Encountering the Hexi Corridor

The persistent COVID-19 pandemic has devastated the tourism industry, troubled those accustomed to virtual travel, and even to some extent affected the enrollment of related majors. It has been exactly two years since my last proper trip. Over these two years, people have gone from initial fear, helplessness, and high alert to now being accustomed to wearing masks when going out and spraying alcohol when entering homes—life has changed, yet it seems to carry on as usual. When we can travel, we still need to go out and explore. It's just that there are a few more packs of masks and alcohol wipes in the suitcase.

Where to go? That's a far more headache-inducing question than masks and alcohol. I had been considering it two months before the summer break, and more importantly, I continuously followed all pandemic-related news and locations over the past two years, trying to calculate the areas with the lowest probability of outbreaks. Statistics, of course, are not absolute, but probability certainly guides decision-making. Eliminating all border cities, ports, cities with large inbound passenger flows, and high population mobility left very few viable destinations. Ultimately, the Northwest and Guizhou made the cut. I had just been watching Season 2 of "Across the Globe" about the Northwest and the Hexi Corridor, so striking while the iron was hot seemed like a good choice.

The Gansu-Qinghai Grand Loop has long distances between attractions, many of which are not near cities, making it more suitable for a self-driving group. However, we couldn't gather enough drivers, and long drives are tiring and detract from enjoying the scenery—not my preferred style. Joining a tour group became the only option. But the convenience of flying into and out of Lanzhou and its status as the central city of the West meant I still planned to stay an extra two days as usual.

Day 1: A Once-in-a-Millennium Event

However, man proposes, God disposes. On July 19, I booked the itinerary, and on the 20th, the once-in-a-millennium rainfall in Henan began uncontrollably. As a railway hub, Zhengzhou quickly saw news of train suspensions trending online. Unfortunately, the high-speed rail from Beijing to Lanzhou takes the southern route, going south through Zhengzhou and then west to Lanzhou. Before departing on the 22nd, I had mentally prepared for train suspensions and multiple backup plans, especially since the same trains had been suspended the previous two days. But without any official suspension notice, I clung to hope, and canceling tickets early would have incurred heavy losses. Another option was to change my itinerary early without canceling tickets, betting that the train would be suspended. Winning would mean losing neither time nor money, but losing would mean losing two 700-yuan tickets outright. I couldn't afford that gamble, so I set off from Zhangjiakou to Beijing West Station early with a faint hope. The wait was agonizing. Nearly 20 minutes after the departure time, some irrational passengers started arguing with staff when the suspension notice finally arrived. Luckily, I had done my homework and prepared a Plan B. I then sat in the waiting room at Beijing West Station, frantically tapping on my phone. First, I checked flights—late, expensive, and weather uncertain; not a sure thing either, so I passed. Then I contacted the travel agency about changing the tour date due to my inability to arrive on time. Learning that the nearest available tour was on the 28th, I decided to change my plan from touring first and then staying extra to exploring Lanzhou independently first and joining the tour on the 28th. Then I began making plans for the next four days on the fly. First, I needed to consider train ticket availability—both available and guaranteed to run. To avoid the flood-affected area, the only way was to take the northern route, bypassing the rainfall area, meaning no high-speed rail direct connection. Fortunately, there were high-speed trains on the eastern sections—Beijing-Zhangjiakou and Zhangjiakou-Hohhot. So I first rushed to Qinghe Station to catch a high-speed train, arriving in Hohhot on the afternoon of the 22nd, then took a sleeper train from Hohhot to Lanzhou on the 23rd. With the outbound journey settled, nothing was over yet. I changed the return tickets—luckily there were seats. I canceled the original high-speed train tickets and got a full refund. I canceled the previously booked extended stay hotel and rebooked one night in Hohhot and three nights in Lanzhou. I also made reservations for the Gansu Provincial Museum and the Inner Mongolia Museum. All this was done at the station and on the train, with only a phone, a few apps, and 4G network. A decade ago, faced with such a natural disaster, none of the subsequent itinerary would have happened. We were ultimately lucky—thank this era.

After twists and turns, the travel time extended, and Hohhot unexpectedly became part of the trip. Heaven's will—take it as it comes. The only hardship was the repeated shuffling between trains and stations that day. Unable to get the earliest high-speed ticket, I had to get up at 4 a.m. to take a regular express from Zhangjiakou to Beijing. After the high-speed was suspended, I took a high-speed from Beijing via Zhangjiakou to Hohhot, essentially making a futile round trip to Beijing. When I arrived at Hohhot East Station in the evening of the 22nd, I felt tired, sleepy, and speechless. A destination that would normally take just two hours to reach easily ended up taking 12 hours of back-and-forth. If the suspension had been announced five hours before departure, all this trouble would have been avoided. For the sake of a few service fees, some monopolies really go all out.

Day 2: Encountering Guisui

On the morning of the 23rd, I went to the Inner Mongolia Museum as planned. For convenience, I had booked a hotel near the Wanda Plaza opposite the museum the day before, just across the street. The museum building has a unique shape, with a roof like a winding white ribbon. The exhibition halls are on the second, third, and fourth floors, featuring exhibits such as "Grassland Monuments," "Northern Frontier Birch Songs," "Dawn of Civilization," "Khitan of Liao," "Ancient World," and "Borderland Times." The exhibits comprehensively display the history of the Xiongnu, Khitan, Mongol, and other grassland civilizations from natural and historical perspectives, with distinct ethnic characteristics. In addition, although there are few artifacts from the famous Neolithic Hongshan culture, a small jade dragon pig is enough to attract attention. I spent the entire morning from opening until noon, but only managed a quick glance. Hohhot is close; I'll have another chance.

After lunch, I took my luggage to the Suiyuan General's Office Museum. Because I knew that Zhangjiakou was once the capital of Chahar Province, I was familiar with the historical administrative divisions of Suiyuan and Rehe, but only by name. Now that I was in Hohhot, the capital of Suiyuan, I had the opportunity to learn more about this period of history during the Qing Dynasty and the Republic of China era. The Suiyuan General's Office is the largest, best-preserved, and highest-ranking Qing Dynasty frontier general's mansion in China. It was established during the Qianlong period of the Qing Dynasty to prevent the Dzungar Mongol tribe from harassing the northwestern frontier. Over nearly 300 years, it experienced 74 generals, all high-ranking officials of the first rank. It holds the historical value of "One General's Mansion, Half the History of Qingcheng." The entrance is at the east gate, and the overall layout retains the architectural features of a Qing Dynasty government office. A pair of stone lions stand on either side of the main entrance, and a plaque reading "First Mansion South of the Desert" hangs inside the main gate. The halls inside follow a typical three-courtyard layout, with public areas in front and private quarters at the back, and a small garden at the rear. I happened to catch a volunteer guide's explanation and learned about the daily life of the general's office. It's free, uncrowded, convenient to reach, and luggage can be stored. Anyone passing through Hohhot should consider visiting.

I stayed in Hohhot for less than 24 hours, just a brief encounter, not even a cursory glance. Although Hohhot is the nearest provincial capital to my home, I had never had the chance to visit. Since the Zhangjiakou-Hohhot high-speed railway opened last year, it takes only an hour and a half to get there—a quick trip, even a day trip is possible. But all the convenience couldn't outweigh the accident. This trip, intended as a train transfer, unexpectedly became my first visit. Compared to Lanzhou, the capital of Gansu that I would visit later, Hohhot left the biggest impression of fewer people, fewer cars, and wider roads. It has a subway and a Wanda Plaza, but not the crowded crowds and hurried pace typical of big cities. The lively night markets and cheap breakfasts seem to define the city's character. The contrast between the strict pandemic prevention registration by bus drivers and the sight of a woman eating a baked cake without wearing a mask on the bus reveals people's inherent seriousness and unruliness. Convenient and comfortable, without excessive noise and ostentation, it seems a livable city. Not bad.

Day 3: Hello, Beef Noodles

After a night on the sleeper train, I finally arrived at Lanzhou Station at noon on the 24th. Looking at the iconic bronze Galloping Horse statue in the square in front of the station, I sighed at the difficulty of this journey under the 38-degree heat. I took a bus to the hotel and experienced Lanzhou's traffic jams firsthand. It was okay for the first few stops, but the closer we got to the city center, the worse it got. Cars cutting in, the bus driver flooring the accelerator then slamming on the brakes—ordinary people really couldn't handle it. The leisurely comfort of Hohhot vanished instantly. The large bus weaved left and right, and waiting under the scorching sun was filled with heat and anxiety. Jincheng (Lanzhou) was eager to prove its status as the central city of the Northwest in this way. I had envisioned grand passes, long marches, deserts, and Gobi, but it all started with rows of buildings and congestion. For the sake of that bowl of beef noodles, I endured it.

After twists and turns, I finally reached the destination. I checked in, ate, and rested. In the evening, I set out to explore Lanzhou's night market and try the internet-famous food. Checking various guides is a must before departure. The first food route was Zhengning Road Snack Night Market and Nanguan Ethnic Customs Street. Starting from the west entrance of Zhengning Road, a street over 200 meters long, densely packed with small shops and stalls, offered so many snacks and foods that it was hard to choose. With limited stomach capacity, I had to focus on the highlights. At the legendary stall No. 44, I bought a must-try milk, egg, and fermented rice drink. It cost 10 yuan a cup, and I took a number and waited in line. An old man with a white beard skillfully boiled a mixture of milk and fermented rice. After it boiled, he poured in beaten egg like making egg drop soup, then ladled it into cups, topped with sesame seeds and raisins. Each batch produced only four cups, so everyone got a freshly made, hot cup—better suited for winter. The rich milk aroma and the winey scent of fermented rice blended perfectly, sweet but not greasy, and I couldn't stop drinking. There are many claims online about which stall's milk, egg, and fermented rice drink is authentic. There are nearly ten stalls on Zhengning Road alone, all advertising as "Old Ma's," and several more on Nanguan Night Market, countless more across Lanzhou. The legend goes that due to too many imitators, the original Old Ma shaved off his beard and moved to another new food attraction, Lanzhou Old Street. This prompted a visit to the new location two days later, but that's a story for later.

Before I finished my scalding drink, I spotted the sign of "Fangha" at the west end of Zhengning Road. Although also plagued by knockoffs, this one on Zhengning Road is definitely reliable. In this era of countless milk tea brands, Lanzhou's sweet fermented grain milk tea might be the most unique. I ordered a medium classic sweet fermented grain milk tea with 30% sugar, costing 11 yuan, just a bit more than Mixue Ice Cream & Tea. Looking at the huge bucket-sized cup (15 yuan) at the next table, I felt I had lost out. But the price isn't the point. For a non-milk-tea lover who gave up sweets due to high cholesterol, drinking two cups in three days is saying something. The "Greater Northwest of the Tea Drink World" truly stands out from the ubiquitous "Little Taipei" style. The enduring popularity of sugary happiness drinks is because they tap into humans' addiction to sweetness. So regular milk tea often pushes the extremes of "sweetness" and "creaminess," forgetting whether it's milk or tea. Sipping Fangha, I was surprised that it wasn't sweet or greasy, and I actually tasted the bitterness of the tea, which became more pronounced the more I drank. As a middle-aged tea drinker, I didn't have high expectations for trendy milk tea, but finding such a gem was a delightful surprise.

Leaving Zhengning Road and turning onto Gannan Road, at the intersection was a Squirrel Family Beef Noodle restaurant. Not having beef noodles means you haven't been to Lanzhou. But with countless beef noodle shops and numerous well-known chain brands in Lanzhou, choosing which one is a dilemma—you can't eat it every day. No matter how many guides you consult, they're just references; on the ground, you go with the flow. The standard version costs 8 yuan a bowl citywide. Just as I was marveling at the low price, I caught a glimpse of a bowl a nearby diner had just picked up. I quickly opened a food app and ordered a "double fly" combo with extra meat and a marinated egg. Later I went to another noodle shop, and the standard version also had only three small pieces of meat. It turns out the price isn't the only thing standardized—the amount of meat is too. Tourists better go for the combo; 15.8 yuan is great value. In Beijing, it would cost over 30 yuan.

After the beef noodles, I walked through Gannan Road while drinking milk tea and arrived at Nanguan Night Market. Compared to Zhengning Road Night Market, this street is a bit longer, with similar offerings. Perhaps because the street is wider, more tourists eat while walking on Zhengning Road, while Nanguan has more seating, with barbecue, tea-can skewers, and unknown large iron plates grilling various foods. With the rise of internet-famous spots, "anti-internet-famous" has become a way for some to express individuality. More and more people are developing an aversion to internet-famous food streets and night markets, with reasons like "over-commercialized" and "only tourists go, locals don't." But setting aside commercial interests, few people have the time, energy, or means to explore every corner of a city. For tourists, internet-famous night markets are likely the most cost-effective choice. Lanzhou's night markets are actually fine, retaining a fair amount of local flavor and liveliness, and prices aren't the so-called "tourist prices," not much different from outside the markets. Compared to famous food capitals like Chengdu, Xi'an, and Changsha, Lanzhou's food is in no way inferior in quality, uniqueness, or price. But no matter which city you go to, you can find Chengdu skewers or Changsha stinky tofu (even if not authentic), but you'll hardly ever see milk, egg, and fermented rice drinks or sweet fermented grain milk tea. Is it also at a geographical disadvantage like Lanzhou University? Maybe. Anyway, after returning home, I recreated the milk, egg, and fermented rice drink—it really doesn't have much technical threshold or ingredient restrictions. After putting down the bowl, I felt an urge to set up a stall at the night market.

Day 4: Galloping Horse Treading on a Flying Swallow

When visiting Lanzhou, the two places I most wanted to see were the Gansu Provincial Museum and Lanzhou University. Unfortunately, due to the pandemic, universities are not open to the public, but museums are still open as usual. Having learned my lesson at the Suzhou Museum, where I couldn't enter because I didn't make a reservation in advance, I now make checking reservations a routine before any trip. The museum opens at 9 a.m. I arrived half an hour early, and there were already people queueing, especially organized schoolchildren and families with kids. To avoid the crowd, I went straight to the third floor after entering, heading to the Gansu Painted Pottery Hall, which was indeed less crowded. The Gansu Museum's painted pottery hall gathers various painted pottery pots, jars, and bottles from the Dadiwan culture, Yangshao culture, Majiayao culture, and the Bronze Age. The artifacts are rich in form, numerous, and distinctive. As a die-hard fan of "National Treasure," I always do some homework before visiting museums. My eyes immediately locked onto the human-head-shaped mouth painted pottery bottle. From the Neolithic Age, 7,000 to 5,000 years ago, these vessels used by ancient people for storing food have traversed millennia and are vividly displayed in the exhibition cabinets. The red pottery base is bright, and the patterns are clear, comparable to trendy collectibles today. Going further in, I came face to face with the red pottery human face and red pottery human head artifacts. Extremely simple, even somewhat abstract, ancient people thousands of years ago used the most primitive forms to create the earliest "self-portraits." Whether in natural science, art, or humanities, humanity's depiction of the world and itself has generally gone from simple to complex and then back to simple—astronomy, geography, painting, music, it's all the same. From the ancient "Great Way is Simple" to today's popular minimalist style, time and space cycle, reflecting across millennia. What changes are the methods; what remains eternal is the soul.

In the east hall of the third floor is the Gansu Buddhist Art Exhibition. Besides "Across the Globe," I also crammed before departure by watching the documentary "The Hexi Corridor." When it comes to the typical representatives of Gansu's Buddhist culture, one cannot avoid grotto art. My previous understanding was limited to knowing that two of China's four major grottoes are in Gansu. But through the show and documentary, I learned that Gansu's grotto art extends far beyond the Mogao Caves and the Maijishan Grottoes. The former visited the Bingling Temple Grottoes, Mati Temple Grottoes, and Jinta Temple Grottoes, while the latter recounted the history of Tan Yao carving the Tiantishan Grottoes. Unfortunately, none of these grottoes were on this trip; I could only get a glimpse in the museum's small exhibition hall. I don't like long drives, but there are too many temptations reminding me of the necessity of a self-driving trip to the Northwest. There will be time; we'll meet again.

Going down to the second floor, the highlight of the central hall is naturally the Gansu Silk Road Civilization Hall. A collection of top-tier artifacts gathers the highest popularity here. The Eastern Han bronze Galloping Horse, firmly in the C position, stands in the most prominent spot, with many onlookers making photography difficult. As the pattern of China's tourism symbol, the shape of "Galloping Horse Treading on a Flying Swallow" is all too familiar. But when it truly stands before you, you are awed by its robust figure and the momentum of galloping forward. Compared to the heavy bronze vessels of the Shang and Zhou dynasties, seeing the real object made me realize how small this celestial horse actually is. However, its lack of size cannot mask its innate towering presence. Against the backdrop of the chariot and horse array behind it, the scenes from the past-life legends in "National Treasure" unfolded one by one. A song like "Celestial Horse Comes" seemed to echo in my ears, and a grand, turbulent era slowly unfurled. An emperor stretching the empire's arm, fighting south and north, striving for good governance—the imperial dominance was fully displayed. A young general establishing martial power and prestige, vowing that until the Xiongnu were defeated, he would have no home—the hero's spirit soared to the skies. All of this was condensed in a light, dynamic, and elegant bronze artifact. I marveled at the ingenuity of ancient craftsmanship and felt grateful for the endless vitality of Chinese civilization, leaving us with an eternal mark to trace our roots.

On the other side, replicas of the Courier Pictorial Brick and various other painted bricks are displayed in cabinets. The scene of postal delivery from over 1,600 years ago is laid out on the brick. The messenger holds a token, the horse's four hooves are in the air; with a few simple strokes, concise and impressionistic, it vividly captures the courier galloping on horseback. It is considered the earliest known image of ancient postal service in China and has become the symbol of China Post.

Another set of national treasures corroborating the Courier Pictorial Brick are the Han bamboo slips from Xuanquanzhi. Essentially a logbook from a border post station, the content may be mundane, but it vividly presents a historical picture of the Western and Eastern Han dynasties covering politics, economy, military, diplomacy, culture, ethnicity, society, border customs, and daily life. Combined with the third episode "Post Station" of the documentary "The Hexi Corridor," these small slips bear witness to the grand prosperity of the Silk Road and are important materials for studying the historical origins of the Silk Road. Not far away, another set of bamboo slips placed in transparent tubes is understated and restrained. Only when you approach do you see they are the famous "Number One Slip Under Heaven"—the "Yili" slips. The slips are too small and placed in tubes, so the handwriting is hard to see clearly, but there are many high-resolution images online for detailed study. I know little about ancient classics, but I can see the font is already typical simplified clerical script, and most characters are readable. The reason Chinese civilization has continued uninterrupted for five thousand years is largely due to the continuity of writing. These recorded slips are precisely important evidence of the evolution of writing, history, society, and civilization.

Beyond that, in the Silk Road Hall, you can also see the Dayun Temple Five-Tiered Relic Case, the Yuan Dynasty glass lotus stand, and many other important artifacts. I walked through, tired but exhilarated. An article on Zhihu titled "Gansu Provincial Museum: A Museum Underestimated by the Public" mentioned that in terms of fame, it lags behind the National Museum, Hubei Provincial Museum, Shaanxi History Museum, and Henan Museum, but after visiting, you will agree with the author. Especially after reading frontier poems, watching documentaries, and walking through Danxia, desert, Gobi, and plateaus, looking back at these artifact photos always gives me a sense of traveling through history and communing with the ancients.

I spent the entire morning in the museum, tired and hungry. Unfortunately, it started raining as soon as I went out at noon. I hurried across the road to Lanzhou Center, where I could eat and then shop. The drizzle didn't stop, cooling down the summer heat, so I decided to head to the next destination. A few bus stops later, I arrived at the Yellow River Mother Sculpture. Set against the Baitashan Mountain and the rolling Yellow River, it fully displays the breadth of maternal love, with profound meaning. Holding my umbrella in the light rain, I strolled along the Yellow River bank, seeing the mother river that nurtured Chinese civilization for the first time in my life. Before this encounter, I wasn't lacking impressions of the Yellow River—from textbooks, documentaries, and musical works. But when I first saw her, the shock and excitement still turned into a sigh: "So this is the Yellow River." Even if the river flowing through Jincheng doesn't have a great drop, even if the era of "the wind howls, the horse neighs" is long gone, her inherent color and momentum still endow her with the majesty and weight of "rising to the white clouds." On a summer afternoon, sitting under a canopy by the Yellow River, drinking a cup of Lanzhou's special "Three-Pao-Tai" tea, watching the rainy Yellow River flow eastward to the sea, I, a young woman, vaguely felt a resonance with Li Bai.

Day 5: The First Bridge of the Yellow River

Early in the morning, I went to the Yellow River again and was pleasantly surprised to find it had changed its attire. After the rain the day before, the Yellow River wore a brick-red long skirt. It turns out that changing looks is not exclusive to West Lake. This time, my target was Zhongshan Bridge. At the foot of Baitashan Mountain, an iron bridge with typical early 20th-century style spans the north and south banks of the Yellow River. "The First Bridge of the Yellow River" and "Centennial Monument of Zhongshan Iron Bridge" stand on either side of the south bank approach. Although it has been restored and modified, with the original trapezoidal steel frame changed to an arch, it still has distinct Chinese modern architectural art style and features, easily reminiscent of Shanghai's Waibaidu Bridge and Tianjin's Jiefang Bridge. Of course, as a person from Zhangjiakou, seeing such an iron bridge reminds me that my city also once had a Republic-era iron bridge called "Tongqiao," but it was demolished in the 1990s, leaving many citizens with a lingering regret. So whenever I visit a city and see a similar iron bridge, it evokes childhood memories. A river, a bridge—they form the soul of a city and record the lives of its people. Time flows, and only the lucky ones remain. Cherish the small happiness of the present, and leave a memory for the future.

Crossing Zhongshan Bridge, I arrived at the foot of Baitashan Mountain and climbed the steps, heading for the Yellow River Cable Car at the northernmost point. Climbing the mountain early in the morning before it got hot was a good choice. Standing on the mountain, I could overlook the Yellow River and the entire Lanzhou city—the best view. A leisurely morning, enjoying the scenery, and I even saw some brave souls trying the zip line. By noon, I reached the Yellow River Cable Car, exhausted. Riding the cable car down, flying over the Yellow River, watching the red water surge beneath my feet, was a rare experience.

At one in the afternoon, ravenous, I walked 500 meters to Muta Alley to visit "Zaihuishou" (See You Again) restaurant. The shop was small, and even at 1:30 p.m., seats were tight, with two groups of people even arguing over them. The cashier recommended liangpi (cold noodles), signature meat pie, gray beans, and a spicy trio. The portions weren't large, so I could try several items, and the prices were reasonable. She didn't deceive me—all were delicious. It's true that liangpi and such delicacies are best eaten in the Northwest. Whether in Xi'an or Lanzhou, any random shop won't disappoint. When the spicy food gets too much, a sip of the sweet gray beans provides relief, and then you can continue eating—a perfect combination.

After eating and drinking my fill, I walked through Zhangye Road to Dazhong Alley. According to guides, this food street has many time-honored brands, but coming here after a full meal is unwise, so I could only feast my eyes. The signs for Mazilu Beef Noodles, Du Ji Sweet Treats, and Ma Dongqing's Jincheng Noodle First Stir-Fry were all there, but I couldn't eat more. Yet I couldn't resist buying another cup of Fangha.

Carrying the milk tea, I took a bus to Wuquan Mountain Park. Wuquan Mountain and Baitashan Mountain face each other across the Yellow River, one south and one north. Between the mountains and the river, an ancient city's depth and weight have been nurtured. Climbing two mountains in one day was a bit strenuous, but fortunately, Wuquan Mountain has a gentler slope, more like a public fitness park. Everywhere, local residents were singing and dancing, full of life. Although it was afternoon, the mountain was lush with vegetation. Drinking milk tea and strolling in the park wasn't too hot.

Day 6: Lanzhou Old Street

Since I had to report to the tour group in Lanzhou New District in the afternoon, I only had half a day to wander. I slept in, then started from the Yellow River Tower and walked east along the south bank to Yintan Yellow River Bridge, then headed south, strolling to Lanzhou Old Street. This kind of faux-ancient street combined with a commercial complex is similar in many cities. Creating an internet-famous district for young people to promote leisure tourism consumption is indeed not a bad choice. But as the tour guide later said, Lanzhou Old Street was born at an unlucky time—just before its grand opening, the COVID-19 pandemic hit, causing many brands to eventually not move in. The east gate was closed, and I mistakenly thought it wasn't open. I walked around to the south and found an entrance. Only about half of the shops were operating normally, and not all stores were open. The eastern quarter of the street was completely empty. On a non-holiday, there weren't many visitors, but it wasn't too deserted. If you don't like crowds, the experience was actually decent. Overall, I found it acceptable. The food brands that have moved in have a clear positioning. If occupancy rates increase, it should attract more visitors. Sitting in front of the shop claiming to be another version of the authentic "Zhengning Road Old Ma's Milk, Egg, and Fermented Rice Drink," I sipped a cup that was less sweet than the one from Zhengning Road Night Market, feeling a bit of melancholy as I was about to leave Lanzhou, hoping the pandemic would end soon and the world would get better.

At noon, I had a spicy hot pot in Lanzhou Old Street. The portion was huge; I ate only half and packed the rest to solve dinner as well. In the afternoon, the travel agency sent a car to pick me up, and I checked into a hotel in Lanzhou New District. The one-hour drive started raining, and it came down quite heavily. Perhaps because of the rain, or being further north, or the terrain, the New District was much cooler. Not only did the summer heat dissipate, but I needed a jacket to ward off the wind. That day was mainly for rest, preparing for the upcoming Qinghai-Gansu Grand Loop trip.

Day 7: Crossing Mountains and Meeting a Sea of Flowers

The first destination on the itinerary was the Zhuol'eryao Scenic Area, but due to road damage from previous rain, it was changed to Menyuan to see the rapeseed flowers. Starting early from Lanzhou New District, we took the Lianhuo Expressway south, then the Jingzang Expressway west into Qinghai Province, then the Ningda Expressway north, passing through Haidong and Xining. The five-hour drive was tough on the driver. But for the passengers, the excitement and curiosity of seeing the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau for the first time greatly offset the fatigue. Along the way, we passed Heiquan Reservoir and crossed Dabanshan Mountain. The rising altitude caused mild altitude sickness for some. The scenery along the way, even if not designated as attractions, was a feast for the eyes, explaining why self-driving enthusiasts flock there. July is the season when alpine meadows turn green. The sky is high, the clouds are light, the climate is cool—a stark contrast to the noisy, hot city. Although it's grassland, it has a different charm from the Hulunbuir grasslands where the wind blows and grass bends. The green carpet was dotted with black and white spots—countless cattle and sheep enjoying their midday feast. Along with the occasional Tibetan tents or yurts of herders by the roadside, it felt like a glimpse into the daily life of nomadic ancestors two thousand years ago.

We reached the Hundred-Li Rapeseed Flower Scenic Area at nearly 3 p.m. The cool plateau air embraced me as I got off the bus, and I could clearly see a thick cloud layer not far away. I put on a thicker hoodie, took an umbrella, fully prepared, and plunged into the golden ocean of rapeseed flowers. In the south, rapeseed flowers bloom in March and April with spring, but on the plateau, they don't appear until July. A different season, but the same vibrant vitality. Immersed in the flower sea, climbing high to see the snow-capped peaks of the Qilian Mountains, I shed all fatigue. Getting close to nature is the most refreshing. A gust of wind blew, dark clouds pressed down, rain was coming, but tourists lingered reluctantly. Soon, wind and rain arrived, and people scattered for cover. The most miserable were those wearing only T-shirts without umbrellas. Fortunately, the downpour only lasted a while, then dwindled, and by the time we reached the foothills, it had almost stopped. The flowers after the rain were fresher and more beautiful. I wanted to take some away, but couldn't bear to break the stems. I only captured images, wishing for the moment to be eternal.

Leaving the flower sea, we drove to Zhangye, crossing the Qilian Mountains and encountering Biandukou. As a historical gateway between Gansu and Qinghai, Zhang Qian passed through here on his mission, Huo Qubing crushed the Xiongnu and made his name known in Hexi, Faxian and Xuanzang traveled west for scriptures, Central Plains culture migrated west for refuge, and Emperor Yang of Sui held a grand expo—scenes of magnificence echoed among the snow-capped Qilian peaks. Walking the path of the ancients, but not as dusty as history. Setting foot on the fertile land of Hexi, today's Ganzhou (Zhangye) has long left behind the bloodshed and slaughter. Only this small pass, silent for millennia, witnesses the soul-stirring history and the leisurely wanderings of modern people.

Day 8: Colorful Danxia and Strolling on the Pass

Zhangye's early morning was clear and sunny. Going to see the Danxia landform excited me as a geosciences enthusiast. Although not an expert in geology, Zhangye Danxia has long been famous. Especially after watching the Gansu episode of "Aerial China," I was awed by its brilliant colors and majestic momentum, vowing to see it in person. I had longed for it and never forgotten it. Traveling thousands of miles, the echo finally came. Arriving at Zhangye Danxia Geological Park in the morning, I could already see a hint of it outside the park. Once inside, we had to take the park's shuttle bus—the area is really large. Typical hills, not too high but continuous. Billions of years of geological changes, wind and water erosion, accumulation and sedimentation, created the colorful, layered, unique appearance. Calling it "nature's uncanny workmanship" is too cliché, and comparing it to "overturned palette" seems insufficient. A three-dimensional painting unfolded, and we walked through it, left speechless by the beauty. Standing on the viewing platform, I didn't rush to take photos but kept exclaiming "WOW," overwhelmed, unable to close my mouth for a while, excited like I had never seen anything. Unfortunately, it wasn't after rain, nor were there morning or evening rays, not to mention the lack of top-tier cameras and photographers. The most primitive and authentic Danxia, though not as bright as in documentaries, had more of a natural, simplistic charm. Finally, I bought an expensive cultural creative ice cream and harvested several hundred megabytes of stunning images, satisfied.

After noon, we left Zhangye, traveling westward along the Hexi Corridor, passing Jiuquan, and arriving at Jiayuguan. The westernmost end of the Ming Great Wall, "The First Grand Pass Under Heaven," stands tall on the desert and Gobi, a strategic fortress guarding the throat of Hexi. Strolling on the grand pass, with the vast Gobi all around and distant snow-capped mountains in view, reflecting on the past and present, one feels inspired to compose poems. No wonder frontier poems flourished in ancient times, with classic verses passed down for millennia. But modern people lack the literary talent—we can only recite and echo the ancient sentiments. Reciting "The Qin-era moon shines on the Han-era pass" and "We vow to take the Loulan fortress before returning," Wang Changling's heroic aspirations seem to transcend time, echoing in my ears. Today, with "fine wine in a luminous jade cup under the moon," we imagine the ancient times when "how many ever return from the battlefield." From the Han emperor expanding territory to today's "Belt and Road" open cooperation, only a shared destiny can bring lasting peace and prosperity.

Day 9: Melon, Lamb Leg, and the Mogao Caves

Another early morning, departing from Jiayuguan and continuing west toward Dunhuang. The long drive, accompanied by the Gobi desert and the snowy Qilian peaks, was a bit monotonous but not boring. Around noon, we passed through Guazhou (Melon Prefecture) and tasted "Guazhou melons" at a service area—definitely sweeter than those from the supermarket at home. I bought a box to keep eating. Arriving in Dunhuang at noon, each table had a roasted lamb leg. For someone who rarely eats lamb and had low expectations for tour group meals, the lamb leg was quite tasty—a pleasant surprise. In the afternoon, we went to the must-visit destination in Dunhuang: the Mogao Caves. Compared to the Yungang Grottoes in Datong, which I had visited earlier, the Mogao Caves, as the foremost of China's four great grottoes, are most famous for their painted murals, which have the highest artistic value. However, probably for conservation reasons, access to the Mogao Caves is heavily restricted now. Even a B-class ticket, which allows entry to only four caves, requires booking a month in advance. If you're not with a tour group, you might not get a ticket in peak season. Even if you're lucky enough to get one, the three-hour visit leaves very little time actually inside the caves. Queuing is required, and groups are let in batches. The explanation is given outside, and once inside, you can't linger. Following the rules, no photography is allowed, and the visit is cursory. Guards hurry you along. It's a one-way route; you can't go back. The four caves are quickly finished—it feels like you've seen them, yet nothing. No photos, no images to revisit. As a travel and museum enthusiast, I fully understand the importance of conservation. But if protection far outweighs display and development, perhaps it's acceptable not to open such top-tier artifacts. With today's advanced technology and media, producing shows like "National Treasure" or using 3D laser scanning to create online virtual exhibitions can provide a more comprehensive and in-depth appreciation. The current model neither protects the artifacts well nor justifies the ticket price for visitors—it's quite unnecessary.

Day 10: Tonight I'm in Delingha

Early in the morning, we arrived at Mingsha Mountain and Crescent Moon Spring, seeing the desert for the first time. Media often shows aerial views of the desert, which makes you feel small because of the height. Standing at the foot of the dunes, seeing the towering sandy slopes stretching and undulating, I felt awe and a trace of reverence. True enough, the morning was fine with little wind, but as the sun rose higher, the wind picked up. Sand danced wildly, blocking the sun. Even so, this was considered good weather for Dunhuang, far from a sandstorm. It made me, someone from northwest Beijing who grew up with sandstorms, realize how vast the world is. Tourists seemed tightly wrapped, but fine sand still found its way in, leaving everyone dusty. Yet, people who had never seen the desert were still excited, riding camels, sandboarding, and racing on sand buggies with great enthusiasm. Especially children—they didn't care about shoe covers, spinning, jumping, rolling on the ground—much more exciting than a sandbox in the park. Crescent Moon Spring has its scientific genesis, but suddenly seeing a shallow spring in the desert is always a surprise. Although historical changes in water volume have affected the crescent's size, it has survived for thousands of years, like a pearl embedded in the desert, creating a unique and rare landscape.

At this point, the east-to-west journey along the Hexi Corridor was complete. Next, we turned south into Qinghai, then east toward Delingha. This was the longest drive of the entire trip. The bus traveled on the Liuge Expressway through the uninhabited Gobi. It was only on this section that I realized that although there are Gobi deserts within Gansu, driving on the plateau Gobi highway gave a much deeper experience of the vastness and desolation of the Northwest. The sky was high, the clouds light, the wind fresh—like a deadly poison luring those accustomed to noise and busyness into a redemptive journey for the soul. Only on the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau can bleakness be considered a scenery. Even the highway itself was special. Used to elevated roads and bridges in plains and mountains, I saw for the first time a highway level with the ground. The two directions were simply separated by a distance, without any artificial physical barrier, and every now and then there was a U-turn curve that seemed to allow turning. After a five-hour drive, we arrived at Dachaidan Emerald Lake at 6:30 p.m. It was still early due to the time difference; the sun was still high. This is reportedly a newly developed attraction, on the eve of charging admission. It was free, but there were many people—both tour groups and self-drivers. The parking lot was large, and there were many cars. Due to the pandemic, the entry procedure was cumbersome, and there was a shortage of management staff, causing chaos at first. But once inside the scenic area, it wasn't too bad. There were many visitors, but the area was vast enough to avoid crowding. It's a typical salt lake. The currently open area isn't large, a mini version of Caka Salt Lake. Qinghai is full of salt lakes, everywhere described as "God's overturned mirror." The real view is indeed beautiful, but objectively, it's better for photos. Especially with a good camera and an unconventional perspective and aesthetic. Personally, I think the mirror of the sky should be left to the sky; any living creature in the frame feels like an intrusion. Right, I'll use it as my computer wallpaper!

Leaving Dachaidan Emerald Lake, we rushed to Delingha without stopping, arriving at the hotel after 10 p.m. We hadn't eaten dinner, and the guide advised us not to shower, as showering in this temperature on the plateau could easily cause a cold. So I fell asleep with the sand from Dunhuang and the poetry of Haizi. No poet's melancholy, only the wonder of first encountering the plateau. Tonight I'm in Delingha, the night breeze crisp, the days peaceful.

Day 11: Mirror of the Sky

Early morning, we continued our journey along the Chade Expressway, passing Gahai Lake, heading east. At 10 a.m., we arrived at Caka Sky Mirror No. 1 Salt Lake. This is not the old scenic area of Caka Salt Lake, but a new one opened two years ago. But since both are in the same salt lake, the landscape should be similar. We took the park's tram to tour around the lake, stopping at different stations for closer looks. In the distance, salt mining vehicles could be seen. Large expanses of salt lake, due to different concentrations and depths, appeared white, blue, cyan, and green, like scattered pieces of jade. Although not as extreme as some filtered photos, the calm lake surface, combined with the pure sky and snow-like accumulated salt, creates a fairy-tale-like ethereal realm. On the Roof of the World, the beauty of the salt lake lies in its uniqueness. Having traveled to many places across China, I doubt anywhere else but here can the sky and lake combine to present such a wonderland.

Leaving Caka, we took National Highway 109, and even before reaching the scenic area, Qinghai Lake appeared by the roadside. As a geosciences enthusiast, I had long heard of China's largest inland lake and largest saltwater lake. Now I finally saw it in person, fulfilling my wish. The bus drove a bit further before we actually reached the Erlangjian Scenic Area of Qinghai Lake. And when we left, it took a while before the lake was out of sight—Qinghai Lake is truly huge, so big that it could be mistaken for the sea. My first impression was "blue, really blue"—deeper than the plateau sky, clearer than the distant sea. This ultimate blue temptation is rare across China. The last time I was struck by such a blue was at Kenting on Taiwan Island, encountering the South China Sea. Inside the scenic area, we could observe the lake more closely. When the sparkling waves, vast mist, and flocks of gulls and geese appeared, it felt even more like the seaside. Avoiding the crowd, I stood by the lake, enjoying the sunny and pleasant afternoon on the plateau. There was no sticky summer heat, only bright sunlight and gentle breezes. This scene made me have an urge to build a small house by the lake, with floor-to-ceiling windows and a terrace, where I could daydream all afternoon.

Day 12: Faith and Devotion

The previous night, we arrived in Xining. The next morning, we went to Kumbum Monastery (Ta'er Temple). Since I am not religious and don't understand the relevant customs, I have always been reverent toward religious sites and rarely visit them on my own. Even on this guided tour, I tried to follow the rules: no photography indoors, no pictures of clergy or their rituals. The guide explained the monastery's history and stories during the drive; exaggerations and deifications in religious legends are inevitable. But precisely because I don't believe, I respect it all the more. In contrast, some people who immediately kneel and offer incense in front of Buddha turn around and take photos endlessly, completely ignoring the "No Photography" signs. The monks have likely grown used to such ignorance and disregard—they don't correct, don't stop, and there's no conflict. This might be the modernization of "Buddha's mercy" in the new era. Following the guide's instructions, I found the "Three Unique Arts of Ta'er Temple"—pile embroidery, murals, and butter sculptures—in different halls, appreciating some differences between Tibetan Buddhism and Han Chinese Buddhism in form and art. And for the first time, I witnessed devout believers performing prostration in front of the temple. The real scene left a shock on an atheist that no amount of videos could convey. Perhaps we should all believe in the power of faith, regardless of whether there is a god or not.

Leaving Kumbum Monastery, we said goodbye to Xining and took the bus east back to Lanzhou, ending this journey of poetry and distance. Over a dozen days of travel, I can sum up as full of twists and turns, dusty and exhausting. Ascending the plateau, traversing the Gobi, hearing the Yellow River rolling, seeing the vast desert. Traveling along the Hexi Corridor through the river of history, circling the Qilian snow mountains to see today's Northwest. Along the way, I breathed the wind that once blew on Han Wudi and Tang Taizong, walked the roads that Zhang Qian and Chang Hui once trod. Reuniting with history, embracing across millennia, this journey was not only a walk through space but also a journey through time. The unique natural environment has created unparalleled landscapes; the special geographical location has witnessed the joys and sorrows of countless lives. First glimpse of Hexi, full of anticipation. A journey half full of surprises, half of regrets. When we meet again, I will definitely make up for them—not betraying history, nor the passing years.