Dunhuang, whose name means to flourish and prosper, was established as a military garrison city in 111 BC at an oasis where the two Silk Road routes traversing the Taklamakan Desert to the west, merged. It anchored the Hexi Corridor, running southeast to Lanzhou and protected the merchants, monks, imperial envoys and camel traders carrying China’s precious silk and spices eastward. Located in Gansu Province—China’s most ethnically diverse—like all of Gansu, it retains the crossroads flavor, the intermingled lineage broadcast in faces, as well as the friendliness of a longstanding oasis town. Yet, all of the friendliness—the constant smiles, hellos and helpful gestures—were about to be outdone by a considerate act so unusual and from such an unexpected source that nothing like it had ever happened to me before anywhere in the world. It began like all my journeys in China began, in confusion. I wanted to go to the Mogao Buddhist Caves, 25km southeast of Dunhuang. To get there, you had to go by the train station. I was booked on the seven o’clock train that evening and my plan was to spend the day at the Buddha Caves, then figure out a way back to the station. At the hotel desk I somehow communicated this, and the smiling woman called to get info from a taxi company. The price: one way, 150 RMB ($24.41). She also told me about the Green Bus that went to the airport, the railroad station as well as out to the caves, price: 8 RMB ($1.30). The choice was obvious and she directed me (well, sort of) to where I could catch the Green Bus. I set off through the fine, brisk, desert day, and somehow blundered into a restaurant for a late breakfast that actually had an English menu, where I ordered poached eggs with hot sauce, an onion pancake and real coffee. While I was waiting, outside the window passed a strange red procession and I flew out the door to capture the photo below. Back in the restaurant, nobody could explain to me what the procession was honoring, but I didn’t care, I was firmly in the travel groove, where anything can happen and usually does. I finished eating and set out to find the fabled Green Bus. Finding the street where it stopped was easy, but precisely where it stopped was hard. No one I asked seemed to know. They all knew about it, and that was all they ever needed to know, because they never actually needed to take it. My only hope was a policeman standing on a corner next to his motorbike. I have long believed, as the Buddhists do, that life is simpler when you avoid all authorities. Besides, where I was raised we didn’t ask for help from the police as we were more than likely being chased by them. I approached him cautiously and held out my notebook. Initially, he just ignored me. Then, he looked me up and down as cops do everywhere, peered into my notebook, then looked up and to the right in the universal way that people do when trying to remember something. After a moment, he pointed in a direct, and it seemed to me, a rather peevish way, across the street to an exact spot about a third of the way down the block. I thanked him and beat a hasty retreat. Standing where he had pointed, I waited, watching the day go by. Suddenly, he had crossed the street and was marching directly at me. Yikes. Did I break some law by approaching him? Did I—what? He was shooing me with his hands, further down the street. I complied. Farther, he shooed, until he was satisfied, then abruptly turned on his heels in military fashion and marched away. His manner was a little unsettling, but I figured now I was in the right spot. I looked hopefully down the street for the bus much in the same way that dogs wait for their humans to appear. Long moments passed in dog time. Then—oh no—across the street, the policeman pulled up on his motorbike, and with a come here command wave of his hand, beckoned me to cross the street. Uh oh, I thought, this can’t be good. Once again, I complied. Now, he was motioning me to get on the back of his bike. Part of me was laughing, thinking there’s just no way he is actually telling me to get on the bike, and another part of me was thinking that I’m probably being placed into custody. I was toting a black carry on bag that doesn’t have wheels but has hidden padded straps that you clip on so that you can wear it like a backpack, so I was fumbling with those, then pulling down the passenger pegs on his motorcycle, and as I was climbing aboard was seriously wondering what the f*** is up with this? I’ve ridden many motorcycles so I am a good passenger, and we zoomed away down the street into—what? At this point I was speechless yet totally enjoying the double takes of the citizens checking out the laowai (foreigner) with a shoulder pack riding on the back of a police motorbike, probably wondering, as was I, whether or not I was being arrested and for what? I caught the sight of us in the reflections of shop windows—and what a funny sight it was—thinking I really don’t care if I’m under arrest because this will make a great story. Then, in the opposite lane, coming up the street, I spotted the green bus. And gasped. Suddenly, everything is illuminated, to borrow a phrase. He pulled the bike over and we got off. With his commanding police presence, he was standing in the road, directing the bus to pull over, which it did. Now he was talking to the driver, who opened the door and allowed me entry. Everyone on the bus was gaping at me, wondering who I was that I get a police escort to force the driver to make a pickup at a non-bus stop. I did my best to act regal and important. Even though I thanked the policeman profusely, I bow in the window as we pass, and he ignores me, again. I wonder, does he have any clue as to how much this has tickled me? What a public relations coup it was? How he will live on anytime my big mouth gets to tell the story? How in a world of us against them sometimes we can blur the lines? That on occasion just asking for help can break down barriers? That I would give just about everything you own to have one photo of me on the back of his motorbike? Ah, life. I rode the green bus, further. Dunhuang: The Friendliest City Part 5
1 Comment
Mary
12/11/2013 06:06:10 am
EE I am in stitches..how funny is that! I can just see the stares now and to be escorted to $1.30 bus even makes it better. I wish you could have gotten that picture. The picture of the green bus is a trip in intself - it is really, really green. It looks like a big bug or a long green grasshopper. Thanks for the laugh. I wonder after all that marching and proper (not looking at you) changes when he gets home and tells the story to his wife or whoever. Or does he keep it a secret? Great adventure!!
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