They all woke up with the sun and were glad for that as the night had become quite cold in the early hours before the sun came up.  They ate enthusiastically some of the remains of the previous evening's feast and then spontaneously, each walked off into the desert, following their own path, up dunes and down dales, with the crest of each silicium wave glimpsing further into the depths of this vast desert.

They came across various skeletons, one large one, a horse or possibly a donkey.  There were many accumulations of stones within the sand, brightly coloured stones of a glassy texture, some of which Ostragon collected.  Dark green and red, deep brown-black and striated green-grey.  As the morning wore on, their paths diverged further and Ostragon continued to the highest dune he could find, wanting a good view into the distance of this vastness.  With each crest he found that there was a higher one, until finally after a number of such false summits, he did reach what was a local high point.  As his eyes reached over the tip of this final dune, his eyes met the grandness, the ocean leagues of sandy brown waves stretching out to the horizon held together by a clear blue sky, with, at altitude, some wispy white horizontal streaks of cloud.

His thoughts turned to poetry, that poetry which only the desert and its grand solitude can inspire. Gold and brown and sandy blue, turmoil and yet perfect physical order, the Earth's surface sculpted by the wind, made to bend and shadow at the whim of each passing breeze and storm.  Atop his sand dune, Ostragon felt the breath of Saint-Exupery on his back, showing him, like he showed the Little Prince, what an incomprehensible and yet delicate world it is we live in.

He took a giant's strides as he made his way back to the tent site, feeling the sand between his bare feet, knowing that in a couple of hours he would be unable to even stand at the same spot, so hot would the sand become.  His feet sank deep into the sand, enveloping him up to the ankle with each step he took.

It was time to pack all their belongings back in the car and proceed wearily back to Urumqi.  They dropped the male student off in Turpan so that he could catch a bus to his next destination and the four remaining travelers made their way back to the wide plain where they had come across the large windmills.

As they approached the plain, the 4x4 started to be buffeted a little by the wind until finally once they had reached the plain the car could barely make any head-way the wind being strong.  Some of the windmills were turning at an unbelievable rate and many were simply locked down.  They decided to stop for lunch amongst this incredible wind storm.

Getting out of the car was tricky, as they could barely open the car doors against the constant wind.   Walking against such a force required a perilous sideways or forward lean, depending on which way they were heading, until they finally reached the calm of the noodle shop chosen by one of the girls.  They ate well and warmed up after having all the heat blown out of them.

They were stopped by the highway police and the driver was interrogated, Ostragon wondered what it was they might be looking for.  Time enough would reveal what that was.

On his return to Urumqi Ostragon found the familiar hospitality of his kind hosts at the youth hostel and discussed the organisation of the next leg of his trip, a village in far north, close to Russia and Kazakhstan: Hom.




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