1996 — the year when an idea to travel to China’s far northwest started forming in my head. That summer, while visiting Shanhaiguan in Hebei, I stood where the Great Wall reached the Bohai Gulf at Old Dragon Head. With the sound of the sea mixing with verdant local greenery, I thought of the wall, stretching across much of northwestern China. Those landscapes were so different from those around Shanhaiguan.

In September 1997, I relaxed on a hard-berth bunk in train 205, pulling out of Lanzhou. Sleeping for a few hours, dawn crept up as we snaked along the Hexi Corridor. To the south rose snow-capped peaks of the Qilian Mountains, while extensive waterless deserts stretched northward. This was one of the more hostile environments Silk Road travelers would have to encounter. There were some semi-nomadic encampments near the tracks, where shepherds took their flocks.

For much of that journey I sat at a pull-down seat, transfixed by the awesome scenes beyond the windows. At times the mountains came in eye-poppingly close to the railway. Settlements, such as Shandan and Zhangye, grew around occasional oases where the available water supply could support life. In the surrounding countryside, donkeys pulled wooden carts loaded with giant cabbages while passing fields of ripening corn. This soon gave way to the barren desert. Gradually the valley widened as we approached Jiayuguan, ten hours and 776 kilometers away from Lanzhou.

My initial impression was of heavy industry. This small city of around 300,000 people expanded with the opening of Jiuquan Steel Company in 1958. In the 1950s, much heavy industry had been relocated from eastern Chinese cities to more remote western locations.

Checking into a small hotel close to the city center, I was soon out walking. Outdoor markets presented enticing aromas of spicy lamb kebabs and stir-fries. Regularly I would look up toward the magnificent fort sitting on a distant hill.

Jiayuguan is where the Great Wall meets the Silk Road. Located in the Jiayu Pass between the Qilain and Heishan mountains, its fortification is the largest and most intact pass along the Great Wall. Constructed around 1372 during the Ming Dynasty it was the strongest fortress built to prevent hostile incursions. It acted as a strategic control point for travelers and traders heading to and from Central Asia crossing remote frontiers of China. By 1540 Jiayuguan had grown into a small town engaged in trading, along with many inns and markets. It catered to the needs of the military garrison stationed at the fort, as soldiers often disliked or even feared such a remote posting.

Along with the eastern Juyong Pass and Shanhai Pass, it was one of the main gates on the Great Wall, and known as the “First and Greatest Pass under Heaven” — not to be confused with the “First Pass under Heaven” at Shanhaiguan.

On my first morning — after a quick street food breakfast — I started walking. Heading along a tree-shaded highway in the direction of the fort, I basked in a moment of beautiful sunshine. Apart from a couple tour groups from Guangdong, I was on my own. It was quiet and peaceful as I moved along arched passageways looking for good shots of that vast structure. Built partly of earth, apparently 99,999 bricks were used in the pass’ construction. Two gates allowed access — one in the east and the other in the west, the latter having an inscription in Chinese characters for Jiayuguan.

Ultimately I reached the final structure. Directly below was where not only camel caravans would pass through, but also criminals and disgraced court officials. Banished into exile, they would emerge through the Gate of Conciliation. Burdened with a fearsome reputation in past times it was known as the “Gate of Demons” and even regarded a “Gate of Sighs”. An archway tunneled through this outer wall, opening out to barren wastelands. Its walls retain many writings from those exiled into the desolate, dreary wastes beyond.

I descended to that final gate, receiving a certificate I was ”banished” and headed out onto a landscape of grey, yellow and red weathered rocks with gravel crunching under my boots. To the south rose the Qilian Mountains, with their snow fields and glaciers glistening in the sunshine. Every few minutes I would turn, look back at the fort as increasingly it started resembling just a line on the horizon. Ahead rose a rocky hill, an excellent viewpoint for photography, I thought. I climbed up and saw someone had written “I love you” with stones in the midst of this wilderness.

About 4 kilometers northwest of the fort is the “Overhanging Great Wall”. Built in 1539 on the eastern slopes of the Black Mountain, its aim was strengthening Jiayuguan’s defenses. Tilting at 45 degrees as seen from a distance, its shape resembles a dragon climbing toward the peak. Designed to be virtually invisible for anyone looking from west to east, enemy forces would think they could move that way only to discover a strong barrier impossible to cross. Consequently they would be trapped in a narrow valley blocked by the wall.

Mostly rebuilt, the structure was quite narrow, with battlements on its west-facing side. An initially gentle walk soon became very steep. I moved slowly, stopping frequently to photograph and take in the scenery. Mostly exposed rock, the land was very dry with virtually no vegetation on surrounding peaks and slopes. Directly below the wall, a green oasis including both settlement and agriculture stood out within the harsh emptiness of the desert. With no humidity, visibility was excellent as I looked back toward the fort, Jiayuguan, and the distant glacial Qilian peaks.

The next morning, back at the fort, I decided to walk eight kilometers toward the end of the Great Wall. Shortly after leaving the fort, I crossed the main highway and railway, both piercing the wall. I felt totally alone. I would regularly stop, surrounded by almost total silence, and think of what this area must have been like in the past, soldiers marching all around this once-strategic area.

As I walked, I became aware the only sounds were of my boots crunching across sand and rock. Maybe it was the isolation, but I got a little worried about scorpions and snakes before arriving at 14-meter-high Diyi Dun. Dating from 1539, it stands as the first beacon tower on the Great Wall. With the wall likened to a mighty dragon winding through China’s northern borderlands, Diyi Dun is seen as the dragon’s tail.

As I stood there, the silence only broken by the river below, I saw dust rising from the direction of Jiayuguan. Gradually a bus approached, soon disgorging a group of camera-carrying tourists. Instead of photographing the more dramatic desert scenery, they preferred shots of a “Lonely Scot in the Desert”! As they insisted on taking me back into town, I eventually discovered the leader had studied at my postgraduate base, the University of Glasgow. Small world.

Back in town, evenings were spent around a market street, sitting at stalls enjoying local breads, stir-fry potatoes, vegetables and snacks. Regularly a subject of curiosity, greetings towards me would include “Hello, can I practice my English?” — a frequent phrase in 1990s China!

Leaving Jiyuguan, I got on a train heading west. Passing through a gap in the wall with views of the fort, next morning I would arrive at Urumqi, the western end of my Silk Road journey.