China - Silk Road 08 - Circus in the Desert
Crescent Moon Lake was an important stopping off point on the Silk Road and the principle reason for the existence of Dunhuang in Silk Road times. No prizes for guessing the shape of the lake. It sits on the northern edge of the Tibetan plateau, at the transition between the vast Taklamakan Desert stretching off to Central Asia in the west. To the east lies the ancient road skirting the southern edge of the Gobi leading to the old capital of Xi'an. The main caravan route from India via Tibet to Mongolia, serving the Moghul empire, also ran through here. This place was big business back in the day.
Stretching off beyond the horizon behind the lake are the Singing Sands Mountains, so named because the sand makes a long mournful moaning sand when the wind shifts it, said to be the cries of the souls of those who perished trying to cross the desert. Not that you'd hear those today as the place is abuzz with camel ride touts, quad bikes, micro-lites and helicopter joy rides.
The receptionist at my hotel enthusiastically tells me "Go at sunset, that's when everyone goes there!". That was about all the encouragement I needed to get there in the middle of the day well ahead of the melee. It was busy but comparatively quiet compared with what was to come, with a bit of effort I could still get relatively away from it all.
By "bit of effort", I mean climb a 300 metre high dune during the hottest part of the desert afternoon, around 45 degrees. Nothing a few litres of water couldn't put right ... It's a bit disconcerting to make all that effort to then have convoys of quad bikes fly past with screaming tourists while a helicopter kicks up a dust storm. Mass tourism be damned, I head off into the dunes to try to get a feel for the Singing Sands Mountains written about by Marco Polo in his journeys. In hindsight, I should have brought some extra food and water and a sleeping bag and spent the night out here.
From the top is a view back to the dusty city of Dunhuan and the tourist mecca below. In the opposite direction, endless tracts of massive dunes stretching off as far as the eye can see. I stayed long enough to watch the shadows lengthen and the colours become deeper, which was about the time the tsunami of tourists hit below and thousands started to pour in. Exit stage left.
Back in town, I'm sitting in a roadside cafe as a man cycles past with one hand on the bike, the other towing a camel. The waiter is trying to flog me the local delicacy - Lamb Penis Kebabs. Mmmm, chewy.
