Born in South Korea and raised in America, I embody Eastern roots with Western views. Traveling through China fulfilled part of my personal story, for in our heritage lies a discovery that may answer some of our precious questions. With a group of students from The Beijing Center, I traversed part of the 1,423 mile ancient Silk Road exploring the land, people, and places of my root culture. 

We began the journey in Xi’an, where excavations of entire armies of full size terracotta warriors and horses stand in battle formations. The realistic faces were carved to reflect individual facial structure and expression of each warrior.

Leaving this eastern metropolis behind, we clambered back onto the bus and headed west to Dunhuang, at the center of two major trade routes along the Silk Road. Here ruins of 1,000 Buddhas, carved into the cliffs and cave grottoes, fill the air with an ancient sense of wisdom.

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 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.

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.

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.