Here we are on the rails of the Silk Road. A beautiful anachronism all to ourselves. First stop: Xi’an, provincial capital of Shaanxi, known for its statues of buried soldiers. But that’s not what interests us the most in this former imperial capital, long called Chang’an. Above all, it was an important stage on these roads and still bears the marks of them.
The Silk Roads were great axes for the circulation of goods but also for the circulation of ideas, especially religious ones. On the Chinese side, two religions arrived in the Middle Kingdom by these routes: Buddhism, from the 2nd century BC, and Islam, in the 8th century.
Xi’an reflects this spiritual dimension of the Silk Roads. First with its Wild Goose Pagoda. Magnificent square stone pagoda, built to contain within it the Buddhist scriptures, brought from India and translated from Sanskrit by the monk Xuanzang in the 7th century. Aware of the precious and unique character of his writings, the monk feared the fragility of wooden buildings, which were too exposed to the risk of fire. It is also the symbol of the rise of Buddhism, present in China for several centuries but still discreet, which experienced its true golden age under the Tang dynasty (618-907).
The traces testifying to the extent of the influence of Islam even in the Chinese borders are not to be sought for long in Xi’an, whose Muslim quarter remains one of the obligatory passages for contemporary tourists. With its small tidy bazaar side, its well-stocked and well-arranged stalls along the narrow streets, where scooters persist in making their way through the middle of walkers, we plunge into a world that already takes us far, beyond the borders. The faces evoke Central Asia, even though the border with Kazakhstan is a few thousand kilometers away.
At the bend of one of these alleys, the mosque of Xi’an is first of all astonishing of chinoiseries. Apart from discreet Arabic calligraphy on some poles, nothing distinguishes the place from a retreat of Chinese nobles. But the large prayer hall, adorned with its countless rugs and whose destitution contrasts with the Buddhist ornaments, brings you back to a better known Muslim world.
Back on the street, Xi’an is bubbling. Foreign brands are trying to find their place alongside rising Chinese brands. Chains of restaurants, clothing stores, beauty products… consumption is on the rise here.
And it’s our turn to hit the road again. To advance without stopping towards our distant goal, Europe. Our first night on the train awaits us. This time, no high-speed line. An almost old-fashioned convoy. In these sleeper trains, there are four different classes: seated-hard; soft-sitting; hard berths; soft berths. We opt for the hard berths: six passengers per compartment, which is not really one, since it remains open to the aisle.
The train already carries with it his little sociology of travel. There are the solitary workers, on their way home or the next mission, who do not move from their berth, buy from the dealer, who multiplies the round trips through the wagons, a bowl of instant noodles for all food in twenty travel times; the families driving towards reunions, who recreate their little world in the space of a compartment, with the children already dressed in their Sunday clothes who have fun in the common areas and invade the car with their crystalline laughter; regulars on long trips, who don’t concede anything about their comfort and have planned comforting picnics, which they don’t hesitate to share with their travel neighbours, even foreigners.
This is what strikes you all the more when you set foot on the Dunhuang station platform. The smell of the countryside! A brief olfactory memory of holidays in France goes back. After the urban dampness of Shanghai preparing for summer, the drier suffocation of Xi’an rising from its great asphalt arteries, and the prisoner air of the train fed by air conditioning and the discreet aromas of cigarettes consumed between two carriages , where it is still allowed, our nose is inevitably awakened by an air finally released.
Dunhuang is a fascinating stopover. An oasis set in the heart of a sandy desert, its crescent of water welcomed the thirsty travelers of yesteryear. Now a tourist hotspot, an imperturbable calm continues to emanate from this place, no doubt fueled by the majestic sand dunes that surround it. Here, the sand permeates life in its smallest interstices. The dryness is felt immediately through every skin pore and into the throat. The constructions are all adorned with a fine layer of sand, the color of which integrates them into the landscape. Big trend of these years, marked by the rise of social networks: many visitors arrive at these emblematic sites in disguise. In Dunhuang, some appeal to the world of the great Chinese warriors, others to that of the Arabian Nights, sometimes bringing their own professional photographer to immortalize the moment.
At the end of the first week, we are on our way to Xinjiang, this province in the Great West of China, where so many travellers, traders, explorers… have crossed paths over the centuries. The desert will be our traveling companion for a few more days. We still have five trains to catch before leaving Chinese territory. They are all booked except one, right in the middle of the trip. A small hyphen that remains dotted on our itinerary. Our little uncertainty of the week. Otherwise, it would not be the adventure.