Trekking the Tian Shan

“Outiwali!…outiwali!”“Let me pass!…let me pass!”

Barreling down the narrow track towards us from behind a rocky outcrop a wild-eyed young man clearly struggles to control his obstreperous donkey. Frantic hooves clatter on wet rocks. Amid shouts and curses we jump for safety on either side of the path. In what is no more than a few seconds both man and beast dissolve again into the mist. A little shaken, but nonetheless seeing the humor in the situation we continue on our way up towards the pass.

It is easy to forget that far from being a remote and unknown hinterland, Xinjiang has spent the larger part of its recorded history as a vital trade and cultural nexus and has left an indelible mark on the history of human civilization. Though empires have come and gone, the rhythm of life in the mountains of Xinjiang continues unchanged.

After some frenzied last minute shopping we had left the region’s capital, Urumqi (乌鲁木齐), several days earlier. Relatively new and predominantly ethnically Han, the city lies is a shallow valley to the north of the Tian Shan range. The entire massif stretches east-west for nearly 2500km, and from here we drove south between the mountains to the ancient city of Turpan (吐鲁番), a fabled Silk Road oasis. As we enter the Taklamakan Desert, the entire plain tilts noticeably to the south, toward the Aiding Lake, the second lowest place on earth after the Dead Sea.

The Turpan Basin is the driest area of China, receiving only 4mm of rainfall per year, and despite its sub-zero winter temperatures, virtually no snow. In the morning and evening light the barren hills burn a deep, almost Martian red. These are the “Flaming Mountatins” mentioned in Chinese literature as far back as the 15th century in the classic “The Journey to the West.” More recently these stories have been revisited in the cinema and on the small screen with the numerous variations about the most memorable character, the Monkey King.

Heading back towards the southern flanks of the Tian Shan, the rocky flatlands are replaced by barren and parched hills, and here, overlooking a snowmelt river, sits Bezeklik Thousand Buddha Caves. All seventy-seven were carved out of the cliff-face by hand, and inside are adorned by fascinating images not only of the Buddha himself, but of the local inhabitants and the diverse facial features depicted including Indian, Persian, and Caucasian reflect the cosmopolitan mixed citizenry of Gaocheng (高昌故城), a major kingdom for 1000 years before it was finally destroyed in the 14th century. Unfortunately Muslims defaced many of them, believing they were idolatrous. Later “foreign devils” such as Albert Von Le Coq and Theodore Bartus carted others back to the museums and galleries of Europe leaving the caves somewhat empty. Even today many locals still begrudge Europeans for the ‘indiscretion.’

Away from the tourist attractions, our first campsite sits atop a river confluence, and after clearing away a few rocks we quickly set up our tents and have a pot of water boiling before we head off to sleep.

At 2500m, the clear spring morning dawns sharp and cold and we discover ice has encrusted our tents during the night. On a grassy bluff overlooking a waterfall we come across a weathered old Kazak man offloading valuable firewood from his donkey. Unruffled by our appearance he invites us inside for a cup of tea. Stirring the steaming brew he proudly tells us that he has seven hundred head of sheep. To us it seems more amazing that he is only forty eight years old, his leathery appearance seemingly of a man thirty years older.

We move on and pitch tents to settle in for the evening. Snow falls in the night, and by morning a biting wind is also blowing up the valley. A few hours after breaking camp the track zig-zags up a small but steep face, and I notice that the rocks underfoot have been worn smooth by 2 millennia of two and four-legged traffic. Further down we stop to chat with some hardy characters, who tell us that they are driving the goats to Turpan, a further 5 days ride south, where they are to be sold in the market. I notice that several of them are wearing open sandals, despite the frigid temperature.

We set up camp but choose our spot poorly, and within an hour we are surrounded by an assortment of goats, horses and even a single scruffy looking camel. Some time during the night several of the goats start digging into our food, and in the morning most of it is strewn across the surrounding dirt. Such are the difficulties of trekking through the Xinjiang mountains.

Like a green ribbon overlaying the otherwise barren northern Tian Shan sits a band of lush meadows and conifer forests teeming with life. This strip, at an altitude of between 1500-2800m, catches the fronts that move in from Siberia, and the rainfall they deposit support a wide variety of temperate flora and fauna. Water, so plentiful here, and so scarce elsewhere in the region, has been harnessed for thousands of years through the Karez System made up of wells, underground channels and small reservoirs, to allow the water to flow directly to the cultivated areas. This is also the abode of wolves, foxes, bears, Ibex, and the reclusive snow leopard. Although not easy to see at first, Kazak yurts and cabins dot the landscape as they have done for centuries, and in the still morning air smoke rises vertically giving away their location.

Dropping away gently in front of us to the horizon we see nothing but the massive expanse of the Junggar Basin. This area of rock and sand makes up the western extreme of the Gobi desert, and covers an area almost the size of Turkey. 200m ahead in a field above the river sit the weathered ruins of an ancient outpost of Beiting. The main city, a further 30km out into the desert was first established more than 2000 years ago. During the Tang Dynasty (618-907 A.D) Beiting formed an important administrative center and military garrison responsible for central government affairs in the north of the Tian Shan and the east of Xinjiang.

This was our pick-up point, and surprisingly since our driver had never been here before, he was right where we had instructed. Judging by the numerous cigarette butts scattered outside his door, he had been awaiting our arrival several hours, and was happy to see us.

The final stop we were to make was to the Przewalski’s Horse Breeding Center farther out into the desert. Believed by some to be the ancestor of all modern horses, it was discovered by intrepid Russian Colonel, explorer, and naturalist, Nicolai Przhevalsky. Becoming extinct in its natural habitat, it continued to be bred in captivity in Europe and America, before finally being reintroduced into the Xinjiang Gobi only in 2001.

The Jimsar Breeding Center is one of the world’s largest and most successful, having some 200 head. There we meet an intelligent and clearly passionate young German man from the Cologne Zoo. While showing us around the center he explains the breeding program, and the frustration in dealing with some areas of local officialdom. He mentions with more than a hint of despair how a bright young graduate working for a Beijing tourism company had on a recent visit proposed that the best way to help the center raise money was to slaughter a few of the animals and invite rich Chinese tourists to savor the meat, a delicacy, which could be sold at an exorbitant price.

Tourism has been identified by the government as one of Xinjiang’s “pillar industries” and as such is receiving vast amounts of infrastructure investment and witnessing rapidly increasing numbers. While this might ring alarm bells for some, the nature of tourism with Chinese characteristics is to process as many people through a few highly developed tourist sites as quickly and efficiently as possible. This leaves huge scope for independent travelers, and those willing to put more thought into research and planning, and Xinjiang, as vast and diverse as it is, offers a multitude of exciting possibilities. For people willing to wander off on their own and explore the natural beauty and rich history of the area, Xinjiang still has much to offer.

Jonathan Tomlin has lived in Urumqi for four years. He owns FuBar, one of the city’s top nightspots, and organizes custom designed tours for visitors to Xinjiang

Related posts:

1. A Full Eclipse: Coming to Xinjiang

You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.