A Chinese SWAT team, only a meter away, runs past me, guns drawn, as I walk back towards my bus. I'm nervous, wide eyed, and not sure what to expect after going through a security check point upon re-entering the far western Chinese city of Urumqi. My curiosity wants me to stop and stare at where they're going, but it's best not to draw attention to myself. I have yet to become used to this scene as I spend the weekend in this ethnically divided region that has experienced several terrorist attacks, the most recent only 3 days before I arrived.
Originally wanting to pursue my love of train travel and take the 32 hour trip from Beijing, it was only after I was set on going and arranged a place to stay with a CouchSurfer that I realized the instability of the region. A quick Google image search for 'Urumqi China train station' in order to get an idea of where I could meet my host was scary to say the least. Everyone I spoke to encouraged me not to go. The expressions on their faces sometimes saying more than their words. Regardless, I chose to stick to my plan and be extra vigilant.
After hours upon hours of travel across the dry, sunny, and vast, desert, of the Chinese interior, an hour before I arrived, everything suddenly changed as though foreshadowing what was to come. The sun suddenly disappeared behind a thick haze of fog and pollution, the temperature dropped 10 degrees to 15 below, and a foot or so of snow now covered the terrain. It had been a day and a half on the train, and the time to disembark had arrived, or at least I thought. After stepping off the train and walking towards the station, feeling the bitter cold I've never experienced as a backpacker, the English translation of the station did not match my 'Urumqi South' destination on my itinerary.
The first three thoughts that quickly race through my head:
- I know zero Chinese, which coincidentally matched my chances of getting help.
- Regardless of whether I'm in Urumqi or not, I'm most definitely off the beaten path located somewhere in the middle of the Eurasian land mass.
- Why did I decide to backpack to a winter destination with the same clothes (all 12 shirts layered over me) as my summer euro trip.
The off-chance that this was in fact not Urumqi sent an even cooler chill down my already cold back. While I finally recognize the front of the station, my senses were popping with curiosity and confusion which kept me alert. Everything around me was very different, surreal, as though I was in a dystopia fiction. The thick fog at dusk limited my visibility like a dream, with the surrounding large red neon lights creating a glow that created an illusion of danger. Full armored police yelled into megaphones and armored police vehicles appeared everywhere. A large labyrinth of fences limited where I could go as I went through my first of dozens of security checks; pat downs, x-ray scanners and passport checks.
After meeting my host, an American who had only been working here for three months, we hopped into a taxi to meet a friend of hers; the dystopia fiction continues. I hear stories of censorship, far beyond the limited internet (it has been weeks since I've accessed Facebook, Twitter, Dropbox, CBC, Google - I've picked up the expression 'I'll Bing it', and even my NHL app). I'm not so sure news about everything that is going on here is getting to the rest of the world. Public service announcements are supposedly sent via text message informing locals not to talk to foreigners. The juxtaposition of a call to prayer of a mosque with the mix of Arabic and Chinese writing on surrounding buildings makes it difficult to piece together where I am in the world. Police cars continue to race through the city and traffic cameras flash with the intensity of a strobe light recording all of the vehicles passing on the street.
On foot, I pass a man collecting grease from the sewers to re-use for cooking, later, a military truck backs up into a parking lot beside me as a team of riot police jump out and storm a building in an appeared raid.
I have very limited knowledge of the situation here, but in a western viewed nutshell, the Chinese government is suppressing the indigenous population in ways that I forget are still happening in the world. One of these native people approches me and asks in English if I need any help. I let her know we're waiting for a friend, and thank her. Curious as to how she knows English, she tells me she studied in England. Asked whereabouts, but she has to go. Too much talking might get her in trouble.
My whole experience in Urumqi and a city two hours away, Shehizi, is eye-opening. A half century ago Chinese people were forced to populate this barren landscape and create the 'perfect civilization', at the expense of the native people.
My last night, a group of local Chinese students go over to their English teachers' house, my host, to cook a huge meal for our holidays. We exchange cultures; I teach them how to throw a football, watch them sample turkish delight and gouda cheese (sour looks all-round), and line up Christmas carols to be played. In return, aside from the several dishes of food, we hear about what life is like for them here. It quickly turns to the painfully blatant reality. Ambition and leadership is frowned upon, as the saying goes, 'the tallest trees get cut down first'. Western normality of having dreams and goals is contrasted with one students' words; 'we just try and survive'. It's hard to accept the mind set they're forced to endure. It's even more difficult to explain to them how I have the possibility to travel the world. It's humbling to know how lucky I am.
The low availability of work is evident in China. Every place seems extremely over staffed, and it's not uncommon to see groups of employees standing around waiting for something to do. This whole scenario hit me right in the face after dinner while we cleaned up. Everyone was pitching in as I kept looking for how I could help. 3 people cleaning the table, 2 mopping the floor, 3 doing the dishes... the irony was there simply wasn't enough work to be done.
While China alone has been an extremely unique and interesting location to backpack and CouchSurf, visiting this western region alone has been the most surreal experience I've ever had traveling. It's difficult to summarize it all in a short blog post, especially since I'm editing what I wrote weeks ago here in India. So much has been going through my head on so many levels it feels impossible to keep up; it's what traveling does. My blog posts are infrequent, but the moments worthy of them are not.
Originally wanting to pursue my love of train travel and take the 32 hour trip from Beijing, it was only after I was set on going and arranged a place to stay with a CouchSurfer that I realized the instability of the region. A quick Google image search for 'Urumqi China train station' in order to get an idea of where I could meet my host was scary to say the least. Everyone I spoke to encouraged me not to go. The expressions on their faces sometimes saying more than their words. Regardless, I chose to stick to my plan and be extra vigilant.
After hours upon hours of travel across the dry, sunny, and vast, desert, of the Chinese interior, an hour before I arrived, everything suddenly changed as though foreshadowing what was to come. The sun suddenly disappeared behind a thick haze of fog and pollution, the temperature dropped 10 degrees to 15 below, and a foot or so of snow now covered the terrain. It had been a day and a half on the train, and the time to disembark had arrived, or at least I thought. After stepping off the train and walking towards the station, feeling the bitter cold I've never experienced as a backpacker, the English translation of the station did not match my 'Urumqi South' destination on my itinerary.
The first three thoughts that quickly race through my head:
- I know zero Chinese, which coincidentally matched my chances of getting help.
- Regardless of whether I'm in Urumqi or not, I'm most definitely off the beaten path located somewhere in the middle of the Eurasian land mass.
- Why did I decide to backpack to a winter destination with the same clothes (all 12 shirts layered over me) as my summer euro trip.
The off-chance that this was in fact not Urumqi sent an even cooler chill down my already cold back. While I finally recognize the front of the station, my senses were popping with curiosity and confusion which kept me alert. Everything around me was very different, surreal, as though I was in a dystopia fiction. The thick fog at dusk limited my visibility like a dream, with the surrounding large red neon lights creating a glow that created an illusion of danger. Full armored police yelled into megaphones and armored police vehicles appeared everywhere. A large labyrinth of fences limited where I could go as I went through my first of dozens of security checks; pat downs, x-ray scanners and passport checks.
After meeting my host, an American who had only been working here for three months, we hopped into a taxi to meet a friend of hers; the dystopia fiction continues. I hear stories of censorship, far beyond the limited internet (it has been weeks since I've accessed Facebook, Twitter, Dropbox, CBC, Google - I've picked up the expression 'I'll Bing it', and even my NHL app). I'm not so sure news about everything that is going on here is getting to the rest of the world. Public service announcements are supposedly sent via text message informing locals not to talk to foreigners. The juxtaposition of a call to prayer of a mosque with the mix of Arabic and Chinese writing on surrounding buildings makes it difficult to piece together where I am in the world. Police cars continue to race through the city and traffic cameras flash with the intensity of a strobe light recording all of the vehicles passing on the street.
On foot, I pass a man collecting grease from the sewers to re-use for cooking, later, a military truck backs up into a parking lot beside me as a team of riot police jump out and storm a building in an appeared raid.
I have very limited knowledge of the situation here, but in a western viewed nutshell, the Chinese government is suppressing the indigenous population in ways that I forget are still happening in the world. One of these native people approches me and asks in English if I need any help. I let her know we're waiting for a friend, and thank her. Curious as to how she knows English, she tells me she studied in England. Asked whereabouts, but she has to go. Too much talking might get her in trouble.
My whole experience in Urumqi and a city two hours away, Shehizi, is eye-opening. A half century ago Chinese people were forced to populate this barren landscape and create the 'perfect civilization', at the expense of the native people.
My last night, a group of local Chinese students go over to their English teachers' house, my host, to cook a huge meal for our holidays. We exchange cultures; I teach them how to throw a football, watch them sample turkish delight and gouda cheese (sour looks all-round), and line up Christmas carols to be played. In return, aside from the several dishes of food, we hear about what life is like for them here. It quickly turns to the painfully blatant reality. Ambition and leadership is frowned upon, as the saying goes, 'the tallest trees get cut down first'. Western normality of having dreams and goals is contrasted with one students' words; 'we just try and survive'. It's hard to accept the mind set they're forced to endure. It's even more difficult to explain to them how I have the possibility to travel the world. It's humbling to know how lucky I am.
The low availability of work is evident in China. Every place seems extremely over staffed, and it's not uncommon to see groups of employees standing around waiting for something to do. This whole scenario hit me right in the face after dinner while we cleaned up. Everyone was pitching in as I kept looking for how I could help. 3 people cleaning the table, 2 mopping the floor, 3 doing the dishes... the irony was there simply wasn't enough work to be done.
While China alone has been an extremely unique and interesting location to backpack and CouchSurf, visiting this western region alone has been the most surreal experience I've ever had traveling. It's difficult to summarize it all in a short blog post, especially since I'm editing what I wrote weeks ago here in India. So much has been going through my head on so many levels it feels impossible to keep up; it's what traveling does. My blog posts are infrequent, but the moments worthy of them are not.