Two months of far flung hitchhikes and train rides through northwestern China had culminated to these precious hours of late September scenery in Kanas National Geopark. The poplar leaves were letting out their last breaths of freshly photosynthesized oxygen before transforming into that famous, lustrous yellow, before wiggling free of their branches and finding their way to the forest floor. Tourist infestation was at its worst, bringing in 30,000 visitors a day, yet I was alone.

 

I wandered through the magnificence while keeping within the constraints of the tourist-friendly paths, taking breaks to luxuriate in my own solitude. I was secluded because I chose to—paused my life to, even—but I was also secluded because I was excluded.

While I looked like any other Chinese on two legs (and believe me, there were many), and while my bloodline was as Chinese as it gets, and has been for the last 5,000 years, I had spent my month in the Xinjiang province dodging the question of presenting a national Chinese ID, because I had none.

It had been exceedingly difficult to find accommodation that was registered to receive foreigners as guests. Trying to weasel my way into road trips and treks away from the crowds had taxed my creativity to wit’s end. I’d been the epicenter of hostel drama and dragged in travelers from all over China to be doomed with me. Police had chauffeured me around towns trying to find a registered hotel. I’d found a night’s rest in the woods, backseats of cars, pop-up tents atop cars, and now the latest gig: a souvenir shop.

Kanas Geopark sits in the north of the Xinjiang province, not too far from the Russian border. The ethnic flora here includes Kazakhs, Tuvan Mongols, and Huis.

A kind Kazakh sister had allowed me to take over a patch of her floor after close. I had resorted to asking stall-to-stall because the police office rejected me, asking if I thought it was appropriate to camp out in a building full of men, and dismissing my firm “yes” as an invalid answer.

So I ended up with my hostess. When I first approached her, she took one look at me and said,

“If I see a girl who needs a place to stay, of course she can stay with me.”

Some people just get it.

My hostess would pull down the metal shop door, spread out a mat and thick jackets for me. I’d roll out and jump in my sleeping bag and quilt, she’d get in her cot behind me, and we’d say our goodnights. Early the next morning I’d pack up, bus into the park, run around the fall colors (sometimes at full sprint if I realized I’d left my hat on a rock), come back to the stall, go to a Hui-owned stall to say hello and have some fresh melon, have some instant noodles or morsels from my hostess, and we’d set up my cozy burrow all over again. She asked for nothing in return.

I’m telling you, I had the best time with China’s ethnic minorities.

Note: In the wake of “reeducation centers” popping up in South Xinjiang and Uighurs coming out with horror stories worldwide, I urge each reader to properly research and develop their own opinion on the serious situation.

Day 592

22 September 2019

禾木 → 贾登峪 → 喀纳斯 → 贾登峪

Hemu → Jiadengyu Parking Lot → Kanas National Geopark → Jiadengyu Parking Lot

The crowds at 观鱼台 (guān yú tái), or the Fish Viewing Pavilion, were atrocious. The line for the shuttle back to the lakeside wasn’t moving. It wouldn’t have been much slower to walk down, so I did.

When I finally stopped in a patch of dusty grass for a boiled egg snack, this Tuvan guy on a horse passed by. He was leading two more horses behind him. He was on his way home after taking some tourists on a horseback ride.

I hitchhiked my way onto one of his empty horses. 

The thirsty animals rushed towards the cold Kanas river, stamping right in, not minding the humans mounted on their backs at all.

By the time I survived the insane waits and rode out of the park, I was drained, like I’d spent the day in Disney rather than in a nature reserve.

This is when I had to start making sleeping arrangements. My road-trip group had decided to move on, but my gut was screaming at me to stay another day. The result? My belongings being taken from the SUV and dumped onto the parking lot floor.

Things sorted themselves out as described above. The Hui couple at the melon stall lent me chopsticks for my instant noodles. My own hostess offered me some lamb and corn that she had boiled for herself and the girl running the stall next door.

After dinner she gawked at me when I began to floss my teeth—she’d never seen such a thing before. Her friend was just as confused. When I asked if they wanted some dental floss to try for themselves, the quick shakes of their heads were a clear no.

Day 593

23 September 2019

贾登峪 → 喀纳斯 → 卧龙湾 → 月亮湾 → 神仙湾 → 贾登峪

Jiadengyu → Kanas → Dragon Bend → Moon Bend → Fairy Bend → Jiadengyu

I barely ate in North Xinjiang, fueled instead by amazement with my surroundings and the desire to walk as much as I could. And beer. Beer at night helped.

There was no time to find food stalls, because every move required hours of waiting in line to get back on the shuttle buses.

I despise the Chinese tourism model. “Scenic areas” are purposely constructed far from the ticket office and official entrance, forcing visitors to pay for a shuttle pass. These official shuttles often run half-empty, wasting gas and everyone’s patience. Spots throughout the country have increasingly adopted this cursed method.

In the evening I continued to educate myself on the behind the scenes life of souvenir vendors. Listening to the chats among neighbors but understanding nothing from their language. Accepting the invitation have a seat and have some fruit.

Tourists continuously approached our stall to ask for small things. You’d be surprised how handy keeping a small stock of power banks could be.

Despite the odd warmth of the recent weather, soon the real cold would come. The vendors would return to their children and spouses in the cities. Admission to Kanas was only 10 yuan ($1.44) for Kazakhs (I paid 150 yuan for one day, shuttle included), but the tourist season kept my hostess so busy that she only went once this year.

As for my second day of Kanas, the photos have spoken for themselves.

Except for the wild ducks, the chipmunks, and my exultant skinny dip in the pristine liquid of Kanas River. Alas, these moments were not captured on camera.