Urumqi, Monday, September 10
After breakfast I asked at the travel desk about getting a car and driver to Turpan, a nearby town that had a few mosques I wanted to visit. The guy wanted 700 Yuan ($85), which seemed high, so I decide to shop around a little.

Much to my surprise it was cool and rainy outside. I had thought that rain was rare in these dry parts of China. Anyway, I put on my raincoat and got a taxi to the XinJiang Airline office. From what I had seen of Urumqi so far, I had decided I wanted to go back to Beijing a day early.

We drove down wide, busy avenues past drab high-rise buildings. Urumqi was much like all the other Chinese cities I had visited. At the airline office I was told there was no flight tomorrow and that the one today was booked solid. Well ok, I was stuck in Urumqi until Wednesday.

I decided to take a taxi to the Xinjiang Autonomous Region Museum. The taxi lady had a tape of old American tunes playing. I listened to her sing along with the Platters' Great Pretender, while we drove north on a wide, busy expressway.

There were major renovations going on at the museum and the collection had been moved to a much smaller building. Most of the stuff was from ancient settlements in the area. It didn't hold my attention long and I was soon back out in the rain.

By the time I got back to the hotel the rain had stopped, so I walked over to the Uighur part of town. Here I entered an area more to my liking. There were lots of stands selling fruits, vegetables and clothing. Down one lane I saw a man baking nang - a flat bread much like India nan.

He was standing at a round tandoori-style oven. He put a ball of dough on a padded mitt and flattened it against the side of the oven. When it was done he used a rod with a hook to retrieve it. I took several pictures of him working in the heat of his oven before buying one of the breads. It was almost too hot to hold and deliciously crunchy.

I continued wandering the city as the drizzle started again. I visited a large bookstore where the clerks were practicing there English when not waiting on customers. I stopped at a Holiday Inn to look at a rug shop, but they were all way, way to expensive. Finally, I ended up back at my hotel where I had a late lunch.

In the evening a night market appeared on the street next to my hotel. In addition to food stalls, you could have your weight and fortune told by a computer, shoot balloons with air rifles and shop for everything for underwear to wristwatches, from computer software to Chinese herbal remedies.

Turpan, Tuesday, September 11
In the morning I was still debating with myself about how to get to Turpan. I hadn't had any success finding another car and was telling myself that the bus would be cheaper. In the end my laziness won and I had the travel desk get a car for me. Within 20 minutes the car arrived and by 9:30 we were on our way.

It was cool outside and the road was still wet from an overnight rain. We quickly passed out of Urumqi into rolling hills covered with scrubby vegetation. In the distance I could see snow-capped mountains. Soon the sky started to clear.

My driver was a stout Chinese fellow in his mid 30's. He spoke no English. Before long his mobile phone rang - something that often happened on our drive. I had had the travel agent write the three places in Turpan I wanted to visit in Chinese - the bazaar, the city mosque and Emin Ta. In addition, because Chinese tend to drive a little too fast for my taste, I had the agent write, "drive slowly" at the bottom. That seemed to be working as we moved along at a leisurely pace. I was very happy to be on the go and it certainly was nice to have my own driver.

After half an hour we entered a toll road, new and straight, and for a while the land was flat. Here we passed a huge windmill farm where hundreds of blades slowly revolved in the breeze. Next, we headed down into a rocky canyon. The road crossed and re-crossed a small river as we kept heading down. A stiff wind buffeted the car.

Turpan is in a basin, the second lowest on earth, and we drove down almost the rest of the trip. As we got lower the sky cleared up and the temperature started to rise - soon the wind was hot and dry.

The town of Turpan wasn't much to see - mostly new development in the typical Chinese concrete style. Our first stop was at the bazaar in the center of town. It was pretty much like the market in Kashgar - the same produce and dry goods - but was still interesting to walk around. I love the bazaars because they offer a chance to interact with people and to take pictures. After about half and hour I headed back to find my driver and we moved on to see the city mosque.

Actually we stopped at three mosques. It was clear all three were still in use but they were dusty and poorly maintained - not the kind of grand mosques I had seen in Uzbekistan or Iran. I wondered why the great Central Asian builders had never made it to China. There are very few really grand mosques in China and all that I had seen looked more like temples than traditional domed mosques.

School was just getting out and the streets were full of noisy, excited kids. When they saw me they all shouted, "Hello" and "What's your name?" Then when they saw my camera they stopped and posed for me.

Back in the car we drove out -of-town through grape fields. Turpan in famous for its grapes and raisins. I had seen huge piles of raisins being shoveled into bags in the bazaar.

After a few wrong turns we arrived at Emin Ta, Turpan's, best known sight. Many tourists had arrived ahead of us - there were busloads of Japanese - and the vendors were noisily demanding that I look at their goods.

The mosque itself was quite spectacular and certainly worth the trip. It stands surrounded by grape fields on three sides. The design is quite simple: it's a rectilinear building made of sand colored brick and there is a large conical minaret - wide at the bottom and narrow at the top. The inside was equally plain with varnished poles holding the ceiling and several skylights letting in illumination. From the roof there was a great view of the surrounding grape trellises and the brick building were the raisins were dried.

Back at the car the driver said something to me in Chinese. The only word I recognized was Urumqi. "Yes," I replied, "Let's go back to Urumqi." Like a horse heading back to the barn he drove much faster on his way home. Before long we saw the tall buildings of Urumqi - at 3:30 I was dropped at my hotel.

After dinner I walked the night market again, but my heart wasn't in it - I was already starting to think about home.

Beijing, Wednesday, September 12
On the plane back to Beijing a washout video was shown - it was probably a recording of the previous night's news. Watching without sound I thought I recognized the buildings but, couldn't figure why an airplane would run into them. I mean, couldn't the pilot see something as big at the World Trade Center?

Back in Beijing I hurried around trying to get some last minute shopping done - I was scheduled to leave the next morning. When the clerk at one shop found out I was American she said, "You know what happened, don't you?'' She then proceeded to tell me some of the grim details. In the middle of the conversation an American stopped and filled in more. I found the news so shocking I was having a hard time absorbing it. Then he said, "The US has declared war, everything is closed, even the airports." That woke me to my part of the problem.

I walked slowly back to a shop where I had just made a purchase and asked if I could use their phone. Northwest confirmed that my flight was indeed canceled and said that they had no idea when they would be flying again. I sat in the shop for a while: the clerks were very sympathetic and comforting. Then I realized I needed to extend my hotel reservation. They let me make another phone call. That accomplished I just walked around Beijing for several hours trying to come to grips with what had happened in New York City.

Still dazed I ended up on Wangfujing Street - the pedestrian mall I had visited on my first night in Beijing. While having a beer a young Chinese woman came and asked if she could talk with me. I figured she had something to sell but I needed the company. In the end I accompanied her to her studio where she translated what the Chinese papers had to say about the attack - then she showed me her paintings. I told here I was sorry but I wasn't in the mood to buy anything. She said she understood.

Still the whole scope of the tragedy wasn't clear to me. That night watching the news in Chinese I saw those large buildings collapse - they showed it over and over again. It made me feel sick. I was horrified and saddened.

Beijing, Thursday, September 13
I realized I was going to be stuck in China for a while. A call to Northwest netted me reservations for Tuesday. I wasn't very happy about having to wait five days, but figured I didn't have a choice. Actually, I was still in shock and wasn't yet thinking clearly.

I tried to put the day to good use: first, I walked over to the Lama Temple north of my hotel. There were at least 20 tour buses in the parking lot and a long line waiting to get in - forget that. Then I walked over to the Bell Tower but it was closed for construction - that was two strikes.

Next, I took the metro to Wangfujing again where I visited several bookstores. I stood reading the Beijing travel books trying to get some ideas for my extended stay in Beijing.

After lunch I scored my only victory by visiting the Niujie Mosque, on the south side of town. There on a narrow street was a lovely painted building sitting in a peaceful garden. Like many Chinese mosques it looked more like a temple than a mosque. The prayer hall was close, but by leaning in the window I could see the inside was as brightly painted as the outside.

In the evening I got restless and wandered the neighboring hutong. After quite a bit of walking I found a bar - something that was rare in China - and stopped for a beer. I asked if they had a tape player, thinking I might listen to my Country tape - but they only had a CD player. Instead they put on some Mexican music, which was a good second choice. I sat looking out at the hutong, watching the bicycles glide by and drank my cold draft beer. It was the first time all day I had felt good.

Beijing, Friday, September 14
It may sound funny, but I wanted to get back to work. I had done all the wandering I wanted, so I decided to start on my travelogue. After all the guests had left the hotel, I rented one of the Internet access computers and wrote out the story of my lunch while returning from visiting the Great Wall.

When I was done I emailed it to my home account and set out to walk the hutong west of my hotel. There was a lake there - Houhai Lake - which, was surrounded by many lovely Chines residences. Along the lake people were eating their lunch or others were trying to catch fish.

I decided to do a little more shopping and headed off to a carpet shop I had read about. In the taxi I realized how extremely unhappy I was about having to wait around Beijing so long. I got out my map, showed the driver the World Trade Center (yes, that's what it called)- that was where the Northwest Airline offices were. The office wasn't as crowded as I expected, but I still had to wait nearly a half an hour to see an agent.

I explained my situation and finished by saying, "This is no good. I have to get home sooner." "Certainly," the agent agreed and added, "I'll put you on the wait list for Sunday." I was just getting ready to say, "Sorry, I need something better that that," when she said, "Oh, there are two seats on Sunday's flight, someone must have canceled."

I could hardly believe my luck. I walked out with a reservation for Sunday, the second day the planes were flying again. In the taxi back to my hotel I kept saying to myself, "I'm going home, I'm going home."

Beijing, Saturday, September 15
Having nothing better to do I visited the Panjiayuan flea market again. Then I headed over to Liulichang Street and talked to a few of the vendors that had been so kind to me when I arrived back in Beijing.

Back at the hotel I called Northwest just to make sure my reservation was still ok. They suggested I arrive at the airport 4 hours early - that seemed a little excessive. I spent the evening drinking beer and talking to other travelers.

Beijing, Sunday, September 16
The line was long at the airport - it took two full hours to get through the formalities. From the departure area we boarded quickly, but there was an understandable tension in the air.

Before I tell you one last story I need to give you a detail you may not know about Chinese toddlers: they often don’t wear diapers. Instead they wear pants with a slit in them - when they go, it goes too.

Anyway, I was sitting on the plane, waiting for everybody to settle down when I heard the stewardess. She was talking to a Chinese man a few rows ahead of me. "Sir," she said, "You must put a diaper on your child. We can't allow bodily waste in the aisles." I couldn't hear what he said, but it was clear he was arguing because she replied, "Sir, this could be considered a breach of security and you may be asked to leave the plane. Do you understand this?"

I thought, "Oh please, let me go home." I could just see it: stuck in Beijing because some Chinese kid shit in the aisle of the plane.

In the end the dispute was settled and we landed in Detroit 13 hours later. As much as I love to go, I love to come home more - especially this time.

Ann Arbor, Michigan
November 2001

Part One: Beijing & Tianjin
Part Two: Beidaihe
Part Three: Kashgar
Part Five: Details & Hotels

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