China > Ruins of Jiaohe and Gaochang

I start the day eight kilometers outside Turpan. Here lies the archaeological site City of Jiaohe. When I want to buy a ticket, the counter isn’t open yet. The excursion has been scheduled extra early to avoid the scorching midday sun. Fortunately, I don’t have to wait long. I walk into the Jiaohe site. An old garrison town dating back to around the first century BC. I enter the vast complex via the main street. The main street is a paved road cutting through the clay walls. Many of the ruins have crumbled into piles of stone. Behind the pagoda stands a monastery that has remained fairly intact. I walk through the gate into the monastery. Just behind this structure lies a second, smaller monastery. I actually find this one even more beautiful than the first. Along the side of the Jiaohe complex, I walk along the valley. Because of its location between two deep ravines, this site was already well protected in ancient times. Near the Jiaohe site, I visit the Karez Museum. A karez is an underground water channel. Due to the pressure of the surrounding mountains, water is sometimes transported underground over several kilometers.

China - The ancient garrison city of Jiaohe dating to around the first century BC

By constructing underground tunnels, the water flow can be directed. The karez is comparable to the qanats I saw earlier on this trip in Yazd, Iran. In the museum, the workings of a karez are explained. Along an old underground canal, mannequins demonstrate how maintenance was once carried out. A few hundred meters further, I emerge above ground again, ending up in a long row of souvenir shops. There’s no escaping it. Almost all the stalls sell the same things. Dozens of vendors hope to make a sale. I only buy a cold Coke once I’m back at the bus. Next, I head toward the Emin Mosque. This mosque was built in 1777 in Afghan style. Again, souvenir sellers greet me as I step out. I see the tall clay minaret of the Emin Mosque. The mosque is striking—partly because it isn’t located in the city of Turpan but out on the open sandy plain, and partly because of the unusual minaret. Normally, mosques have several minarets. This richly decorated one is 47 meters high and made of clay. Inside the mosque, the little light that enters falls on the red carpets on the ground. With its wooden pillars, the mosque briefly reminds me of a Tibetan monastery. At eleven o’clock I set course for the City of Gaochang. This fascinating city lies in a valley south of the Flaming Mountains. A group of soldiers stopped here on their way to Afghanistan. They found water and decided to stay. In the seventh century, Gaochang became the capital of the Kingdom of Gaochang.

China - The old mosque in the former city of Gaochang

In the fourteenth century, the city was completely destroyed by the Mongols. Gaochang lies thirty kilometers outside Turpan. By now, the sun is blazing strongly, though a thin veil of clouds hangs overhead. When I buy my entrance ticket, the thermometer on my backpack reads forty degrees. I enter the city. The walled city has a circumference of seven kilometers. I decline the offer of donkey-cart transport and instead wander through the old ruins on my own. Unlike the Jiaohe ruins, here I can hardly distinguish buildings from the remnants. Even the wooden signposts are barely legible, hanging forlornly. For a moment, I feel completely alone in the middle of the desert—the blazing sun, the hot sand, and the towering ruins around me. I savor the moment. At the back of the old city, I visit the ancient monastery. The large building is in relatively good condition. I climb the wide staircase up to the entrance and wander through the complex. When I emerge again, the sun feels even harsher. I suddenly realize I haven’t brought any water. Not very clever. I decide to head back. To be safe, I follow the path of the donkey carts. It’s too hot to risk getting lost. On the way back to the hotel, I visit the Astana Tombs and take in the Flaming Mountains. Due to the air circulation under extreme heat, the mountains seem to be on fire. I spend the rest of the afternoon on the terrace under the grapevines at John’s Café. After a shower, I get ready for the night train to Liuyuan. At nine o’clock I drive to the station, arriving well in time. I take a seat in the spacious, busy departure hall. Outside, a strong wind picks up. The warm air blows through the open windows. A few drops of rain fall, but I wouldn’t call it rain. Near midnight, I’m allowed onto the platform. An attendant points me to where my carriage will stop. Moments later, I climb aboard the train and look for my sleeping berth. This time, I have a hard sleeper. This means simpler accommodations, with six beds in one compartment. The compartment also cannot be closed. When I arrive at mine, I see two travelers already lying down asleep. The compartment is far too small for all the luggage. I slide my bag under the table and quickly climb up to the top bunk. That way, there’s more space for the others.