For The Silk Road Kung Fu Friendship Tour Part 2, click here.

July 17, 18, 19, 2015: Days 3–5

The Flaming Mountains of Xuan Zang and Sun Wu Kong Fame, the Kung Fu of Loving Kindness, Motorbike Kung Fu and Stolen Buddhas

Introduction

Traveling by train, I reached Turpan (locals call it “Turupan”) yesterday morning around 5:00 am only to discover that the train station was at least 40 km. from the city. Quite a number of taxi drivers were waiting to take people into town, and eventually I got in a big white van with six other riders for a cheap price to the hotel where I had reservations. This was to be my second big stop on my quest to find Kung Fu on the Silk Road, but because I’d found absolutely nothing on the Internet about Kung Fu in this town (though it has a fascinating history and legacy), I wasn’t terribly hopeful about my prospects.

Turpan is a famous oasis in the desert on the North Silk Road, mentioned by Buddhist pilgrim Xuan Zang. Entirely below sea level, Turpan is the fourth lowest exposed point on the earth’s surface due to an earth-plate fault line. During the Cenozoic Era the fault was deformed by the collision of the Indian and Eurasian earth-plates, and in a further deformation the Flaming Mountains were created along with the Turpan Volcano. In the basin created by those plate shifts, the very beautiful Ayding Lake was also created.

In addition to its geological uniqueness, Turpan is an oasis created by a canal system from the Tian Mountains.

In terms of a creation myth, while making trouble up in heaven, the naughty stone monkey Sun Wu Kong disrupted the octagonal furnace for making elixir, resulting in several bricks falling off and down to earth to form the Flaming Mountains. Yes, you heard it here first (unless you’ve read the classic Chinese novel, Journey to the West.)

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that this place is hot – very, very hot – with temperatures soaring to 50 degrees centigrade, or around 120 degrees Fahrenheit. Yesterday I was riding a camel around at the foot of the Flaming Mountains, with my slightly insane local taxi driver, and the reddish mountain ripples flickered with heat waves as if indeed they were flaming. Needless to say, I thought I was flaming too.

Now your average person might be slightly curious why I’d be doing that when I was supposed to be looking for Kung Fu schools, but the fact is, everyone I talked to in Turpan assured me there were no Kung Fu schools there – though I did find a Taekwondo school. Since I’d already paid for two nights at the hotel, I figured, “what the heck!” and set out to look for myself.

After the thrill of the Flaming Mountains, we stopped briefly at Imin Minaret, built in 1777–1778 during the reign of Qing dynasty Emperor Qianlong (1735–1796) – yes, the same Qianlong who supported the North Shaolin Monastery on Panshan – to honor the local Turpan general Emin Khoja who joined the Uyghurs with the Qing to protect them from the Dzungars, or something like that. It was profoundly cool, literally and figuratively. Then we stopped at a market and bought some raisins, another major export of Turpan.

Imin Minaret Turpan.

I was pretty wiped out upon returning to my hotel room; nonetheless, being a hard-working sort of guy, I continued typing notes from before my train ride in Xian. After a couple of hours (around 8:30 pm), I noticed it was still sunny. Curious as to why, I checked the internet for Maghrib (sunset) prayer times in Turpan and found it was 7:38 pm. But that was impossible because the sun was still up. What a mystery!

So I walked to the local Masjid just a few hundred meters from my hotel. “Assalamu Alaikum,” I said to everyone upon entering, then tried to ask about this strange phenomenon in my best Putonghua (Mandarin). I wasn’t certain they’d understand me, because my Putonghua isn’t that great, and Putonghua is their second language (70% of the population are indigenous Uyghur people who have their own languages related to Tibetan because, as everyone knows, they seized Turpan from the Tibetans in the year 803).

Imagine this conversation:

Q. What time is Maghrib? (Shenme shihou Magelibu?)

A. 7:38. (Qi dian sanshiba.)

Q. But the sun is shining! (Danshi taiyang de guanghui!)

A. Yes. (Shi de.)

Q. But Maghrib is at sunset! (Ma ge li bu zai riluo!)

A. Yes. (Shi de.)

What does someone say to that? Traveling is sometimes surreal.

After some brief introductions they invited me into the Masjid where we sat in a circle. There were about 10 very old men, most but not all with beards, sitting in this ancient dimly-lit Masjid, softly chanting at least parts of prayers, and each had a small collection of small stones which they passed one by one from the right hand to the left, and when the right hand was empty they poured all the stones back into the right and repeated the process, all in rhythm with the prayers. The Imam sat in front leading this slightly unusual ritual. It was cool, calm and soothing, I have to say. Though I didn’t know most of the prayers in Arabic, I’ve memorized a few so I could follow those and just sort of followed along with the rest.

Near the end of this ritual the old Imam got up and started giving money to some of the old men and I figured maybe they were poor or something. He also gave me five yuan (about 90 cents), probably figuring I might be poor so better safe than sorry. When the old men started to get up and leave the prayer hall, I gave the old Imam 100 RMB, which he clearly didn’t want, but I insisted as it was after Maghrib – technically, if not really, because the sun was still up! – on the last day of Ramadan, a month when good Muslims are supposed to help the poor, and most of these guys looked pretty poor to me. They then invited me to eat dinner with them in the humble little shack-like building across the courtyard, but I begged off, knowing that I needed some real massive food like a whole chicken, mountains of rice, forests of vegetables and so on, and didn’t want to eat all their food before their astonished eyes; so instead I bid my farewells and was off to get my feasty for the beasty on, which happened just a few hundred meters up the road at an outdoor food stall clinging precariously to the side of the street at a very crowded intersection.

After that I went to bed. I was really tired, having spent most of the last few days on trains and not having slept more than an hour or two during that time.

The next morning I woke up, had the Spartan breakfast they offered at this otherwise fine hotel in Turpan, then walked down the street in search of a taxi to take me to the one Taekwondo school I found on the Internet. Walking down this little street, I met one of the old men from the night before, named Abdullah. A very kindly gentleman, he invited me into a house right across the narrow country-style road where we all sat down and had tea, fruit and pastries, as it was Eid al-Fitr, the biggest holiday on the Islamic calendar. This was a very heartwarming experience, as they treated me like an honored guest in a wonderful family environment in a courtyard of a rather nice medium-sized Uyghur-style house.

After half an hour, they invited me to another house just a five-minute walk away where we sat down again; I think this was Abdullah’s house. At this point I started to see him in a different light than I had last night. This elderly gentleman was highly respected, a patriarch, truly loved by many, not just some old man at a Masjid praying. In fact, I found out he has four adult sons and many grandchildren (as Uyghurs they never had to follow the one-child-only law).

After a while I showed them copies of my Kung Fu Tai Chi magazines, took some pictures and did some Yoga stretches with a little boy of about four, which impressed them pretty much. Then I did some kicks and punches with him too and helped him do some kicks, blocks and punches. During this time a few other families stopped by. With quite a crowd forming, the boy and I stopped and just joined the party, drinking tea, eating fruit, etc.

An hour later they led me outside to get into a rather expensive new air-conditioned car. It was getting quite hot, so I thought, “Why not?” I had no idea where we were going, but hoped I could talk them into going to the Taekwondo school.

We drove to another house, were warmly greeted, and all sat down and had some fruit, lamb, pastries and tea. There was storytelling and jokes, a lot of laughter, and genuine warm happy feelings all around. It was so nice for me to feel in some way part of a family, a big family, in fact a family that seemed to just keep growing. This, by the way, is normal Muslim culture on Eid al-Fitr; but the background and setting – Tururpan, an oasis in the desert, within one of the world’s most unique and unchanged cultures – was quite different.

A woman working selling grapes at the Turpan market

Forty-five minutes later, we got back in the car and were joined by a new big white SUV full of more relatives, including three other distinguished patriarchs, and for the next seven hours or so we visited one family household after another of what turned out to be a huge extended family of well over a hundred people. Though these visits were all similar, each was unique in its own way. For example, each visit started and ended with a very short prayer lasting about five seconds. They’re not overly religious, but seemed concerned to at least “touch the bases.”

Somewhere around the midpoint of our caravan travels, a large burly fellow joined us. Named A’dul (emphasis on the second syllable), he had lived in Malaysia for some time and spoke reasonably good English, though out of practice since he hadn’t used it in a while. This was a big relief for me because, as mentioned earlier, my Putonghua is pretty limited and their Putonghua (Mandarin Chinese) is heavily accented – okay, downright strange, though it’s a tossup as to who’s Mandarin was stranger. I kind of think theirs…

This rolling party made me feel so good. What a kind, loving and inclusive culture! Some houses were fabulous, big and beautiful with courtyards and air conditioners, while others were quite humble and small; but there was no difference in the kindness and caring shown by all. Throughout the day I also quietly compared their culture to so many others I’ve experienced, and I’ve got to say it’s amazing how polite and sincere everybody (including their young people) were. There were no phone addicts and I saw no TVs. This is an ancient culture completely intact in the modern world.

One striking feature I noticed along the way was that some of the “row style” houses which looked like all the rest on the outside – mud bricks plastered over with a mud/straw mix resulting in a tan colored wall – were like palaces on the inside, really expensive, beautiful and modern, except no TVs (I was told by one of Abdullah’s family that those mud and straw brick houses were much cooler in summer and warmer in winter than normal brick and concrete homes and apartments). Someone could walk or drive by and think, “What shabby hovels!” never realizing that inside some were mansions, with extended families that were born, lived, loved, worked, and died there happily and comfortably generation after generation. But most of our visits were to large standalone houses with a front gate, and with buildings on the back and sides, and a courtyard in the middle. Several had grape vines growing on lattice structures forming a living ceiling either over the courtyard or in adjoining gardens. The feeling was of an Eden-like oasis. By the way, the Flaming Mountains (created by that rascally Stone Monkey King) are not what Turpan is most famous for; rather, it is best known for its exceptionally sweet and delicious grapes.

I also learned that most of the people here make their money either from grapes, the major local industry, or the oil business, as there is plenty of oil in Xinjiang.

The Uyghur culture is truly loving, with huge extended families and close relationships, willing to share their homes and happiness with outsiders even without asking. They knew I was travelling alone and figured I needed to share a day, especially this very special day of Eid al-Fitr, with them. It was one of the best and most meaningful days of my life, in spite of the burning hot weather. Though I was a stranger in a strange land, I didn’t feel like one; I felt perfectly at home.

At one of our last stops, just as everyone was leaving, one young boy of maybe eight let loose with a flurry of kicks and punches that looked pretty good to me. Where did he learn that? Perhaps from a movie, I thought, except I’d yet to see a TV. Were they hiding their TVs somewhere?

I began to tire about 6:30 pm, which turned out to be when we finished our visits. It’s always difficult to end such a day, but I bid my farewells and returned to my fine hotel – to type this all up – knowing that tomorrow would be another day, with a planned visit to Bezeklik Thousand Buddha Caves.

The Taekwondo school? Well, nobody ever answered the phone. As I was to find out later, the people of Urumqi generally don’t train in the extreme heat – and it was incredibly hot.

So, call it a good day; naaah, call it a great day, because I have a new family and love and respect for an ancient culture thriving in the modern world.

Is there Kung Fu in Turpan? Well, Kung Fu in Chinese really means high level skill, discipline, art, and mastery. These people have mastered the art of life in my opinion, and as friends, no one could ask for more. What martial arts they might or might not practice, well, perhaps that’s not really my business. All I felt was love and kindness, and that’s enough for me, the most excellent Kung Fu of all.

Earth Art and Literary Circle near Bezeklik Thousand Buddha Caves 柏孜克里千佛洞.

Sunday, July 19, Turpan: Bezeklik Thousand Buddha Caves and a Bus Ride to Urumqi

I woke early as usual, did my stretches and 1,000 kicks and punches as usual (well, almost), then had some vegetables, tofu and an egg at the complimentary hotel breakfast place. After that I went back to typing the Xian story and then around 10:30 headed for Bezeklik Thousand Buddha Caves.

To fully appreciate these ancient caves, one must remember that the section of the Silk Road edging the Flaming Mountains dates back to the second century BCE, at a time when the Han Empire wanted trade and allies. So they sent emissary Zhang Qian westward – twice, because he got kidnapped the first time and didn’t escape for years. Perhaps his 10-year captivity wasn’t that bad, because he married a Xiongnu wife and had a son, thus gaining the trust of that particular tribe. But that’s really a whole other amazing story.

The chiseling work at Bezeklik 1,000 Buddha Monastery started around 400 CE, with most of the work completed about a hundred years later. It is believed that most of the work was done by an ancient people called the “Gokturks,” who ruled the area starting in the mid-6th century, and the Uyghurs who took over in the middle of the 9th century – so, yeah, they’ve been dominating the region for a 1,000-plus years. It’s generally a good idea to be nice to them, because with so much desert about, it would be very easy to simply disappear. The Uyghurs I met were quite nice, making it easy to be nice to them.

Bezeklik Thousand Buddha Caves 柏孜克里千佛洞.

Back at the hotel, I asked the security guards at the front gate if there were any taxis. They said no, just as one pulled up. The driver was a Han Chinese woman. I asked if she could take me to Yi Chien Fo (Thousand Buddhas), and she said yes, then qualified it with, “in a while.” She then drove off. I waited half an hour in the growing blast-furnace heat, then hitched a ride with a young man on a motorbike. He agreed to take me there for 100 RMB. That was a bit pricy for a 30-km ride, but I was stuck, so I said OK. Off we went, with him driving on all sides of the street and even sidewalks when available, weaving in and out of traffic, while simultaneously talking on the phone and smoking a cigarette as the scorching sun-baked air blasted us both. Still, I had confidence in his skills as I’d seen a lot of very young boys riding motorbikes around, and he wouldn’t have survived this long unless he was good at it. This was his Kung Fu.

After about 10 minutes we stopped, and he informed me we were going to visit a grape farm. I said no, 1000 Buddha Caves. He told me to wait, that a couple of friends with a car would come and give me a ride. Reluctantly I waited. Meanwhile, the boy asked for 20 yuan, which I gave him, and he ordered tea and beef noodles. Twenty minutes later his friends did show up, and off we went.

They initially pressured me to visit the grape farm, but I assured them I’d done it the day before and yes it was lovely but I really had to get to 1000 Buddha Caves, then back to my hotel to pick up my backpack, and then to the bus station before 6:00 pm. At last they relented and off we went.

When we got to Flaming Mountains, they started to pull off the road. I asked why. The driver said the motorbike guy told him I was going to Flaming Mountains. Yes, these young men have quite a sense of humor; the spirit of Sun Wu Kong lives on here!

After some breathtaking scenery we reached the sacred caves. I asked the driver and his companions to wait and that I’d pay them well if they did. The driver agreed.

After buying a ticket, I had about a 500-meter walk through the desert to the small entrance ahead. Enroute, I noticed beyond the cliff edge the Tianshan River about three km away. So I left the dusty old road to bound across the burning desert to the edge of the cliff, where I took some shots, knowing that Silk Road caravans usually followed ancient river pathways, a journey that appeared pleasant enough, as there were trees along the edge of the flood river basin. At some time in the past, the river was undoubtedly a huge roaring monster, but now it was a rapidly moving small river with very clean water.

View of the river from outside and below Bezeklik Thousand Buddha Caves 柏孜克里千佛洞.

Returning to the old road, I entered the gate, had my ticket appropriately scrutinized, then began to explore the Bezeklik 100 Buddha Caves. I knew that the Buddhas had been removed from the caves, but there were supposed to be fabulous paintings of Buddhas on the ceilings and walls of some of them. But I saw none.

Where had the fabulous artwork gone?

I found the answer on a sign titled, “Cave 20.” “In 1905 a German named A.V. LeCog cut off all the murals (and) carried them away to Berlin. Most of them were destroyed during the Second World War.”

Unfortunately, I was forbidden from taking pictures of what remained; a security guard even warned me that it was a criminal offence. However, there was one cave with really deteriorated art and no security, so I turned the flash off and took a couple of photos of the few Buddha paintings that have survived the last 1600 years, the Buddhas smiling placidly down from the ceiling upon which their material forms seem to eternally reside, even if somewhat faded.

After some timeless time, I doubled back and wandered everywhere I could go, which wasn’t far actually, maybe 400 meters; then, knowing my trustworthy driver was waiting, I bid the spirits of the place farewell. Returning to the parking lot, I discovered that my driver was gone. Fortunately, I’d gotten his phone number. When I called, he agreed to return. During the hour I waited in that furnace-like desert, I made friends with some teenagers with motorbikes. Though I hoped one of them could supply transportation, it turned out none of their bikes was working very well. Eventually the driver did show up, minus his two friends, but with his two-year-old son strapped in the front seat and sound asleep.

Then it was a race back to my hotel to pick up my backpack, which was loaded mostly with food. We stopped for a moment at “my” masjid, bid everyone farewell, and rushed to the bus station.

Though buses leave every half hour, the last of the day departs at 6 pm; so I was quite relieved to have gotten there at 4:15. I bought a ticket for 4:30 even though I’d missed lunch, so anxious was I to see Urumqi.

The three-hour ride to Urumqi was uneventful except for the extraordinary scenery. For a long while the road followed the river, which formed an elongated oasis through the desert. There was a stretch where I saw large, soft, beautiful hills maybe 20 kilometers away, and giant snow-capped mountains in the background (50 or 75 kilometers distant). But thanks to Murphy’s immutable laws, telephone wires ran all over the place, so getting a good picture was quite impossible. A grandfather sat next to me with his 5-year-old granddaughter, so I took out my notebook and showed her some Bugs Bunny cartoons which she really liked.

Before arriving in Urumqi, we were stopped for a police check; we all had to get off the bus under the cautious eyes of soldiers, show our IDs, get “wanded” and our bags X-rayed.

Urumqi was a pleasant change – a big, clean, modern city. I hadn’t thought I’d missed such a thing, but it felt good, and it wasn’t so hot either. The first thing I did was get a delicious dinner of Kabob, with rice and beef. Then off to the hotel, and typing.

Earth Art and Literary Circle near Bezeklik Thousand Buddha Caves 柏孜克里千佛洞.

For The Silk Road Kung Fu Friendship Tour Part 4, click here.