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In ancient days, this town flourished with endless trails of horse and camel caravans, laden with silk and spices. Traders and bargainers still gather together, squawking at each other in the streets; natives still trepass traverse the Gobi desert dunes, led by a single sliver of light from the crescent moon. The people and the delicious smell of exotic spices call to all who travel through. It was here that I really felt I had stepped into a far off land, into an oasis of exotic headscarves, fruits, camel statutes, and what looked like Turkish writing on signs, instead of Chinese characters. The first camel I laid eyes on was at the foot of the Great Wall, near some statues of men in Middle Eastern garb. I said hello to the camel on the way up, and when I finally made it to the top, I peered downwards at the brown dot, still lying contentedly, while I struggled for my breath. The wind was playful. The farther up the Great Wall we climbed, my hair turned into Medusa’s mane. Each tendril turned and twisted, whipped about by the air. “I should have brought my inhaler,” I called down to my friend, who was lagging behind me. I felt as though I were climbing stairs as the flat stones went uphill. In some places there was no wall, so I just pretended it was still there. The stone felt
ancient, and omniscient. It wasn’t at all dead. There was life to it; after
all, it was still intact after all of these centuries.
The next adventure was with our very own camels. Riding the camels through the Gobi Desert was one of the highlights of the trip. At 5 a.m., it was pitch-black and chilly when we arrived at the camel pick-up. The natives watched us silently, while others, gestured at the camels, urging them to wake up. The camels looked like creatures from a story by Dr. Seuss. They had big eyes and looked as though they wore fake lashes. They batted their eyes, still heavy with sleep. Their second hump was the hairiest; it looked like an overgrown nest, or a top hat covered with brown fur, reaching to the sky. The people had a sort of gypsy-like look. Maybe it was too dark to tell what they really looked like, but they had dark smooth skin, and eyes like black moons. They were amused at the Americans’ first experience mounting a camel. Most of their teeth were crooked, but they smiled at us genuinely. Some of the camels made grunting noises as we were hoisted on their backs. Mine was the runt of the group. He had long eyelashes that made him look like a sleepy squirrel and a much smaller bone structure than the rest. Maybe he was a she -anyway I named him “Pet.” Like the rest of the camels, he was pretty docile. What a life of service, I thought. We made it across the Gobi Desert in a caravan, each camel strung together by a soft cord. From the end, Pet and I watched the caravan snake around in the front. We watched the silhouettes of the camels trodding along next to the dunes as the sky turned from charcoal gray into lighter and lighter shades. The sunrise above the dunes was as spiritual as it was glorious. It seemed to say everything would be all right, “O weary traveler.” In contrast, a few days later, we saw the sun set under the snow-capped Tian Shan, or Heavenly Mountain, in Turpan.(did you get the place name right? Turpan, or Turfan, is below sea level. I don’t think you see Tian Shan there.) That night, we slept in the tents of the Kazak people, called yurts. After a meal of lamb, instant noodles, and an apple, we gathered around the fire, and listened to the Kazaks, with their traditional instruments, and the Americans, all singing songs they knew and marveling at each others’ ways. Journeying along the Silk Road, I had traveled with fresh eyes. I recognized that physical struggle was what led to sharing joys of the trip with other people. We Americans had walked a few rugged miles in the shoes of the Asians in their own terrain. We are all different, but we bonded over simple necessities - the simple joys of life - dinner followed by singing songs by a bonfire, a sunset in the freezing mountains, a walk up the dunes of the Gobi Desert, and a sunrise with the camels. Simple comforts bring the East and West together with the same smile. To contact
Susan Click Here
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