Despite the tragedy of losing my wallet and camera 5 days before my impending departure for Mongolia, a thin ray of hope kept the dream of visiting Tuya's homeland alive: my passport was at the Chinese Embassy. Though the Chinese government wanted to squeeze $180 out of me for the privelage of changing airplanes on their soil while on my way to and from Mongolia, I was grateful that my passport stayed safe in their possession while they processed the visa, instead of unsafe in my pick-prone pocket. Finally, on the morning of July 7th, Xinjiang Airlines (aka China Southern) took me up, up and away (in a Boeing 757 hooray!) toward the land of Chinggis Khan (though Genghis is commonly used spelling in the West, Chinggis is a more accurate transliteration of his name from Mongolian script).
Though my route to Ulaan Baatar would be circuitous and time-consuming, with stops in Urumchi and Beijing, I was looking forward to setting foot on Chinese soil for the first time and to see what this seething economic beast of the east was really like, or at least what their airports were 'really' like. Actually, I was treated to a fantastic aerial tour of the magnificent Tien Shan mountains, which crumples the entire landscape of Kyrgyzstan from west to east with jagged peaks and ridges and massive glaciers, culminating in the 7000+m peaks of Khan Tengri and Peak Pobeda on the easternmost border with China. As the Chinese Tien Shan range (which means Heavenly Mountains, for good reason) progressed toward the northeast, directly below I watched as the northern reaches of the Tarim Basin revealed itself in all its geological glory. The Tarim Basin, according to the infinite wisdom of questionable accuracy found in Wikipedia, is one of the largest endorheic drainage basins in the world. That means water flows in, and doesn't flow out. The basin dominates the southern half of the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region, which itself is the largest sub-national administrative region in China, taking up as much as a sixth of it's total landmass. Needless to say, the scenery from above was entrancing enough to make me leave drool marks on my window. In one section of the basin it looked like God had taken a giant comb and brushed in an arching motion across black molten rock, only to let it set in a giant rainbow pattern 100 km wide for God (and China Southern passengers) to enjoy from the heavens. Little else disturbed the landscape, nary a road or village or oil rig that I could see.
Finally, we turned north for our descent into Ürümchi, the bustling industrial administrative center of Xinjiang. This ancient stop along the old Silk Road has exploded since the Chinese government declared it a Free Trade Economic Development Zone. Because of this, and because of oil and mineral deposits discovered nearby, Urumchi has boomed and now boasts a population of over 2 million. Not bad for a city in the middle of nowhere. Well, the bad does come along with it too. Owing to it's status the largest regional trade and transport hub, and to it's position as the main transshipment point for Burmese heroin going into Russia, Urumchi hosts the fastest growing HIV infection rate in China. In a sense, Urumchi is a microcosm of China itself, and all the growing pains that come with rapid growth.
The influx of foreign merchants has also led to the establishment of ethnic quarters in the city. A Russian zone here, a Kazakh enclave there, a Pakistani 'hood next to that. This cosmopolitan mix and booming economy belies a festering tension in Urumchi, which began brewing ever since the dominant Han Chinese began populating Xinjiang after the communist revolution and repressing the indigenous Uighur population. Uighurs are muslim and are descended from eastern Turkic tribes. In fact, the Uighur separatist movement calls for the creation of Greater Turkestan, including a wide swath of Central Asia. Of course the Chinese brook none of these romantic views of self-determination and have systematically crushed these movements and much of the culture in the same brutal way they have with Tibet. Though there were some flare-ups in the 90s, including a bombing of a public bus, things seemed to have been pacified for now, smoothed over by the rising economic tide for many people in this frontier town.
Alas, all of this information I learned from reading, for my time in Urumchi was too short to explore much. Only on the way back to Kyrgyzstan could I leave the airport, and only then was I crammed, courtesy of China Southern, onto a mini-bus and shipped out to a crumbling business hotel to crash overnight until my morning flight to Bishkek. My stay at the airport was anything but extraordinary from any airport in the West. The same modern, cavernous, exposed-bracing architecture, the same McImitation Chicken Burgers at the Fast food court, the same $5 juice and beer, the latest Chinese imitation of Destiny's Child prancing about in a music video on the flat panel screen in the cafe. Chinese passengers dressed in the latest sportswear and Paris Hilton wannabe rockstar styles were pulling their new trolley suitcases and shopping bags from one souvenir stand of cigarettes, silks, jade jewelry, and counterfeit cds to the next. Outside, a handful of freshly minted gleaming steel and glass office buildings popped up willy-nilly out of the dusty landscape just like Las Vegas, several more were under construction. Brand new Toyotas, Nissans, Hondas, Mercedes Benzes, Volkswagons and Qingqi cars sparkled in the airport parking lot, far outnumbering the once ubiquitous bicycle in China. Roads were pothole-free, landscaping was maintained, trash was removed, people were working. 21st Century Urumchi bore striking resemblance to Anywhere, USA, and a stark contrast to my new home, frozen-in-amber, Bishkek. I felt the same feelings of confusion and disorientation at the Beijing airport. Only there I could blow my Yuan at the Starbucks right outside the baggage claim. Not one Starbucks at the Beijing airport, but two! I just want some good ol' dim sum, please? How about a delicate steamed humbow? No? Where am I? Oooh, sushi! Ok, I'll take that....
Of course I could never claim to get a read on the pulse of 'real' China staying confined to the 'airport zones.' But I came away feeling like the place is preternaturally firing on all cylinders, like someone dumped nitrous octane booster into the gas tank of this juggernaut, like Barry Bonds-grade steroids are coursing through China's veins. A young woman touting her cheap and convenient hotel, just 5 minutes from the Beijing airport, convinced me to rest my bones there during my overnight layover. As we walked toward the van pick-up point outside, she told me she came from a village near Harbin 3 years ago to find work in Beijing. She wanted to learn English, so she enjoyed working at the airport and meeting foreign travelers. Her English had yet to match her grand ambitions, and our conversation stalled after a few minutes of blushing and eye-rolling as she strained to find the words. But I felt like her story could represent that of hundreds of millions like her, young, wide-eyed and determined, and scrambling like hell to get into the action. I was confidant she'll be well prepared once China's official coming out party rocks the world in the summer of '08. Stepping out into the sticky hot midnight summer air of Beijing, I absorbed the scene as I waited for my courtesy van from the hotel: the gridlock traffic everywhere, inching, honking, agitating, jockeying; the countless construction cranes dominating the hazy, shimmering horizon; the ceaseless sounds of jackhammers; the unfiltered burnt bitter taste of pollution in the air; the feeling of an insatiable hunger of a giant waking from a 500 year nap; the sound of bulging hulk muscles flexing and bursting the seams of a baseball jersey; the sense that world records and world orders are about to come crashing down. I kept turning around and looking for Barry Bonds in a torn Chinese baseball jersey trying to wave down a limo. Stepping off the curb to walk to my courtesy van in the far lane, the hotel girl yanked me back as another mini-van came hurtling toward me at top speed, only to skid to a halt, inches from splat. Too tired to be traumatized, all I could think was: "Don't get in the way of a waking giant you fool."
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