During the night we traveled through the Chinese countryside with the train windows open, snacking on dried fruit and nuts as we chatted and joked. Steve and I banged out a Thursday NY Times crossword, and moved onto a more difficult Friday, only to be stumped by the last third. We popped valiums after dark and lay back on our bunks while they took effect, relaxing our muscles and warming our brains, amplifying the general feeling of wellness that permeated the evening. At one point the train stopped outside of a town and sat for some twenty minutes. For the first time in the trip, stars could be seen. Crickets could be heard, and aside from that, was silence. Pure silence in China. No crowds, no pushing, no spitting. No mothers holding peeing babies above the sidewalks, no car horns, no amputee beggars, no wrinkled old men hauling mountains of cardboard on taped-together bicycles. The air was sweet and warm and all was quiet. We were moving into the west.

Photo: mykaul

In the middle of the night I noticed that the temperature had cooled, that the baking summer had transformed into a slight chill. We were gaining a lot of elevation. We could see the headlights of trucks winding up the mountain roads that followed the same route as the train. Eventually this coolness turned into a rain, one that sprinkled cold drops onto my face, awakening me from my slumber and forcing me to close the stiff window.

By late morning we had rolled into our destination, Qining, which is the capital of Qinghai province, a barren landmass known for its mines and nuclear testing grounds. The river that flows through the town was swollen and brown form the summer torrents. The sky was dark and low, and when I opened the train window to test the air, I could faintly make out traces of my old breath. Over the course of one night we had moved into another world.

Photo: johey24

The guidebook doesn’t give Qining much credit – perhaps deservedly so, as it’s not an overtly attractive place. It lies nestled against some dry hills, giving it the look of a run-down Reno or Boise. It has a tattered feel, with couple of larger buildings jutting up, most of which are hotels built to house the Chinese tourists heading south on the train to Lhasa, Tibet.

But Qining is an interesting place – a curious mix of Han Chinese, Tibetans, and the Hui Muslim minority - Chinese-looking guys with wispy beards white skull caps. While there we visited three separate mosques. The town is a mix of dilapidated machine shops and a few new buildings. Old women sell yogurt on the side of the road. A lively street market sells huge peppers, melons, and whole dressed chickens. Yak meat is butchered outdoors, without the benefit of refrigeration. Men melt scrap aluminum and pour it into molds in storefronts, making all varieties of pots and pans.

When we arrived in Qining we were approached by a mild-mannered tout at the station. The next train to Golmud, our real destination, was sold out, but he could help us get a scalped ticket, along with a hotel for the day (the train left that night), where we could stash our stuff and get some rest. With all of the secrecy and shadiness of a drug deal, we followed him to the hotel, which was a mildew-infested shithole behind the bus station, where, sure enough, he produced the “Hard Sleeper” tickets we sought and set us up with a stained-carpet room that smelled like gym socks. But at five bucks for the day, no one was complaining.

We wandered Qining’s muddy streets for much of the day, eating a gut-churning breakfast of inedible noodles at one of the hotels and enduring the rain. It was in Qining where, for the first time in the trip, I saw a collection of outdoor pool tables. Some tarps had been hastily thrown over the felt tops to protect them from the rain, which doesn’t fall too often in Qining. Outdoor pool is a big hit in western China, as I was to see the same thing several more times throughout the trip.

Toward the end of the day we had found a PC room. Waiting in my inbox was a message from my girlfriend, informing me that she was breaking up. I had felt it coming for few days, since what started as enthusiastic responses to my emails dwindled to silence in little more than a week, and here she was dropping the bomb. This, of course didn’t help my mood. Combined with the rain, it put me in a foul temper, and I wanted to reach through the computer screen and slap the girl. She resented me for traveling while she stayed in Korea, so she tried to sabotage my trip by dumping me. This was obvious to me, and while I still view it as a crappy move (we later reconciled and then broke up for good soon after my return), I was able to let go of it. After a couple of strong Chinese cigarettes I shook my head and laughed, refusing to give her the satisfaction my misery.

To read the continuation of Chris Tharp’s tale stay tuned….

See Chris Tharp’s original post here on Matador Blogs.

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