The night bus through the desert is a "sleeper bus", which means a bus, where the seats are replaced by rows of beds on two levels to both sides of the cabin, each bed for two people. It is more comfortable than what it sounds, not much worse than a "couchette" on a train in Europe. We had our bed right in front next to the driver, where according to my experience the bumps feel the least. There were two drivers, an older one and a young one, both Uighur, and there were mostly Uighurs on the bus. The first part of the trip was very swift, back the same freeway that we had come from Turpan. Soon it got dark. The bus was a good, strong Mercedes bus, that climbed the road into a mountain ridge at breakneck speed. Lying in front, we could see sand, and rock and curves appear in the headlights, like in a video game running at double speed. We had the choice of enjoying it as an absurd thrill, fall into despair, or fall into sleep; we both avoided the despair part. Somewhere in the desert across the mountains there was one of those relay towns. The bus stops, everybody jumps out and heads for the designated "toilet areas", usually an open space in a backyard. Meanwhile the coal fires in the roadside restaurant blaze up, the standard mix of peppers, zucchini, cabbage, tomatoes and mutton are stir-fried in large woks and poured over a bowl of noodles. During the trip in Xin Jiang I missed delicious Chinese food, but actually, during an extended bus trip like that eating is a welcome distraction.
It had become completely dark. There were still many short stops, but much of the time we slept. Dawn started around six o'clock. When I woke up, the whole bus was asleep, almost including the driver. His head kept nodding forward, but he was lucky, since he could hold on to the wheel. It was the older, experienced guy, who apparently had driven through the whole night. Outside there was an ocean of sand of sand with huge waves of dunes. It was not quite the extraordinary experience we had hoped for. There were no morning colors, no stark blue sky, rather the air was hazy through dust stirred up by the wind. I now sat on the front seat next to the driver, the speedometer showed 120 km/h, the two lane road wound up and down the sand dunes. The driver seemed sleepy as before. At one place, with no settlement anywhere close, we passed a man who rode his old bicycle. For about 200 km we raced through the sands in increasing daylight. Then there appeared the odd bush along the road, and I had a feeling that a wave of arriving, coming home went through the bus, when people one by one woke up. The driver to my relief put on a tape which seemed to freshen him up. Harmonies, melodies, and voices where much more familiar than in Chinese music; in fact, I liked it and tried to find out from the driver the name of the musician, but without success. There was a loosening up of atmosphere in the bus, as if we had escaped from some oppression. We were arriving in Uighur country.