How I travelled through alienating places in western China

I had given myself 11 days to make my way from Kunming in the south to the border with Kazakhstan in the northwest. Everything was planned out, as I had to in order to obtain the visa. My first stop in Yuanyang was already a bit off the beaten track as far as tourism in Asia goes, but as I traveled on northward, I left the tourist tracks well and truly behind me and stepped into a world where my visit was a very unexpected event.

Mysterious beauty in Yunnan

A detour on my way home, I could not pass up on visiting the Yuanyang rice terraces in Yunnan province, especially since December was perfect timing to see them filled with water. And so I took a bus in Kunming, the city that had gently welcomed me back in China after I had spent 3,5 months in Southeast Asia. As the bus neared its destination, I got acquainted with two young Americans who turned out to have booked at the same guesthouse and allowed me to team up with them for exploring the region the next day.

Jacky’s Guesthouse in Yuanyang was right in the middle of a vast landscape of rice terraces and yet it was hard to see all of it. This was due to misty clouds that were literally rolling through the valley, only unveiling parts of the surrounding landscape at once. We set about on our trip and were soon soaked into a mysterious universe.

We walked through little villages where people of ethnic minorities were going about their habitual ways and selling some of their products. Some of them were carrying goods along the roads, sometimes helped by oxes or horses, sometimes just by means of huge baskets hanging off their backs. A mother pig wandered around looking for food to feed her piglets. Chickens strolled along and an occasional rooster let out a cry to mark his presence.

The villages made way for country roads and paths that lead us into eerie forests with water dripping off the moss-covered rocks. Rice paddies were everywhere, but most of them would be hidden by the thick fog that accompanied us wherever we went. One time, we got to a viewpoint and saw nothing but fog. But then, as we stood there looking out into the nothingness, the wind took pity of us and blew the clouds away. A stunning landscape unfolded before our eyes. Just for a couple of minutes though. Before we knew it, more clouds rolled in and everything was white again.

There was an atmosphere of eternity hanging in that place. As if the villages, the landscapes and the people had been like this for centuries and would never stop being this way. I felt like I was walking through a parallel universe. It was that strange, beautiful feeling that you get when you realize: this is why I travel.

Guangyuan, where I was probably the only westerner in town

Sleeper train from Kunming to Guangyuan

Guangyuan, where the next sleeper train took me to, was an alienating experience. It was the best I could do at stopping halfway between Kunming in the south and Ürümqi in the north, but my Lonely Planet did not even mention this place. It was definitely still China, but not China from the well-known big towns or the touristy rural places. I had penetrated into a territory where I felt like I was never expected to visit. I truly realized that at the hostel. I was used to the people in town not being able to speak English, but even the hostel staff hardly spoke a word, which was a lot more unusual to me.

It was misty and cold, too, but I was equipped. When I had arrived back in Kunming after my visit to the rice terraces, I had done a little round of shopping for warm clothes, a thick scarf and a winter jacket. Stuff I could not have possibly been carrying around for six months.

I ventured into town for lunch and later again for dinner. Walking around, I somehow felt certain that I was the only westerner in the entire city, which was a very strange feeling. I was definitely one of the only guests in the hostel, which seemed to be almost in hibernation (which would make sense in December, to be fair).

In town, I would walk into a tiny restaurant and see all the heads turn in my direction. People were rather surprised at first, but a little later they would be extremely helpful despite the language barrier. My presence there clearly was some sort of very unusual circumstance. Trying to order food was pretty eventful. A Chinese menu without pictures is always a bit tricky. Chinese food can be absolutely amazing but also a bit scary and very weird at times. My lunch ended up being a thick noodle soup with some very suspicious, unidentifiable ingredients floating around in it. For dinner, I was more successful: a friendly woman served me an enormous amount of meat, vegetables and rice that I was by no means able to finish on my own, but it nevertheless turned out to be a delicious meal.

Lost and lonely in Ürümqi

Three police officers suddenly walked into my compartment on the train to Ürümqi. It was a rather long ride, 36 hours, mostly through the desert, during which I had the compartment to myself. The policemen did not speak English but used their phones to translate. They immediately started questioning me about my travel motives.
“Why are you travelling to Ürümqi? Are you visiting someone there? What are you going to do in Ürümqi?” were some of their questions. I knew I was headed to what is not considered to be the safest place in China, but I certainly had not expected this questioning. Although it was a bit scary, there was a comical effect in me sitting on the upper bunk talking down to them, answering in Chinese as much as I could. As it went on, the tension decreased. Eventually, the questioning was over and they left.
In my relief, I thought it rather funny how it seemed very suspicious to them to find a Western tourist on this improbable train connection.  “I’m on my way home to Belgium,” was my honest answer to their first question. That must have sounded too crazy to have been made up.

Getting to the hostel was an entirely different adventure. It started with getting off at the wrong train station. What a cold and desolate place it was! Eventually, I found a taxi driver willing to drive me all the way to the address I asked for. But when we arrived into town, the hostel was unfindable. The GPS was of no help and the driver finally got a tip from someone in the street, after getting frustrated going around the same block several times. He drove me to a different spot, took my luggage out of the trunk, told me this was my hostel and left. I stepped inside and immediately stood in a warm room full of people, adults and children, and a big aquarium. Several pairs of eyes stared at me. I hesitantly asked if this was my hostel, but throughout all the confusion, the answer was clearly negative. I stepped back into the street, where it was dark, cold and the taxi had disappeared. I started walking, helped by the maps app on my phone, and eventually I went up and down the street where my hostel was supposed to be. I could not find it. It started snowing. That’s when I began feeling desperate – did I have to book a hotel to spend the night? Then, coming out of a little back-alley, a man asked me where I was going. Miraculously, he knew the way and led me into that tiny street where he came from, where I finally found the hostel. There was no sign in English and I knew I would have never found it without the help of this man.

“I stepped inside and immediately stood in a warm room full of people, adults and children, and a big aquarium.”

All of this turned out to be a bad omen for my stay in Ürümqi. The next day, I had to go into town in order to pick up my train tickets to Almaty, Kazakhstan, in an office. I had the address with me and planned on hailing a taxi. That plan failed miserably. I don’t know for how long I stood in temperatures that hovered around -30° C, but literally every taxi I tried to stop, ignored me completely. It drove me out of my mind. Eventually, I had no choice but to start walking because the office would close at 6pm and otherwise I was not going to make it. It was an incredibly long walk though, and of course, I got lost again. I asked for the way in Chinese, but although the woman who tried to help me was extremely friendly and helpful, it was so hard to understand her! I continued in the direction that she had shown me, but before I could even find the right street, I knew it was too late – it was 6pm. Feeling defeated, down, cold and very lonely, I returned to the hostel. Since no English at all was spoken there, I resigned to my own company and that of a little black and white cat that would peacefully sit in my lap.

There was light at the end of the tunnel, though. For a certain fee, it was possible to have the ticket delivered at the hostel, as I found out by e-mailing RealRussia about my problem. (I can never thank this company enough for what they did for me, but more about that in my next post.) The next morning, a woman delivered the train ticket at the hostel and so I was ready to start the next chapter of my adventure: Kazakhstan. And when you thought border crossings wouldn’t get any weirder than the ones previously described, make sure to check out my next post which will demonstrate the contrary.

Next story:
How my overland travel mission almost ended in Kazakhstan
More about China:
Crossing China from north to south in 10 photos
One day as a panda volunteer
Getting a Chinese visa in Bangkok