[h1]Eastern Kazakhstan[/h1] They had stopped to rest by the road side. Though to call it a road was not doing it much favors, it was in reality a narrow dirt path that meandered up over hills and through streams no wider than a hair in the sand. Leaning on their elbows, Li Chao and Guo scanned the barren wilderness around them. A half a day of riding had left their backs sore and faces numb from the brush of the air. “How long is it until we actually meet someone?” Guo asked. Li Chao shrugged, “I don't know.” he wondered allowed. In China it could be counted on to find villages or small towns. Even in the western provinces and departments where there were still nomads or semi-nomads. But there, even in the worst of conditions the roads were plainly marked. And more importantly they could read the signs. But now outside of China they learned some important facts: that they couldn't rely on much the same means, and neither of them could read Russian. “But I guess if we keep following this road we'll find someone eventually.” “How would we know if we can even talk to them?” Guo asked, uncomfortable at the idea of finally finding someone to barter for supplies with, or even to work for to re-kit for the road. “What direction are we even going?” Li Chao looked up at the sky, and covering his eyes with his hands looked for the sun. “What time is it?” he asked. “17:00.” “I'd say south-west.” Guo sighed, low and mumbling. Kazakhstan wasn't nearly as desolate as they had been lead to believe. Though neither was it spectacular. They knew nearby there was a vast lake, where the shoreline was imperceptible in the distance, only the distant mountains that formed the Kazakh-Chinese border could be seen and even then they were a spectral mirage against the clear open skies. Low lying brush and stunted trees pocked the hills, and a vast carpet of long grass swayed in the breeze. Every so often there would be a distant hawk drifting on the breeze, keeping an eye on the Earth below. “I suppose we should get back on the road.” Li Chao grumbled, as he stood up. “Why though? Africa is a long ways away. It's not moving anywhere. We can take our time.” Guo reminded him. “It's not how much time we have to get there I'm worried about, it's how much time we can keep to not be found out.” “That's bullshit. Look around us Chao, there's no one here!” Guo exclaimed. Standing up he turned and shouted out into the wilderness. Only his echo responded. “See? We don't need to move out any time soon. It's not like any soldiers or police are going to find us out here. I doubt there's even any here.” Li Chao stood rigid and stiff, listening to the distance. But there was no sound that answered, nothing that called back. Only the silence of emptiness and the sigh of the breeze through grass. Acknowledging that he had been beat he sat back down. Guo smiled and nodded, “I wasn't looking forward to heading out, my back still fucking hurts.” Li Chao shook his head. “Do you remember anything we're supposed to say, in case we have to talk to anyone?” he asked, looking over at his partner. Guo thought for a bit. And speaking slowly and thoughtfully as if recalling the details from an adventure a long time ago began: “As-saraam arayakum. Ismeer Huan Guo. Anaar min Arsiyn. Ana afham.” he finished. Sounding even less succinct and accurate as a Hui speaker of Arabic. “You sure they'll understand it?” he asked, “We're a long ways away from Arabia. You sure people this far away speak the language?” “Some of our people do, I don't see the problem.” Li Chao responded, but truth be told he too had his doubts. This was an entirely new experience. And he imagined in his mind's eye the countries they would have to go through to get to Africa. Sure, some Arabic would get them there so he can meet up with his sister again. But here, Turkestan, Persia; did they speak Arabic? Their books demanded they did, but would the common herdsman be able to communicate in that way? “Remember that old guy we met in Guangxi, when we were there for a summer trip before university?” Guo started, looking over to Li Chao He thought a bit, and thoughtfully said, “A little.” “I was just thinking about him.” Guo continued, “He spoke Hmong, but he also spoke perfect Mandarin. To top it off, he could speak with the Hui, and I'm sure knew some Vietnamese.” “What are you implying?” “That I think we'll be fine.” Guo said with a calm smile. “We don't know much, not now. But imagine all the land we have to go through. By the end of it we'll learn.” “I sure hope you're right.” “You've been the one with the ideas, and thus far been more-or-less right. Let me pay a bit of a doubt in right-ness. We'll be fine, partner.” [h1]Dragon Diaries[/h1] Li Chao [i]June 10th, 1960. The year of the metal rat[/i] With the border well behind us I can say with good faith we have left China. It is surreal to leave one's country, to turn around and look behind to the place you called your home. As much as it is to leave your home town for the first time, your home county, province. It leaves an emptiness in the heart the fill with wanting and you it reaches out for what is being removed. But as you pull further away that thing which becomes wanting if removed surgically until finally it removes itself, and the heart fills itself with something new. You do know go without wanting home, but you no longer feel the anxiety and you don't feel compelled to turn around and go back. I remember a passage from the Dao te Ching which we read in school, in which it is discussed that an individual shouldn't desire to be anywhere else but home. That things at home should be such that while the cock in the next village over no one has the desire to go over to it and visit. That there should be such contentment with home there is no personal need to go over. That there is no jealousy, or fear, or envy for that other village or that other neighborhood and you shall die where you are raised, in the comforts of home. And well, I and Guo have passed beyond that final threshold and left our home, our country. We are now somewhere else and we have set ourselves with firm conviction to continue on into Africa. I can say that the bit of contentment I have had for home is gone and that I feel myself alive with wonder and curiosity for what is ahead. But also, a chilling fear. I can not help but feel worried about how we are to pass through these countries and into the others. We know Arabic, or very little. The hope is that we can communicate who we are, where we are from, and where we are going, and that we know nothing else but to get there. We do not imagine we shall see anyone else from our people beyond this point. Guo said to me our first morning out of the country he thought about one of Grand Secretary Hou's essays for the first time seriously. He spoke some about that of Minzu. How we men of China are our own family and our own nation, but that we are equal members to the family of Asians, the nation of Asia. It had nothing he said to ever think about it with, no comparison or illustration but now on the road out from one family into another, and through yet many more in the broad community of humanity he will get to see much more. This has got me wondering, and looking ahead I think I too will come to face this. We will see not just where we fit, but where China fits in the world. We will know it not just in geographic space, but in human space. Another thing which I thought, but I did not say is that we might see how much work yet needs to be done. At home, or abroad. We have heard much. It is time for us to see. But for Kazakhstan itself, we have seen the country. Or what we feel is the country. Here in this part, somewhere in the eastern part it is all valley with mountains that loom beyond the horizon. The sky and the air is clear and I can not help but think we hand at the edge of a great cradle to something terrifying, in its scope or its history. But this might well be in the air, because there nothing but hills and grass around us. We have seen few people, and who we have seen were at a distance in tents and surrounded by herds. What we follow may be a goat trail, or a rough road like what exists in Mongolia. We have a vague idea on where we are going, or where we should go next. But the road we follow to get there isn't clear. This is an experience most unlike home.