A Trip To Yinchuan, Ningxia China Part 1

Yinchuan, Ningxia Hui Autonomous Region, China
中国宁夏银川行
5 Oct – 14 Oct 2008


06 Oct 2008

This morning I left behind a very wet and humid Guangzhou 广州 for a distinctly drier and cooler Lanzhou 兰州, a major industrial city on the Yellow River in the northwest of China. It started to rain yesterday just as my Boeing triple 7 was touching down on the runway. The heavy downpour was unleashed upon Guangzhou by remnants of Typhoon Higos, which had savaged Vietnam earlier. It rained continuously. I was caught unprepared, having gone out for dinner in the early evening during a brief respite in the deluge. After dinner I got on an unlicensed cab back to the hotel as no taxis were available. It cost me twice the normal fare. Regretfully I missed the opportunity to explore this vibrant Cantonese city, the capital of my father’s home province of Guangdong 广东省. I will try and do it on my way home next week.

Here in Lanzhou I have checked into another Home Inn hotel, as I had similarly done so yesterday in Guangzhou. This is my third visit to Lanzhou, having been here on the Chinese leg of the Silk Route in September 2006. This will be the starting point of my trip to Yinchuan. I had flown here from Guangzhou with a superfluous stop in Xian, and will then travel by bus into Ningxia tomorrow. The intercity highway will be following the dramatic northward swing of the Yellow River through the Gobi desert. Shapotou 沙坡头, my destination for the night, is touted by glossy tourist brochures as a recreational haven in the Ningxia desert. It is about three hours away, but with connections on the local bus, I suspect it will take longer. I intend to just sit back and enjoy the scenery. A quick search on the Chinese internet had revealed that the only accommodation available in Shapotou is a solitary inn run by the resort.


07 Oct 2008

Today is the first day of my intended travels in Ningxia Hui Autonomous Region, Hui meaning Han Chinese Muslims, and Autonomous meaning as politically independent as the Chinese citizenry can possibly be allowed. The first two days of my vacation has been spent on making my way here.

My cab driver drove me early in the chilly morning from my hotel to a bus station where there were supposed to be buses going to Zhongwei 中卫. Instead, buses leave here for the capital Yinchuan, and they stop only briefly at Zhongning 中宁, where I was told , I could then catch a connecting bus to Zhongwei, and on to Shapotou, my final destination. From the onset I suspected I was driven to the wrong bus station, as there should be no shortage of buses plying the Lanzhou-Zhongwei route. Nevertheless I bought a ticket from the counter, but only to as far as Zhongning. My ticket costs 85 yuan and being more than an hour early I settled down to my meagre breakfast of crackers and mineral water, and some people watching.

This bus terminal must have seen better days. It is rather decrepit, considering that it serves the two capital cities in this region. Indeed as I was to find out soon after our bus pulled out of the bus park, only to transfer to another bus at a much newer and bigger terminal minutes away. Our security lady manning the x-ray machine looked rather bored, inspecting her nails from time to time. Her job is ostensibly to screen baggage coming into the terminal building, to sniff out explosives, flammables and the likes of dangerous goods which the travelling Chinese public is apt to carry onto buses. I was supposed to put my backpack and hand luggage through the x-ray machine. This I wilfully refused to comply. Instead, like the rest of them, I simply used one of the other unmanned entrances. Everyone seemed to be doing just that, and no one seemed to care. My wife Madeline would really flip if she sees me dragging my Samsonite luggage through the spit-laden unswept bus park! As I sit typing on my laptop in the unheated terminal building the odour of stale urine wafted towards me. I am sure it is to be much worse in the summer. I had contemplated on using the toilet, but was loath to receive a fistful of germ laden paper rmb fen back as change.

Seated next to me was a chubby student fiddling around on his handheld electronic gadget. At an opportune time I initiated a conversation with him. Yes, I was indeed at the wrong bus station. Maybe I had not specified the exact bus depot to the cab driver. How much did I pay for my ticket? I could have gotten my bus ticket for 30 yuan less? How so? Just don’t buy my ticket from the official ticket counter. Pay the driver after the bus leaves the station. Hmm, I think I’d rather stick to the rules. I could get into a lot of trouble if I get caught participating in their scams.

Meanwhile it is time to leave. The buses generally do so right on schedule. I am inclined to think that there must be some concerted effort to get them away on time, no doubt enhanced by the attraction of rewards and threat of penalties. The only trouble with this is though they may leave on time, they do linger in the vicinity outside the bus park, till all’s completely ready, including headcount and paperwork. Then only, will we truly be on our way, or so I thought. As I have said, the bus at this terminal merely transported us to the new terminal nearby, where we switched to another bus, bound for Yinchuan via Zhongning. There were already some people seated inside. Two young German couples occupied the front four seats. I heard one of them speaking on her mobile. I couldn’t help but muse that this must be a terribly cheap bus trip for them. Thrifty Germans.

As we pulled out of Lanzhou it began to drizzle. It is a token relief for the parched and dusty landscape of Gansu, the erstwhile frontier land of China. Two thousand years ago the Han Empire fought the Altaic Xiongnu tribes here and eventually won the hegemony of this area which they named the Hexi Corridor 河西走廊. It was about control of the Silk Road which traversed this narrow corridor hemmed in by mountains on both sides, connecting the Chinese interior with Central Asia and the Roman Empire to the West. Trees, mainly poplars and willows are well watered on both sides of the highway, but away from the median more hardy shrubs struggle to survive. Further off, as far as the eye can see, is the rock strewn desert, the veritable Gobi. This portion of the modern highway takes a more direct route to Yinchuan, and did not follow the course of the Yellow River as I had expected. After an hour’s drive the bus stopped outside a small town to pick up more passengers. There was a makeshift latrine nearby, and most of us got out to relieve ourselves and some to smoke. The Germans did not use the toilet. I can understand why. Wise Germans.

After another two hours on the bus I was unceremoniously dumped outside the Zhongning highway exit. The bus driver and hostess repeatedly assured me that I was able to catch a bus to Zhongwei from right where they dropped me. Aufedesein, Germans.

At most highway exits there are taxis, rickshaws and even motorcycles touting for business from alighting commuters. One taxi driver approached me.
“Going to town?”
“Nope. I’m waiting here for the Zhongwei bus”
“There aren’t any here. You’ll have to go into town to board one”
“But I was told I can board one from right here”
“You’ll have to go into town. If you don’t believe me, go ask that woman in uniform over there”
“Excuse me. Are there any buses to Zhongwei?”
“Nope. No buses to Zhongwei”
“I told you. You’ll have to take the bus from town”
“OK. How much?”
“Ten yuan”
“Ten yuan! That’s too much! They charge only seven in Lanzhou. I’ll give you seven.”
“Ten yuan. It’s the standard price. The cost of petrol has gone up…..”
“OK. Ten yuan then”

Thus I was taken to the local terminus where I got on a rickety bus bound for Zhongwei, for 11 yuan. And that was how I came to be on the scenic route from Zhongning to Zhongwei, both ancient river towns on opposite banks of the Yellow River, seperated by a distance of about forty kilometres. From my slow bus I caught glimpses of China’s majestic Mother River. The entire river valley here is criss-crossed by old and new irrigation ditches. Because water is at hand the barren desert blossomed into acres upon acres of verdant fields. The soil here must be extremely fertile, as the Yellow River is reputed to overflow its banks periodically, each time depositing a layer of rich loamy earth.

At Zhongwei’s brand new terminal I switched to a local bus. For just two yuan the bus ferried me to my final destination of the day, Shapotou, yet another one and a half hours away. No matter. I learned from my niece’s autistic son that the journey to one’s destination can often be as interesting as the destination itself, if not more so. This slow bus serves the myriad of villages in the area. It is common practice for rural folk to lay the family harvest out on the main street to dry. At one stop a villager got on, plus his three metre long ladder. At another, a woman with her bawling baby and clutching a basket of noisy chickens. No one cared, leave alone complain. Besides the ubiquitous corn fields there are plenty of apple and peach orchards, vegetable plots, potato fields and wolfberry farms, for which Ningxia is particularly famous. I was indeed visually enriched by the time I reached Shapotou.

The majestic pedestrian bridge spanning the Yellow River outside Shapotou resort hinted at more. First though I have to get through the gates.
“But I am spending the night at the hotel inside. Must I pay the entrance fee? ”
“Sorry, you still have to pay. Sixty five yuan.”
Since it was late afternoon the buses loaded with day trippers were leaving, and all seemed quiet. It would be pointless to return to town. I paid and walked through the resort gates and stood in front of a forlorn looking inn, deciding on my next move. 沙坡山庄 it says enticingly above the entrance. ‘Sand Dunes Inn’.
“How much to stay for the night?” I enquired at the dilapidated front desk.
“Two hundred and thirty five yuan. You can have it at the discounted price of two hundred and ten” answered a female attendant barely looking up from her computer screen.
“I have not budgeted this amount for hotel charges. Do you have anything for less?” I feigned.
“No”. She stood her ground.
“Does the quoted price include meals?” I asked hopefully.
“No”. She answered dourly.
“Any internet connections in the room?” like all Home Inn hotels.
“No”, she answered, 没有, the same trite duosyllable, and continued with whatever she was doing.

I picked up the key to my room, dumped my backpack and luggage inside and hastened out to the river bank before it gets dark. The entire fenced in area is a huge well tended park, with lots of mature trees and flowering shrubs and plenty of rest areas with pavilions and benches. It would be ideal for family picnics, if not for the exorbitant admission charges. The resort park is meant for all ages, with camel, horse and donkey rides into the desert. There is a ski lift ferrying thrill seekers up the sand dunes and buggies to ride down, and also a steel cable strung across the Yellow River, where for a fee, one can glide across with both hands hanging on to a handle attached to the cable. No doubt at the end of the ride one would be awarded the usual certificate declaring successful completion of the stunt across the Yellow River. 飞跃黄河! is the ever popular cliché. An abandoned half completed swimming pool provides silent testimony to over ambitious plans and underfunded budgets. Activities on the river include motorised boats and jetskis, which I absolutely abhor because of the adverse environmental impact; and the ancient river raft fastened together of inflated cured sheepskin, and on which I intend to ride the next morning. As I stood on the quiet north bank of the Yellow River watching the bright red sun sinking gradually behind the silent dunes I cannot help but recall Tang poet Wang Wei’s contemplative lines:

大漠孤烟直, 长河落日圆

Desolate is the smoke rising up from the vast desert
Glorious is the sun as it sets steadily by the long river

After a quick shower I set off for some food, having skipped lunch. I know how the state run hotels work. They open early for dinner, and close up shop soon after. So in order not to be caught out with an empty stomach I went straight to the resort’s only eatery. I was the sole patron at the restaurant, as indeed I was the only guest in the entire resort. The tourist season officially ends after the October First National Day celebrations. I’d rather not be here during that period, as there will be huge crowds everywhere, and most places are just not able to cope with the demands of the often pushy and impatient Chinese crowds. I know. I have been through it before, and learnt my lesson.

From the restaurant menu I ordered a dish of spicy lamb fried with diced potatoes and assorted vegetables. It turned out to be more of a stew, and instead of the expected juicy lamb slices which I had somehow envisioned, I was served chopped up lamb pieces on the bone. Anyhow it went well with rice and their local Ningxia beer, hotel prices not withstanding.

Halfway through my meal eleven resort employees trooped in silently for their dinner. Not a single word was exchanged. Throughout dinner the only sounds heard were the constant slurping of noodles and clinking of chopsticks against their bowls. The northern Chinese imbibe huge quantities of noodles. Wheat, in the form of noodles, buns and dumplings is their main staple. I cannot help but notice a hungry young lad clutching his bunch of spring onions in one hand and taking chomps of it in between slurps of noodles.

It was pitch dark when I made my way, or rather groped my way, back to my room. There was not a single light source to illuminate the walkways, and none of the other rooms were occupied. The flickering ceiling lights back in the restaurant tells me that they were on home generator power, and that I can expect the power to be cut off at any time. Back in my room it was freezing cold. There wasn’t any heating, and I expect it to get colder later in the night. I jumped into bed, covered myself from head to toe with two layers of blanket, and promptly fell asleep on the typically hard, as opposed to firm, Chinese bed. It has been a long day.