Jiayùguan, December 18

Okay, I'll correct my last blog entree. This part of China (Gansù, Hexi Corridor) is amazing. The land is arid and harsh: most is desert or mountain. The combination of desert with snowy mountains in the background is quite common. It's easy to understand why this region is called a "corridor". To the south is the forbidding Qílián Shan, a wall of high mountains that separates it from the Tibetan Plateau. And to the north, well... you can go there but then it's just the Gobi desert and you. The region close to the mountains gets enough melt water to make it a green oasis though. In ancient times, this narrow strip of land was the sole passage from the west into China. Trade and commerce always went this way. So no wonder it had a huge strategic value for the Chinese. That is visible everywhere. On barren mountain tops, you see several generations of watchtowers overlooking the land. Since as early as the Han Dynasty (1st century BC), the land of the dragon made its presence known here. Not least in the world's most formidable defensive structure ever built: the Great Wall.

But let's start where I left you last time: in Turpan. From that city I took a bus to Hamì (Kumul in Uygur), the westernmost major city in Sinkiang. It still has a large Uygur population, although the party has made the economic development of the region its top priority - which for some reason involves overflowing it with Chinese migrants. However, the state also sees Uygur culture as an important inheritance that needs to be protected and showcased. So there is a very neat looking new building for the Kumul Muqam Heritage Centre, an NGO dedicated to muqam, an Uygur folk art in which singing, dancing, story telling and some theatre go hand in hand. I was invited to watch a concert there. It was a beautiful, funny and interesting experience. After the show, the performers wanted to speak with me and I had the impression that they were equally thankful to me, perhaps because I spoke to them in something close to their own language (Uygur is close to Turkish and I could sometimes make myself more or less understood in Sinkiang). Besides the Muqam Centre, Hamì has many old islamic structures that still make it very much an Uygur place. However, the new city centre looks like it could be anywhere in China.

From Hamì I took another bus east to Dunhuáng, a bumpy ride across a landscape of stony desert and razor sharp ridges. Dunhuáng is a very clean, touristy town. It is famous for its vicinity to the Mogao caves, one of the most important centres of early Buddhist art in China, and for its 'Singing Sand Mountain' (Ming Sa Shan), a vast area covered by sand dunes. These dunes are really awesome. Most are easily several 100 m tall, with their highest point at 1750 m. Unfortunately, the entrance to the dunes has been walled off and made into a tourist trap with ticket office, camel drivers and souvenir stands. In summer, you can rent a bike and visit the dunes on your own, by-passing the tour bus entrance. However, all cafes and guesthouses in town are closed in December, so I couldn't escape the crowds. Once through the gate, I climbed to the top of a dune and from that vantage point enjoyed the scenery in a more peaceful way.

The Mogao caves were equally impressive. The paintings inside are from the 4th to 13th century, but the most beautiful onces are from early Tang dynasty (7th-8th century). The thin, smooth lines, bright colours and extremely elegant dancing scenes reflect that Chinese golden age long ago.

From Dunhuáng I took a slow train to Jiayùguan. I shared the train with a Chinese doctor who can speak some English. We shared a meal of spicy tofu and bargained with the girl who sells newspapers. In the end we both bought an atlas of China for the original price (15 kwai - still very cheap), but she gave us a pile of small necklaces for free. Typically China like, they all contain a beetle enclosed in transparent plastic. I guess they'll come in handy when I encounter more children begging for a pen or a mao.

Close to Jiayùguan is the first watchtower of the Great Wall. It is little more than a ruin but it stands high above a spectacular gorge. Above the gorge a Ming area army camp has been reconstructed and there is also a scary suspension bridge across the gorge. A little further east, the Wall snakes its way up onto a steep mountain side. There is also an impressive fortress of the same age. This was were China began and the big, wild Central Asian plains began during the Ming. And it still feels like a border here. The city, about 10 km east of the wall, is different from any place in Sinkiang in that it feels really Chinese. In Sinkiang there are old traces of Buddhism everywhere, but here it is still alive. Not only Buddhism is present, I also visited a temple dedicated to that most ingraspable of Chinese religions: Daoism. Believing in, for example, the Eight Immortals or the Jade Emperor - that's something I can understand. I can understand the philosophy of living in harmony with one's surroundings too. However, I don't see how you can be a daoist monk. Or why there are so often traces of Buddhism in Daoist temples and vice versa. It's all a bit exotic to me, yet intriguing and inspiring. And after all, it's in a way the cultural heart of China that you meet in such temples.