comfortable squished between her on my right and the old woman on my left.  I don’t know what Sha Po Tou is, but I know it’s a place one should go when visiting Zhongwei.  I know it has something to do with the Yellow River and the desert.  That’s enough for me.  Keep expectations low, and you’re sure not to be disappointed.  It’s a cloudless day, and the desert is certainly filled with scalding sand, just like a desert should be.  As the bus makes its way through the small hamlets that surround Zhongwei, passengers get off carrying bags of groceries or goods from “the city” back to their homes.  The homes get progressively simpler as we get farther from the city.  Some of them are even made of clay or dirt, it seems. I move forward to sit in an empty window seat.  That’s when the young man with the glasses turns around and sees his chance to take a seat next to me, across the aisle.

“My English name is Dirk Lee.  You can call me Dirk,” he says.  Dirk is not from around here.  He comes from the Northeast Province of Jinan City.  He has been in the city of Zhongning, between Zhongwei and Yinchuan for the past few weeks on a business trip.  That’s all I know at this time.  Tonight, he’ll fly back home.  His girlfriend is waiting for him.

“Yeah, maybe we can be a pair today.  It’s always better if you have someone to travel with you, I think,” he says.  Dirk seems like a pretty nice guy.  Someone who needs a traveling buddy, anyway.  He tells me that he’s been in Zhongning for the past 2 months, sent here to work on some “management projects” having to to with “turbine generators.” 

“I do not like this job.  But I have to work for life,” he says, matter-of-factly.

Instead of dwelling on turbine generators, we talk about America and the NBA.  He’s a big basketball fan and especially likes Kobe and the Lakers.  As we talk about the NBA I realize I am really out of the loop.  He mentions players that I have never even heard of.  It’s been a long time since I’ve had the time or opportunity to watch an NBA game.  I don’t even have a television in my apartment.  In addition to NBA and basketball, he’s also a huge European soccer fan.  I’m even more out of the loop regarding soccer.  He tells me that if he could realize any dream it would be to buy his own soccer team.  I ask him about any other dreams that he has.

“This is the only one for now.  But it should need a lot of money.”  Or talk of dreams, sports, and travel makes the trip to Sha Po Tou go by fast.  Before I know it we have arrived at our destination.  Off to the left side of the bus is one of the many arms of the Yellow River, cutting through the arid landscape and mountains.  We exit the bus and walk towards the entrance gate to “The Desert.”  There are pictures of camels and children sliding down sand dunes.  Dirk Lee and I enter the front gate.

Poet on the Dune

Walking into the front gate of Sha Po Tou, I’m still unsure of what there is exactly to do here, but I get the ever increasing feeling that I am entering a desert dune wonderland.  Yet to catch any glimpse of the desert, I can feel its presence around me, creeping towards me.  Dirk and I walk along the road, forgoing the shuttle that would take us to the foot of the gigantic dunes that wait for us ahead.  As we walk along, I look off to the left at the mountains in the distance and the Yellow River.  There is a gigantic tower right in the middle of the scenery beside the river.  From this tower one can bunjee jump towards the river, headfirst.  I know I will not do this.

After a few minutes, we can see an enormous sand dune waiting for us.  This is Sha Po Tou, or the “Golden Sand and Humming Bell.”  It is also the beginning of the Tengger Desert.  The dune in front of us seems like a gigantic head, impossible to scale.  At the same time, we notice some dots of people slowly trying to make their way down the slope.  As we approach the gigantic sand head, we pass stables of camels on the right side.  A woman wakes up from her nap, arises, and touts the benefits of riding a camel up to the top of the head for a true desert feel.  We decide to pass up the chance.  A few steps further, another woman sits on a little 10 seater electric bus and tries to get us to join her.  We decide to instead wait for a few minutes as the price is cheaper with more people.  I’m not in any rush, and neither is Dirk Lee.  We sit down in the shade and stare up at the head of sand in front of us.  The woman goes back to the electric bus, sits down, and begins fanning herself lazily.

After a couple of minutes of chatting, Dirk Lee gets up and walks to a table where another woman is selling gifts and momentos.  He tells me that he wants to buy something for his girlfriend.  He’s been in Zhongning for almost 2 months, but until now hasn’t bought anything for her.  I stay seated in the shade, enjoying the quietness of the scenery, the yellow head of sand behind me, still waiting for us to ascend it.  Dirk Lee comes back to the table, having made his purchase.  In his right hand is an enormous rock.  It appears to be made of sandstone, I am guessing.  It’s greenish in color and looks like a cluster of shellfish piled on top of each other in clumps.

“The saleswoman told me it’s called a ‘desert rose.’  Pretty cool, huh?  You think my girlfriend will like it?” he asks me, looking to confirm his purchase.

“I’m sure she’ll like it,” I say.  I hope no one ever gives me one of these things.

The woman on the electric bus walks over to us and tells us that if we want to go up she’ll give us a lower price.  There don’t seem to be many people here today, so we agree on the price and sit on the bus.  She rips us another ticket and begins the drive to the top of the sandy head.  The ride up is swift and short under the blue sky.  They’ve paved a road that leads to the top of the head of sand, and there are relatively few people when we arrive.  A mother and her son sit on the sand, admiring the view of the Yellow River bending in front of us below.  Off in the distance on the right I can see the beginning of other dunes.  Everything around us is brown turning to yellow or yellow turning to brown.  There is very little of the color green.  The blue sky contrasts starkly with the glinting sand below or feet.  I scoop up a handful and let it trickle out between my fingers.  It’s warm.  Directly in front of us beside the river is the gigantic bunjee tower, creating a sore amids the desert beauty.  Behind us is a shop selling souvenirs and a restaurant.  I hear the sound of a train coming from behind the shop.  Apparantly behind the train tracks is the Tengger Desert, with never-ending dunes.  Not 20 paces away from us is a large statue of a famous Tang Dyntast^W poet from Shanxi named Wang Wei.  He strikes a poetic pose, stroking his beard, looking off in the distance at the dunes behind us.  I wonder if he ever really stood like that?  Was his posture that majestic?  He is larger than life, and he holds a brush in his right hand, still dripping with the wisdom of his poems.  Beside him is a large stone bearing the inscription of one of his famous poems about the desert and the Yellow River:

“Smoke rises over the desert, straight and lonely; the Sun sets over the Yellow river, perfect and round.”

I pause to look at the statue of Wang Wei, this man who has literally been turned into a giant in front of my eyes.  I wonder if this son of the Tang Dynasty realized that one day he would be admired by a son of Lexington, Virginia?  I look over at the son and mother sitting on the sand.  He takes off his shoes and tests the sand, but it burns his feet.  Quickly, he covers them again.  Dirk Lee looks at me.

“Let’s go back behind the dunes to play in the desert.”

The Dunes

We walk behind the restaurant towards the train tracks.  There is a small tunnel underneath the tracks for us to pass through.  After this tunnel, it’s easy for us to see the true beginnings of the Tengger Desert.   We take another electric bus towards the desert so that we can truly get in there and experience the desolation of the dunes.  As we ride towards the desert, I notice that there are sections of the dunes where there are squares of grass that appear to be growing in checkerboard patteners on top of the sand.  The driver of the bus says that this is a method of preventing desertification invented here in Zhong Wei.  She also tells us that the railroad in Zhonwei is the first place to lay railroad tracks in the desert anywhere in China.  Upon arrival to the beginning of the dunes, we notice that there are kind of shoe covers/slips that one can rent in order to protect his shoes from the effects of walking on the hot sand.  An exiting tourist suggests that we purchase these shoe covers as she shoes us the soles of her shoes.  They have completely eroded away and melted just from walking on the heated sand of the desert for 30 minutes.  Dirk Lee and I both decide to play it safe and purchase the shoe covers for ourselves.  After putting the covers over our shoes, we are ready for whatever Nature has to hand out to us.

Walking out into the Sun onto the dunes, we pick out a distant dune to scale.  At the top of the dune, there is a small wooden tower that has been built there for tourists to view the desert scenery.  We slowly trudge our way to the bottom of the dune, the sand blowing in our faces.  I open my umbrella to shield myself from the Sun.  As we get to the bottom of the dune, Dirk and I try to pick up speed so that we can make it to the top.  Climbing the dune is much more difficult than expected.  Each time we make a step forward, our leg sinks into the sand and gravity begins to pull us back down the dune, making our ascent 3 times as difficult as it would be to scale the same hill on solid ground.  The dune pulls us in.  It is alive and grabs onto our feet, wanting to swallow our bones, dry them, and scald our flesh to feed vultures.  I break a sweat.  This hill is not so huge, but it is extremely steep.  Dirk makes it to the top before I do.  I stop 3 quarters of the way up to take a rest and wipe my brow.  He beckons me on.  I push forward.  When I am within an arm’s reach of him, he gives me his hand and helps pull me up.  Looking around us, we climb the tower and and enjoy the shade at the top.  It becomes quickly apparent that it would be extremely easy to become lost in the desert.  With no markers to guide anyone, every dune looks exactly the same.  About 50 feet from us is a hotel in the desert.  There’s sure to be a restaurant there, and we can walk along the ridge to get there.  I don’t want to walk up any more dunes.

Lunch

We are the only people who eating lunch in the hotel’s restaurant.  The food is not bad, and is not too expensive, either.  Dirk Lee is famished, having forgotten to eat breakfast in the morning.  I learn from his lesson never to enter the desert on an empty stomach.  In addition to the food, we also order 2 bottles of ice cold “Western Xia Tombs Beer,” named for the tombs that I saw the day before that made up the Pyrmaids of the East.

As we eat, Dirk Lee and I talk about our future plans.  He wonders what my 5 year plan is, and is surprised to discover that I don’t really have one.  There are some goals that I have, but I don’t put a timeframe on these goals.  I don’t have any clear idea of when or if I want to get married (not to mention, who), when or if I want to buy a house, and what kind of job I want to have “for the rest of my life.”  This seemingly directionless future baffles him, but I tell him that it is not that uncommon in the States.

“In China, though, there’s so much pressure and competition.  We have to think about these things early.  We have to save, and think about where we want to live, or how we will take care of our parents.”

As I talk with him, I realize that my life really is pretty “free.”  I can take off work when I want to, and when I do work, I can organize my time as I please.  Either that, or I am touring with customers.  Life doesn’t really get any better than that, at this point.  I am extremely lucky.  Life is good to me.  I have to remind myself of this time and time again.  Anytime I have a little complaint about something, anytime something frustrates me, I just have to remind myself of the good fortune of my situation.  Dirk Lee is the only son of two farmers.  He has to provide for them and work for their retirement.  He’ll probably be married in a couple of years.  Within 5 years he’ll have a child.  He’ll only be allowed to have one because of China’s one child policy.  He will try to work his way up through connections and through the years to get a good position.  He wants to have a good place to live, a clean environment for his family.  Owning that professional soccer team is a long, long way off.  We clink our glasses and drink a toast.

“Let me get the bill,” he says, “I save the receipt and give it to my boss, so my work pays for it anyway.”

Desert Buggies

After our lunch, we have some options of things to do in the dunes.  There is one huge RV that leaves to drive further in the desert every 20 or so minutes.  It’s large and yellow and can seat about 20 people.  It crawls over the dunes at obscure angles like a huge caterpillar.  Another option is to rent our own desert buggies, kind of like racing cars and drive them over the dunes around a pre-set course ourselves.  The third option is to ride the ubiquitous camels.  Dirk Lee and I decide to go with the second option and ride the desert buggies.  I like to have the control in my own hands.

We walk over to the boys who rent the buggies.  One of them smiles in disbelief when I speak Chinese to him.  I tell him that we want to rent two buggies and ride them around the course.  We pay the price and take our seats at the drivers’ wheels.  I sit in one buggie with one of the boys, and Dirk Lee takes the other one.  They are low to the ground and uncovered, just as a buggy should be.  They are relatively simple to start and stop, just like a regular car.  There are no gears, just “go” and “stop.”  I rev the engine and it purrs like a loud cat, sending a small cloud of sand swirling behind.  I look over at Dirk Lee.  He is ahead of me.  Time to go.

Stepping on the pedal of my buggy, it moves forward on the sand without much effort.  Dirk Lee has already left me behind.  I want to take my time and enjoy this.  I don’t feel like racing.  This is a time to let the desert take me.  I am Mad Max, the road warrior, off in some distant alternate future, or some time-warped past.  We go forward along the dune, forward into time, and I turn the wheel to the right so that we can dip down in a large depression, an Earth dimple.  I feel my stomach groan into my throat as we make the descent at an angle, tipping slightly to the right.  There’s no way that this buggy will tip, however, as its position is so close to the ground and we maintain a good center of gravity.  I look off to our right, and that’s when I see “it.”  The sand opens up in front of us, large snaking arms reach out to grab us and pull us into a living pit much like that in ”The Return of the Jedi.”  The co-pilot screams as he is wrenched out of the buggy by one of the snaking arms.  I can’t believe this is happening.  I swerve to avoid another one of the arms, having to squint my eyes from all the sand that is blowing into my face, adding definition to the wrinkles around my eyes.  Another arm swoops towards the car.  I turn my head and look behind me as the arm misses.  I can still see the co-pilot in all his agony.  He was so eager to speak with me before but now has the misfortune of being slowly consumed by the desert-pit monster.  His body head is effortlessly separated from his body and dropped into the living pit to be slowly digested over the period of a thousand years.  It’s too late for him and too much for me to watch.  With the buggy now only having one human body to carry, I can really pour on the speed and enjoy the car’s capability, however.  I ride over another of the beast’s snaking arms and hear it squeal in pain.

Dirk Lee is still ahead.  He’s turned left, and all I can see of him is a cloud of sand.  I can barely make out him and his co-pilot still in their seats, both of them having survived the desert pit monster.  I ride up the side of the dune at an angle, my buggy now laboring a bit to make it up the ascent.  I remember how difficult it was to walk up one of these things only an hour or so earlier, and I am ever thankful and grateful to my trustworthy dune buggy for being able to carry me onwards.  As we make it over the head of the dune, Tina Turner stands there in all of her glory, waiting for us in the middle of the desert.  Her long legs beckon me onwards and give me that feeling of excitement that long legs never fail to bring.  She holds in her hand a long spear with death’s name on it.  She hoists it over her shoulder and points it towards me, her dyed white hair rolling over her shoulders and breasts like a warrior goddess.

“Bring on the pain!” she yells as she launches the spear in my direction.  Luckily I anticipate the angle and velocity of her spear even before she throws it.  She has good aim, but my driving skills are better.  I swerve to the right at the last second and the spear lands harmlessly in the sand.  I continue my course towards Tina Turner.  She is now reckless with rage and is unbelievably running towards me!  Alright private dancer, if it’s pain you want, it’s pain you’ll get.  The buggy speeds towards Tina Turner.  From out of nowhere she has produced a an ugly jagged knife, and she appears ready to pounce on the car.  She is no match for my speed, however, and misjudges how quickly the buggy is approaching. 10 meters, 8 meters, 3 meters…

WHUMP!

As I crash into Tina Turner’s body, the buggy only slows down for an instant.  Like two beautiful black torpedos, the last sight I see of Ms. Turner are her legs rocketing into the sky only to land some 20 meters away in a dune.  She lands headfirst in the sand, like an ostrich searching for food.  Having dispatched of my second foe, I scan the horizen just to make sure that Ike is nowhere around.  Relieved, I soon arrive safely at the end of my desert buggy adventure.  Dirk Lee is waiting for me.

“Pretty fun, huh?” he says.

“Yeah, not bad.”  I pat my desert buggy on the roof.  “Think that’s enough for today.  Should we go?”

“Yeah, good idea.” 

We walk back towards the entrance where we rented our shoe covers to return them to the guides working there.  As I take off my shoe cover, I ask the girl if I can keep them in hopes of starting a new fashion trend in Beijing.  She giggles at my suggestion.  Her co-worker responds to me.

“If you promise to marry her, she’ll let you keep the shoe cover,” she laughs.

I decide that it’s best to leave the shoe cover in its place and neglect to exchange my hand in marriage at this time.  Dirk Lee and I walk back through the tunnel, out to the top of the head of the desert.  Wang Wei’s statue awaits us.  Dirk Lee and I decide that, instead of taking a bus down to the bottom of the humongous dune, we’ll run down its side like giddy schoolgirls.  We stand at the top of the head for a moment next to Wang Wei’s statue and brace ourselves for the descent down the mountain.  Wang Wei remains motionless, forever trapped in his poetic pose.  I look over to Dirk Lee.  He looks at me.

“One…two…three!”  Down, down, down to the bottom of the desert, to the place where the dunes meet the waters of the Yellow River.  Down to the spot where the shade of the trees mesh with the glinting sands of the dunes.  Down to where the colore “of mountains both is and is not” (from Wang Wei’s poem, “A View of the Han River”).     

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