Time shifts all things, leaving no stone unturned. In an earlier post, I documented how the Uighurs, though now persecuted by central authorities in Beijing, were once the allies of Beijing, assisting them in the genocide of millions of Dzungarian Mongols, nearly wiping out the entirety of the people. But after the genocide, there still …
We were leaving Turpan on a sleeper bus, the bad road bumping along. The landscape was that of a brush desert, low, green-gray bushes the only plants that could hang on to life in this environment of extremes. The wind had picked up that day, rocking our bus from side to side and tossing tumbleweed …
Our bus was late. We waited in the bus station. Trying to stay cool, I walked back towards some large fans while nervously glancing from our bags to the man who was supposed to tell us when our bus finally showed up. Suddently, I heard the sound of a pop off somewhere by the ticket …
After leaving Gaochang, I walked the same road I had come in on. I was again taking photos. I could not resist, but I was more watchful. I was still tired from walking in the heat of the desert afternoon. I had recovered from my dehydration, pounding two liters of water, but my energy was …
Galen was down sick again, so I took the camera out by myself to see the ruins of Gaochang. The bus dropped me off where I had expected, at an intersection in Second Fort Village. I began walking in the direction of the ruins of Gaochang. Interested in all aspects of village life, I tend …
The day was doggedly hot. I had walked a long way to get to the ruins of Gaochang, downing a bottle of water at every store I saw. But, as I got closer to the ruins, the landscape became more rural, and there were no stores to buy water. The road came to a T-intersection. …
For I was hungry, and you gave me food: I was thirsty and you gave me drink: I was a stranger and you took me in… Matthew 25:35, King James 2000 Bible We were wandering up a hot dirt road in a rural area, looking for water and a way to get back to Turpan. …
In a post in Xian, way back at the beginning of our journey, I discussed some of the propaganda that the Communist Party was placing in subway tunnels and at bus stops. This propaganda in Xian was subdued, very much promoting this idea of Chineseness, but not all that in-your-face. Xinjiang is different. The Party sees the …
Galen had been sick, so we wanted to leave our campsite at Bezeklik as early as we could. We came out of the canyon and found shade in a cellphone tower. Galen balled himself up, trying to keep his insides inside of him. We had hitchhiked to the site, so we would have to find …
As we were leaving camp, an old man with a toothy grin appeared, wading across the river and stomping into our campsite. He had come down from the nearby village, around the cliff face where the vineyards began. The man was completely bald, his head shinning bright in the morning desert sunlight. His ears bowed …