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There’s a small mausoleum near Anguo:


The main building holds the body of a Muslim missionary who had lived in this area about 800 years ago:

inside the mausoleum


One thing that the caretaker said later over a cup of tea made me think though: he said when the mob was destroying the mausoleum back then, it wasn’t so much the Han-Chinese, but more the Hui-Muslims who were living in the immediate surroundings and had fallen from the faith – brick by brick they were tearing down the building, and up until today the community hasn’t been able to retrieve all the different pieces.

This thing really got me thinking on that long stretch of road that lay ahead of me:


I was listening to my feet going tap-tap-tap-tap, when I entered the province of Ningxia ๅฎๅค, an area inhabited and officially self-governed by a majority of Hui-Muslims:


My first rest in this new province:


And a good rest it was.

I even fell asleep – which wasn’t that hard though after that night in the restaurant…

Then I continued my walk under the blue sky with its tender clouds:


Saw a weird house halfway underground:

house in Ningxia

Then the highway took a turn:


And there was more where this came from:


A massive stone pit, pulling 20.000 tons of gravel out from the mountain every day:

gravel pit

Twenty-thousand tons, WTF??

Well, at least that’s what Mr. Zhou ๅ‘จๅ…ˆ็”Ÿ, the manager of the place, told me:

Mr. Zhou let me spend a night in the office of his stone pit

We had dinner and tea, and I got invited to stay for the night.

The only downside was the noise, something that neither Mr. Zhou’s little niece nor myself ever really got used to:


It felt weird unpacking my stuff and getting ready to go to sleep in an office room of the gravel pit.

But I liked it.

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