Buddha caves

Dunhuang is an ancient oasis town on the Silk Road set in the heart of the Gansu corridor. Flanked by the Gobi desert on one side and the edge of the Qinghai plateau on the other, Dunhuang was an important centre for the caravans that travelled the Silk Road. Buddhist monks started work on a monastic centre by carving caves into a cliff overlooking the River Da, fifteen miles from Dunhuang in 366 AD. Over the next six hundred years, the Magao caves developed into one of the most important centres of Buddhist art covering. In the eighth century AD, Tibetans who brought with them their combination of Buddhism and the older animist Bon religion occupied Dunhuang. Theirs was a form of Buddhism strong in art, witchcraft and magic.

A Tang general forced the Tibetans out after less than a century. In the eleventh century, Dunhuang was invaded once again – by the Tangut from Tibet, bringing the monastic system to the beginning of its end. It was at that time that caves were sealed and not rediscovered until 1899 by a Taoist monk.

The day begins on a bus heading out across the desert towards Anxi. There are high dunes to west and menacing rocky outcrops sliced open by deep ravines and gullies. Compared with Buddhist caves seen over the past month, the Magao caves seem untouched either by time, desecrators or European adventurers. Despite that fact that so many non-Buddhists have lived here for over the centuries, more than two thousand remaining statues and over a half million square feet of delicately painted frescoes survive.

A well-informed English-speaking guide gathers a motley crowd of visitors and leads us though twenty of the four hundred and ninety five caves before lunch. The tour is a blur of colour, form and history. Thousands of representations of Buddha and bodhisattva figures blend into mountain landscapes filled with noblemen, farmers, traders and musicians.

As the tour progresses, a Belgian teaching French in a Beijing primary school starts to behave rather oddly. As we move deeper into the caves, he seems to have been taken by a delusion that we are his students. My first response is try to avoid him, so I keep out of his way – but he notices me and takes me to one side.

“If you do not keep with the group, you will not hear our guide. He will not want to see you wandering out of his sight.”

“Thanks,” I smile though gritted teeth. His tone is at exactly at the right pitch to set my teeth on edge. For a moment or two, I make an effort to keep up and then slip back to my natural position at the back of the group. Out of the corner of one eye, I can see him glowering at me.

Away from the rest of the group, I can start to imagine what this place might have been like at its apogee. The empty caves start to fill with pilgrims, traders, camel drivers, leather workers, merchants, peasants, entertainers, soldiers and travellers all seeking protection from the dangers that lie before them. Their fears are of raiders, sickness, starvation, thirst and the merciless torment of the desert.

This is a womb-like space in which they can feel safe and closer to the gods that may keep watch on them on their way. The members of each ethnic group are dressed slightly differently from the other groups – creating a rich tapestry of styles and fabrics.

Flat faced Tibetans, fat Uygur merchants standing shoulder to shoulder with lean faced Han Chinese bureaucrats shuffle through the labyrinth of caves in an endless stream. The sound of murmured prayers fills the air. Despite the crowds, the temperature is cool and pleasant. Flickering oil lamps provide the only light in a musty atmosphere thick with the scent of oil lamps, burning incense and unwashed bodies.

The sound of a harsh Flemish accent breaks into my reverie, bringing me back into the present with a jolt.

“Hurry up! You must keep up. It is time to eat.” 

In the restaurant, the Italian and Argentinean’s ask me to join them for lunch. After a brief discussion, we decide what we want to eat. As we are all starving, we order one dish each and even order one for Willy, the Belgian. When Willy finally arrives and discovers that we have already ordered, he is furious.

“I am sorry – but that will be too much food for six people.”

Using his near fluent Mandarin, he cancels one of the main courses – despite our protestations.

“There is no use in wasting good food. There will be plenty of food for everyone.”

The waiter scowls and crosses out one of our orders. Willy ignores our attempts to change his mind. There is an uncomfortable silence.

By the time that food finally arrives, we are even more hungry and clear the table in a matter of moments. There is clearly insufficient food for six people and in the stony silence that follows, Willy tries to apologise.

“I thought that the helpings would be bigger.”

He feels the need to move on and away from the sight of five still hungry people.

“Never mind. Let’s continue with the tour. I will bring the guide.”

There is no alternative, so we all grudgingly get ready to move on. As the Italians have to visit the lavatory, we can not leave immediately, so I make use of the hold-up to buy a soft drink to take with me. Feeling quite proud of my new found ability to ask for the price of a drink in Mandarin, I approach a man with a bored expression on his face standing behind the counter

Before I can get out the words that I had been rehearsing in my mind, Willy notices that I have left the table and darts across the room to join me. There is something in his manner that suggests that he is upset with me for some reason.

“What are you doing? What are you asking him?” 

His tone is almost accusatory.

“I am just finding out how they charge for soft drinks. Why do you want to know?”

“He will not understand you. I will ask for you.” 

The teacher in Willy is keen to take charge and help me talk to the man behind the counter.

“No thanks – it’s alright, I want to ask him myself so I can practice my Mandarin. I do not need any help. I can manage. Thanks any way.” 

Willy ignores my protestations.

“How many drinks do you want?”

“Thanks, but I do not need your help.” 

I can feel the irritation building inside me, but as we continue arguing, the man behind the counter gets bored and wanders off. At that moment, the guide turns up and we have to leave.

Willy realises at the last moment that his attempt to help me has backfired and apologies once again. I smile and try to hide the feelings of antipathy that are welling up inside me. I feel that I will have achieved a measure of control if I manage not to thump him before the end of the day. The soft drinks stay in the cooler and we step out into the heat once again.

The guide takes us through twenty more caves filled with more undamaged frescoes and statues. This is like walking into a lost world of colour and beauty. As most of the caves are closed to visitors, I feel privileged to have been able to witness those caves that are open.

As soon as I can, I leave Willy and Dunhuang behind and escape to Jiuquan by bus. Only eight hours away across the Gobi desert, Jiuquan is at the westernmost end of the Great Wall of China and marks the entrance to ancient China.