Read Online Journeys on the Silk Road by Joyce Morgan - Free Book Online
Authors: Joyce Morgan
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intense—with temperatures of 105 degrees Fahrenheit in the shade—he and his caravan traveled mostly by night. They would set off well before dawn, usually around 2 a.m., and cover up to twenty-five miles before the sun forced them to seek refuge. Sleeping in a tent during the day was impossible, so Stein reluctantly slept under more solid shelter. It wasn’t just the dirt that bothered him in the Chinese rest houses, but the inquisitive caretakers and other travelers who gave him little peace as he attempted to rest, attend to his caravan and read the remaining proofs of his book—a task unfinished in Kashgar. The buildings were also almost as hot as his tent since they faced the midday sun.
He soon availed himself of the local rules of hospitality among the oases which allowed him to lodge pretty much wherever he liked. “One may invade the house of any one, high or low, sure to find a courteous reception, whether the visit is expected or otherwise.” He stayed with well-to-do villagers, enjoying their orchards where the trees, heavy with apricots and mulberries, splattered the ground with their ripe fruit.
These were the first days of their long journey together, but Chiang was already proving a worthy companion. As the caravan moved along in the pre-dawn light, Chiang began to teach Stein some Mandarin. The explorer, with his ear for languages, picked it up quickly. He also picked up Chiang’s strong Hunan accent. But at least they could talk together in a language other than Chiang’s impenetrable Turki. Stein found Chiang a ready source of gossip and amusing anecdotes, a keen observer of human foibles. “He has told me many little secrets of the official machinery of the chequered careers of proud Ambans & their unholy profits. ‘The New Dominions’ are a sort of India for Chinese officials, where everybody knows everybody else,” Stein wrote.
Chiang’s dress was as colorful as his stories. He wore either a dark blue or maroon silk jacket, which he teamed with bright yellow overalls when he rode on horseback. On his pigtailed head he added a light blue silk cloth under his traveling cap to shield him from the heat, and he shaded his eyes with a detachable peak of rainbow-colored paper. Even his black horse had colorful flourishes. Atop its saddle Chiang placed a vivid scarlet cushion, and the saddle itself had leather flaps decorated with yellow and green embroidery. But Chiang’s preference for heavy old-fashioned stirrups worried Stein. “I never could look at this heavy horse millinery and the terribly massive stirrups, each weighing some three pounds and of truly archaic type, without feeling sorrow for his mount,” Stein noted. Consequently, Stein gave Chiang the hardiest of the horses.
Chiang had planned to set out with an alarming amount of baggage, including most of his library, but was convinced to leave much behind. As he became accustomed to desert travel, he willingly began to shed more. He took to rough travel with gusto, showing an indifference to its hardships. He even shared Stein’s curiosity about the past. Certainly Chiang was a far cry from the pugnacious, womanizing interpreter who had accompanied Stein’s first Turkestan expedition. “It was a piece of real good fortune which gave me in Chiang, not merely an excellent teacher and secretary, but a devoted helpmate ever ready to face hardships for the sake of scientific interests,” he wrote. “With all his scholarly interests in matters of a dead past, he proved to have a keen eye also for things and people of this world, and his ever-ready flow of humorous observations lightened many a weary hour for us both.”
After some hard bargaining in the oasis of Yarkand, where Chiang had long worked, Stein secured for himself a fine young horse he named Badakhshi after what he believed were its bloodlines from Badakhshan. Clearly Stein spent no more time naming his horse than he did his dynasty of dogs. Badakhshi was to prove a
He soon availed himself of the local rules of hospitality among the oases which allowed him to lodge pretty much wherever he liked. “One may invade the house of any one, high or low, sure to find a courteous reception, whether the visit is expected or otherwise.” He stayed with well-to-do villagers, enjoying their orchards where the trees, heavy with apricots and mulberries, splattered the ground with their ripe fruit.
These were the first days of their long journey together, but Chiang was already proving a worthy companion. As the caravan moved along in the pre-dawn light, Chiang began to teach Stein some Mandarin. The explorer, with his ear for languages, picked it up quickly. He also picked up Chiang’s strong Hunan accent. But at least they could talk together in a language other than Chiang’s impenetrable Turki. Stein found Chiang a ready source of gossip and amusing anecdotes, a keen observer of human foibles. “He has told me many little secrets of the official machinery of the chequered careers of proud Ambans & their unholy profits. ‘The New Dominions’ are a sort of India for Chinese officials, where everybody knows everybody else,” Stein wrote.
Chiang’s dress was as colorful as his stories. He wore either a dark blue or maroon silk jacket, which he teamed with bright yellow overalls when he rode on horseback. On his pigtailed head he added a light blue silk cloth under his traveling cap to shield him from the heat, and he shaded his eyes with a detachable peak of rainbow-colored paper. Even his black horse had colorful flourishes. Atop its saddle Chiang placed a vivid scarlet cushion, and the saddle itself had leather flaps decorated with yellow and green embroidery. But Chiang’s preference for heavy old-fashioned stirrups worried Stein. “I never could look at this heavy horse millinery and the terribly massive stirrups, each weighing some three pounds and of truly archaic type, without feeling sorrow for his mount,” Stein noted. Consequently, Stein gave Chiang the hardiest of the horses.
Chiang had planned to set out with an alarming amount of baggage, including most of his library, but was convinced to leave much behind. As he became accustomed to desert travel, he willingly began to shed more. He took to rough travel with gusto, showing an indifference to its hardships. He even shared Stein’s curiosity about the past. Certainly Chiang was a far cry from the pugnacious, womanizing interpreter who had accompanied Stein’s first Turkestan expedition. “It was a piece of real good fortune which gave me in Chiang, not merely an excellent teacher and secretary, but a devoted helpmate ever ready to face hardships for the sake of scientific interests,” he wrote. “With all his scholarly interests in matters of a dead past, he proved to have a keen eye also for things and people of this world, and his ever-ready flow of humorous observations lightened many a weary hour for us both.”
After some hard bargaining in the oasis of Yarkand, where Chiang had long worked, Stein secured for himself a fine young horse he named Badakhshi after what he believed were its bloodlines from Badakhshan. Clearly Stein spent no more time naming his horse than he did his dynasty of dogs. Badakhshi was to prove a
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