DUMMERSTON — The sheer massiveness of the Gobi Desert is unimaginable. Even as you stand on a dune, seeing it yourself, the idea that it goes on for miles and miles is impossible to wrap your head around. You know that you are seeing only a small fraction of the sand dunes, one after another, never-ending.
We got out of the city of Hohhot pretty fast. In less than five minutes, we were already barreling through the outskirts on a highway still under construction.
In Chongqing, we drove for more than an hour and a half, and the 20-story buildings could still be spotted on either side of us. I can see that even though we are on the outskirts, in the next five years that won't be the case.
I saw 14 cranes all at work and, as Tom O'Connor, our program director, tells us, they work 24 hours per day, seven days per week until they get the job done.
There are an uncountable number of buildings under construction or in the process of being torn down. There are endless numbers of one- and two-story brick buildings everywhere. I can't figure out why 75 percent of them seem to be uninhabited, with no doors or windows - just big, gaping rectangular holes waiting to be filled.
* * *
Then you hit the mountains, the impenetrable fortress!
They loom high above, steep, sharp and jagged, ranging in color from dark brown to charcoal grey to dirty orange. Little vegetation grows, only low-lying shrubs and the occasional flurry of small, purple flowers.
The infertile rock doesn't support much life. Even after hours of driving, getting farther away from the city and farther into the farmland, we couldn't get away from construction.
The side of the road was littered with building materials the entire way (over 120 miles), hundreds of men working, all building the highway we were on.
The scent of dust had permeated the bus in the first half from the constant construction. The city is a place of obvious wealth but, as we drove farther away, I could see that not everyone lived in the same luxury.
There were donkeys hitched up to plows preparing the fields for planting, a technique hundreds of years old but still the only option for some, even in 2012. I saw few tractors used.
As we got closer to our destination, the fields changed to an endless sea of greenhouses on either side of the highway. We've been told so many times how the cities expand, the houses are destroyed and farmland built upon.
As I looked out the window, I couldn't help but wonder how many years it will take for the city to swallow these places up, too. If I come back in 10 years, will any of this land have survived, or would it be used for more of the endless number of apartment buildings?
* * *
Once we got off the highway, we drove on terrain resembling the mountains.
Then, gasps and “Oh, my God!”s were heard throughout the bus.
I turned my head, and there it was, the Gobi. It just came out of nowhere, its edges prominent from the stark contrast of the dark mountains and pure, tan sand.
The Gobi has a magical aspect to it: it is enchanting and alien. You've seen deserts on TV, in movies, and in photographs, but nothing can really match or prepare you for how they look when you see them in real life for the first time.
All I could think about was how much the desert covers on the map and that here I was, looking at endless sand dunes that, in reality, only represent a tiny part. The idea that the desert is growing is another impossible thing to comprehend: How can it really get bigger?
After a short chairlift ride that brought us directly into the desert, we all went wild.
We all sprinted up to the highest and closest dune and soon we all learned how exhausting running in sand can be. You are pushing your hardest but, with every step, the sand falls away, making you feel as if you are running in place.
Once we reached the top, the real fun started.
We flipped, rolled backhand, springed, and were thrown down the dune. In 15 minutes, we were already exhausted and had sand in every place imaginable.
With Tom's advice, we all went off to find a place where we could be alone. At this point, we barely remembered what “alone time” is.
I wanted to find a place where all I could see were the dunes with no human interference but the commercialization of this area does not allow it. The hulky, white hotel was always looming to my left, and as far as I walked, it could still be seen.
Then there were the motorized boats with wheels transporting people farther into the desert. I lay down on the uncountable grains of sand, knowing it would get everywhere but not really caring.
The lines in the sand looked like someone came along and drew them all. How does the wind blow it into that formation everywhere? The dunes looked like monstrous waves, frozen in place. The wind whistled as it changed direction, constantly transporting the sand from one dune to another.
I didn't know how we were expected to spend only one hour here; maybe a day would be almost enough, maybe two. It was impossible to not think about how people actually crossed this desert. How did people have the strength or persistence to make such a journey?
I didn't want to leave the desert; I just wanted to sit and let the sand slip through my fingers forever. I can't imagine never seeing the Gobi again.
One day, I'll go back and sit under the sun with my bare feet dug into the sand.