Dunhuang

Dear all,

After travelling eight hours further into the desert Dunhuang was unexpectedly clean, modern and tidy:

It was more tourist centric than any city since Beijing. There were dozens of places boasting in English  that coffee and wifi was available, though these places were popular with locals too. They charge 20 to 30 yuan for a coffee, the same as the price of dinner. I still paid it, though I'm thinking of hunting down a pack of actual ground coffee and preparing it at breakfast every morning as an alternative to the traditional Chinese hot water (they drink hot water for breakfast).

That evening we wandered round the surprisingly orderly night market, ordered a casserole of unknown content in a small packed restaurant, then tried small sweet bread fried things. After dinner we inspected souvenirs and sultanas. I considered buying sunglasses. After some hesitation they offered an initial price of 260 yuan (£26) for a pair of knockoff Raybans. A group of locals looked on and laughed. I offered 80, they came back with 100. I felt tired and resentful of this somewhat ripoffy interaction and left.

Flying women featured on many plates, carvings and silk paintings. They had long flowing trousers or skirts and occasionally played lutes. I couldn't figure out why.

On our way back to the hotel we found that our women had joined the Chinese women in the "portable stereo on a street corner" line dancing. This practice seemed to be nationwide. I'm gratified every time I see it - after all, why not dance in the street? There's no need to queue for a club or accompany it with beer.

I think the locals were quite tickled by their new guests. They made a date for more line dancing at 8:30 the next evening.

Some of the dancers there (mainly those at the front) were truly excellent and perfectly in sync. I think they do it every night.

The next morning we set off for the Maogao caves, 494 caves containing floor to ceiling Buddhist murals and statues paid for by kings, noblemen and the odd merchant over many centuries. Only twenty were open to the public. We were warned that we could only see these twenty accompanied by a guide; wander off and all doors would be locked to us. Photos were prohibited. We could however bring our own torch. In a dark place this would allow us to make our own inspections of our surroundings.

These are some of the caves that are shut:

I was afraid the restriction of my movements on tour might try my patience but it was not a problem. We visited more caves and stayed longer in each than I expected. I learnt that the most important thing to appreciating the context of the development of the caves was to know your dynasties (I don't). When several centuries separated one cave from the next the styles and scenes often bore little resemblence to each other. Yet they did all depict Buddhas and flying women.

The flying women were Buddhist Angels - or if not angels, at least celestial beings, which is almost the same thing. These Angels are called Apsarasa. Like mermaids, they don't seem to have fully formed legs - they fly so presumably they do not need them. They play various musical instruments and live on air. They are the cohorts of Buddha and Bodhisattvas.

Strangely enough a lot of the Buddhas and other figures were black:

I thought it looked like a painting of an ancient African Buddhist society but the guide informed us that the white lead used as a white pigment had darkened to black in an alkaline environment. But even after I knew this I persisted in imagining ancient African Buddhists.

Often my attention would drift from the long contextualising of certain famous images pointed out by the guide so I would point my (very bright, thanks to extensive comparison shopping) torch at other figures, other murals throughout the room. I did not notice but apparently I was distracting a large part of the group from the object of the guide's discussion with my silent highlighting.

However the guide did tell a short story about a deer goddess that grabbed my attention for a while. It was about a deer who saved a shepherd from a river. They fell in love and had a deer girl together. 

We finished off the guided tour with a quick visit to the reclining Buddha - a Buddha who has attained Nirvana and so no longer moves. This large Buddha has high historical and touristic value and so they are trying to minimise the time people spend breathing near it. The carbon dioxide is bad for the rock. We were introduced to the Buddha using a picture outside the cave, after which we quickly filed into and out of the cave in silence. The guide told one of our group that eventually all caves would be shut. The tours would be of pictures and reproductions and tourists would not enter the caves. Like the buried painted terracotta warriors, it is of paramount importance that the colours remain hidden so that they will never fade.

When we returned to the hotel I felt very tired. I chatted with my latest roommate Tom for a while, then Tom left and I was left by myself. Instead of participating in further touristic activities I sat and reflected alone, a task facilitated by writing a long email to a friend.

That evening four of our group of fifteen went to a show. Myles, our guide, had told us that the show involved acrobatics, dance and a story. That was all we knew about it, which perhaps accounted for the poor attendance. I went because I was curious about what Chinese show would involve and because I like watching women dance in pretty costumes.

The screen in front of the stage had the mural of a deer and a shepherd that I had seen in the caves. I had a good feeling about this show. Perhaps there would not be an evil queen, a brave knight and simple village folk.

It opened with a dance that seemed to involve small children dressed as rabbits stuck in bins. That was a little too funny but it settled down into more traditional acrobatics with more flying and costume changes than I had thought possible:

That's the king of the Western Regions (which I took to be Xinjiang, the Uighur autonomous region we'd be entering the next day) who helped the dear deer girl with some soldiers and a couple of fluffy camels.

Here's the bad guys:

They are fire devils and look a little like Jafar from Aladdin. Spiky, black and red must be a universal signal for evil.

At end the women attempted to represent the thousand handed and thousand eyed goddess of mercy  (she has eyes on her hands):

At another point they dressed as the Bodhisattvas I had seen in the caves. They didn't black up at any point. Unlike many of the depictions of bodhisattvas and angels I'd seen in the market, they were staying accurate to the original unoxidised white rather than the oxidised black lead murals.

Here's the final bows:

The locals barely clapped and left before the cast had finished bowing. I'm not used to that.

Stephen

Bush camp by the Great Wall 2

Dear all,

On the afternoon of 29th August we arrived at Jiayuguan, the westmost point of the Great Wall and the Ancient Chinese Empire. Like the Great Wall itself, its significance was not in its spectacle but in its historical role. Which is tantamount to saying boring to most, perhaps even those who post a facebook update to let everyone know that they are at famous place x (travel by checklist).

Fortunately no one has heard of Jiayuguan except historians and the few Silk Road tourists. The place was not famous so it could stand or fall on what each visitor was able to glean from this desert fort.

My favourite place was the gateway:

This would be the last solid piece of Chinese civilisation that the banished or travelling would see as they departed the Empire and set out across the desert, land of nomads and transience. Far beyond were the oasis towns of the Uighur, such as Turpan and Kashgar, but many would not reach them. Supposedly these travellers would scrawl their final words to the Chinese Empire on its walls but I couldn't find them, and even if I had I couldn't read them.

After we were all done and Claire had excelled in a bit of tourist archery (a skill from a past life apparently along with martial arts) we set out to our second bush camp, a short distance from the fort.

Except it wasn't a bush camp. It was a campsite next to a fishermen's lake with bar and WC. I was slightly disappointed but not much. The WC stank far worse than any bush in the bush I may have chosen to do my business next to but the beer was cold and it was a friendly place with sheep and dogs.

Our campsite was again right next to the Great Wall except this time it was in better repair. I went over to touch it and take a (bad) photo. Having done those two things I got on with the cooking with my teammates

We worked well together and the meal for eighteen was prepared in good time. I failed in my petition to get the meat and juices mixed in with the pasta sauce once the vegetarians had taken their share but it wasn't the end of the world.

We planned simmered peaches in yoghurt with Kyrgyz honey for dessert (the other team hadn't prepared dessert). I can't remember who thought of this but I think it was me. Thanks to the portioning inherent in peaches and yoghurt pots, though not honey, it was easy to prepare. I even found a jar of mixed spice, of the sort that's used in pumpkin pie, to add to the mix.

Everyone enjoyed the dinner. I personally thought it was excellent, especially the peaches, though the finer flavours of the vegetables and herbs in the pasta was a little obscured by the chilli. Claire tried the peaches and said, "Oh my God I've just had a foodgasm." They were good.

After dinner we made a fire, drank beers and dry Chinese red wine, and enjoyed the cool but clement temperature.

We all slept comfortably that night. I had caught a cold a couple of days ago and was worried about spending another night stemming the flow of a dripping nose but Kelvin gave me a tablet of something called Benadril and let me read the full packaging info saved as an image on his mobile phone (software devs tend to be organised like that). It stopped my nose and helped me sleep. At least I think so, I may have been sleepy anyway or it may have been a placebo effect.

In the morning, after French toast with salsa for breakfast and another efficient decamping - all completed by 8:05am - we drove a distance that seemed close to one mile then stopped at the wall.

That looks like a long way but it really wasn't. All slopes in this region have a habit of looking like mountains when they're really only hills. I think it's because they're bare and steep.

There were great views at the top, and we began to feel like we were on a great great wall.

I understand that these sections have undergone extensive reconstruction in recent years to aid Silk Road tourism. I don't mind it not being the original stones. As long as it looks the same as it did that's what matters most.

Also to aid Silk Road tourism the Chinese have come up with something called "Tourism toilets". These are toilets inside ticketed attractions that are unusually clean and have an "elders" cubicle and a "disabled" cubicle. The elders cubicle has a panic button and the disabled cubicle has bars, but most importantly neither of them are squats. Unfortunately the "tourism toilets" at this section of the wall had cisterns, sinks and squats but no running water. There was a shoe shiner though.

Stephen

Bush Camp by the Great Wall 1

Dear all,

On the morning of 28th August we set out from Liujiaxia through and towards the bush. I had acquired several steamed buns that morning, both for breakfast and to take away (which reminds me that I need to throw some buns away) and felt nearly prepared.

We drove for some time. The landscape was still picturesque and almost pastoral, and by this point was notably absent of large scale tower building projects:

But now the fields were starting to disappear, with only scrub in its place:

While we were driving one of my fellow passengers looked out the right window at the above view and  asked me, "You see that line? Do you think it's natural or man made?". I looked at it a long time then finally decided that it was natural. Shortly after Matt called out, "Hey guys! That's the Great Wall to our right!".

The Great Wall isn't great all over. It was built over many centuries by many different rulers, all united under the banner of the Chinese emperor. You have some sections that are ancient, some are relatively new, and short sections have been reconstructed and are well touristed. Quite a bit of it has crumbled to nothing or just wasn't that substantial to begin with. Mud was a popular building material.

When we arrived at our campsite - a patch of desert off a highway - I had my first ever opportunity to inspect the Great Wall for myself.

I'm not sure what counts as a representative section of the Great Wall. Perhaps this was it.

We set up right next to the wall.

I was surprised at the speed with which we got camp and cooking set up. Everybody had an assigned task, besides setting up their tent. Mine was climbing onto the roof of the truck and chucking tents and mats down which I enjoyed greatly.

We received a short lesson on how to put up the tents, which turned out to be remarkably easy. These were heavy duty canvas items that I've never before had the pleasure of using because no backpacker would ever buy one because its far too heavy. Matt suggested we not peg them and not use the flysheet because there was no wind or rain, and with that in mind we quickly set up a very easy camp:

One guy opted to sleep under the stars and Claire took her preferred spot on the roof of the truck, which seemed the best of the lot - you're under the stars but crawling things can't reach you.

The other team was cooking tonight so after setting up my tent I took the chance to explore. I found a hole and what I surmise used to be soldiers' sleeping quarters:

The main long term occupants of the area seemed to be locusts and spiders. I have always pictured these creatures as being somewhat scary but they weren't really. The locusts were numerous and constantly bouncing around and off our legs while the sun was up but didn't seem to do much else whilst the spiders stayed put and waited for locusts to bounce into their webs.

The other team cooked three pretty decent curries with the help of green and red curry paste. Claire and Matt were impressed, saying than no one had ever cooked three dishes before. I wasn't feeling good about our pasta with vegetables.

We sat round on folding chairs in a semi circle, drinking red wine, tea with almond milk and occasional shots of dark rum and Jack Daniels. By this time the temperature was dropped quite dramatically. I went to dig out my fleece (my sweater was still in Pingliang and would be staying there) and thick socks to go with my sandals. As the sun set the locusts calmed down and went to sleep (or simply stopped moving) while the spiders continued sitting in the middle of their webs as they had done all day.

I couldn't keep warm so I went to my tent at about 10pm. To the best of my recollection it's the first time I've ever had a tent to myself. Most of the times I'd been in a tent in recent memory was at Glastonbury music festival with Corinne. This was quite different. I was alone, there was no music, and it was so dark that closing my eyes made no difference to the light. Zero either way. I'd been hiding charger and TV LEDs in hotel rooms in an attempt to darken my sleeping environment but I may have been glad for a tiny LED that night. I like a dark room but absolute blackness is a tad disorientating.

It was also bloody freezing. I thought I'd gone overkill with my extra thick 3 season and quite bulky sleeping bag but it wasn't nearly warm enough even with a liner. Though part of the reason for this may be my insistence on changing into pjyamas for every single night of sleep. I should have worn my fleece but it was supplementing my pillow.

When I finally nodded off in this cold silent blackness I dreamt I was at home. But where could that be? Certainly not London. Not Manchester either, one house there is a house I purposefully left and the other was only a nine month staging post. I dreamt I was living alone in Laugherne Bank, my childhood home, as an adult. I had the place to myself, which in theory should have been great but the rooms were dark and lonely and there was a leak that had accumulated in a pool at the foot of the stairs. I tried to find a plumber to fix it but they refused, citing regulations against Capitalist activity. I then went into the woods near the house and took photos of a cartoonish looking owl who was trying to fly but couldn't.

I was glad to see the dawn light. My tea with almond milk was welcome and breakfast, Mexican scrambled eggs, was excellent. After an efficient packup routine that took us from full camp to truck departing in one hour we were on the road to Jiayuguan, literally translated as "the first and greatest pass", the westmost point of the ancient Chinese empire and gateway to the desert.

Stephen

Binglinsi Caves and Liujaxia

Dear all,

We set off from Xiahe at 7:30am on 27th August. We were heading to a reservoir to catch speedboats to ancient caves containing carvings of Buddhas. The truck would take a ferry across.

It was raining but we wouldn't let that spoil our day.

There used to be many more caves of paintings and carvings but then the Chinese built a dam and flooded the area. There was no lake originally. However now they can prevent floods, generate hydroelectric power, irrigate fields and supply drinking water. If I ran China I may have done the same.

We found an elderly couple living outside the first cave which housed a temple. They were pleased to see us and rang their giant bell when we made a donation:

Then we shook hands many times and compared leg hair:

They chattered away to all of us in Chinese. They'd been living there together for thirty years and I think were glad to have visitors. They waved goodbye to us as we left.

We set about inspecting the remainder of the caves that were open to the public and not flooded. I got the impression that many of the group were not impressed by the carvings. It is true that they were not grand and that the 50 ft tall Buddha was covered by scaffolding. Still, I liked them. They were expressive - like the Terracotta Warriors, each carving had its own personality.

I look forward to comparing these to whatever I may find in India.

Towards the end there was a small museum containing artifacts and statues found in the caves. I want to find more about this God:

He was also featured on many of the Tanka I saw in Xiahe.

Others looked less malicious. This is Matrieya, the Buddha who will come at the end of time:

I don't know much about this Buddha and probably even misspelt her(?) name. But I like the concept. A guy I used to know once told me, "Time will cure everything". Likewise, "Matrieya will cure everything". We all love endings, resolutions, the final word. It'll never come but the myths of mankind testify to our global need for it.

After we had finished viewing Buddhas we presented ourselves to a surprised and grateful noodle shack owner who swiftly prepared huge quantities of excellent and fresh vegetable noodles. After lunch we boarded speedboats once again which took us to a different jetty, where Matt, our driver, was changing a wheel for some monks:

That afternoon we arrived at Liujiaxia. We didn't know how to pronounce it then and we still don't. We were driving through a particularly ramshackle area with unusual numbers of prostitute's numbers scrawled on various flat surfaces when the truck stopped. We had arrived at our hotel. Inside wasn't so bad, and the shower was hot and powerful, though after I'd finished I discovered I'd created a small lake on the floor due to the plug hole being blocked,

At the hotel Claire announced that we had been allocated to two dinner teams of five. Each team was granted a budget of 360 yuan (£36) and pointed towards a local market. We were to plan, buy and cook a dinner for eighteen for one of our days of bush camping.

Naturally I wanted to cook curry but unfortunately the other team had nabbed that, leaving us with boring old pasta with sauce. We set about it in a semi-haphazard style, with debates on whether to split up or stick together, chicken or pork, frozen or fresh. To me it was more than reminiscent of The Apprentice but others abstained from drawing that comparison. To be fair we were not to be awarded points based on our performance with the winners being sent on a stunning holiday (that wouldn't have worked), our only reward would be a sense of smugness at having cooked a better dinner that the other team.

That evening, after we had found a restaurant that served cold beer, I wanted to use the loo but could not see one. Martin with his phrase book was nearby so I looked up the Chinese for toilet and said this word, accompanied by a questioning look, to the nearest man lounging on a chair. He started giving me extensive directions. Of course I didn't understand so he called over a nearby boy. This boy led me quite a distance down the road, pointed at a loo (a dark room with a hole in the floor), waited while I did my thing and then escorted me back. The locals are very helpful - it's a shame I can't talk to them.

Stephen

Xiahe

Dear all,

We set out from Lanzhou on 24th August and soon began to notice more Mosques on the horizon:

The first seems to be a uniquely Chinese fusion.

We made an unscheduled stop off at a smallish predominantly Muslim town for lunch:

They were not expecting us.

Here we found an extensive market, carpets, furs and vases, among other things.

I spotted my first monk - I always am gratified to see these guys because of my fondness for the Buddhist religion. I knew that later in the day we would be at the Monastery itself but I was still glad to see this small sign of a shift in cultures with the geography. This town, like Xi'an, has seen influences from Buddhism, Taoism and Islam. We were warned not to ask for pork or alcohol. I guess only the few Taoists and even fewer foreigners go for those.

As we climbed the Tibetan plateau the terrain became more mountainous, yet we were following a new freeway nearly all the way:

We eventually outran the highway and we saw the valley before the Chinese made inroads:

The province we were now in borders on Tibet. It was once part of the Tibetan Empire (yes, they had an Empire). As a result the population is primarily ethnically Tibetan, though it is not part of Tibet proper. It was annexed around the beginning of the 20th century. As with all provinces of China we're visiting, it's being opened up with a vast highway building programme. The Party doesn't want any of its provinces to remain isolated and miss out on the nationwide industrialisation.

As we climbed the Tibetan plateau the skies darkened and it began to chuck it down. As we entered Xiahe we put away our cameras and listened to the thunder.

Our spirits weren't dampened, we were just glad to have arrived:

Besides, it didn't take long for us to get our backpacks into the hotel where we discovered that wifi was available. There was soon a line of my truckmates sitting in the corridor where the signalwas strongest checking email, calling, skyping and posting on facebook. I arranged for my phone and hat to be sent to Kashgar and posted a picture of the hotel courtyard on facebook. Seven of nine of my unread emails were junk. Internet connectivity is not so necessary, it just feels like it is because we're used to it.

The skies soon cleared. At 6pm we went for a walk round Labrang monastery. I had heard that pilgrims from all over Tibet came to this monastery to pray and to walk around the site clockwise turning the prayer wheels likewise clockwise. The theory is that the sutra or prayer contained within each wheel is sent to heaven once with each complete turn of the wheel. You do not turn the prayer wheels anticlockwise. That undoes prayers and is frowned upon.

I wanted to turn them because there were many monks, nuns and pilgrims doing the same. It was a welcome opportunity to follow the same practice as them without actually touching my head to the floor in prayer to a God I didn't believe in, namely Lord Buddha. The act of performing this silent, mediative yet active walk was calming and settling.

Halfway through the walk I and the group ascended a very small peak overlooking the monastery to take pictures. It was sunset and it was beautiful. A small dog joined us.

See if you can spot Kelvin photo-bombing my beautiful landscape shot.

We descended the slope. The rest of the group returned to the hotel but I wanted to finish the prescribed prayer wheel circuit of the monastery. I had friendly non-verbal chats with pilgrims and monks along the way and passed by meditation cells.

I had been wondering where one can find peace and quiet. "In one of those boxes" is a possible reply.

It took me about an hour to complete my circuit. I was ten minutes late for the group dinner at Nomad Restaurant (though I was entirely at my liberty to skip it). It appeared that all the foreigners in town had gathered there that evening due to its english menu but there were also monks there and they had yak everything (tea, yoghurt, dumplings, stew, on stones) so that made it okay.

There's a more and more common type of tourist who attempt to avoid other tourists and even avoid identifying themselves as a tourist. It's the "I'm-not-a-tourist-I'm-a-traveller" crowd. I am one of them. I don't think I've met a traveller.

That night I was sharing a room with Kelvin. We sleep together on rotation, I think so that we can all get to know each other better. Kelvin, as well as others in the group, wanted to get up at 6am to take photos on the monastery at sunrise. We were not successful:

The small dog joined us again.

In the event I took the opportunity to complete another prayer wheel circuit.

After the hotel breakfast (a meagre amount of yak yoghurt, bread, honey, a small omelette and green tea) we joined the other group for the guided tour of Labrang monastery. We were warned not to take pictures of monks without asking permission first and forbidden from taking pictures inside the temples.

Fortunately the early morning mist had cleared and it was another beautiful day.

Our guide, a twenty four year old monk who joined the monastery when he was three, was in good spirits and had a lively sense of humour. The other monks looked at us with great curiosity, even while they were eating their breakfast in the temple or drumming. Some took photos of us. This was good news for me because I think on general principle of fairness it's permitted for me to photograph someone who is photographing me.

I have to admit I didn't request permission from everyone.

We were taken to a temple where all the religious art was made of yak butter. This site was fair game for photos. I figure there's a limit to how sacred a God made out of butter can be.

At 11am, the monks, including our guide, went in for their morning prayer.

Our Chinese trip guide, Myles, suggested that we wait for them to come back out so that we could take pictures of them emerging. Some did; they said it wasn't worth it.

I was keen to explore the town. Most wanted to hike, only myself and Nina wanted to cycle. But first I wanted / needed to shop. I wished to acquire a hat (mine was still in Beijing) and a large scroll of religious art (a tanka). Acquiring a hat was very easy. Unlike other cities, there were plenty of hat shops. On selecting a suitable hat I non-verbally asked the price by pointing to the shopkeeper's calculator. He entered 25 yuan (£2.50), a very reasonable price. I moved to take the calculator to make the traditional counteroffer but he wouldn't let me take it. I paid the 25 yuan. I like Tibetan bartering.

Mike from San Francisco, who has been to Lhasa, had suggested I visit the Tanka painting studios opposite the west bank of prayer wheels. I visited these small shacks. Most of the doors were closed and they were all busy meticulously painting these scrolls. It looked each involved many weeks of work. I entered one or two. Nobody tried to sell me anything, I didn't want to insult anyone by trying to buy art that was perhaps intended exclusively for the monastery and I couldn't speak to them so I left.

I was done shopping (for now - I'm still looking to buy yet another airline headphone adaptor after I yet again forgot to bring one with me) so I went to meet up with Nina to cycle. We then found that there were no rental bicycles left. Nina asked me what I'd like to do instead. I somewhat slyly suggested shopping.

I returned to the studios with Nina. She was incredibly obliging and established the price of each scroll of interest and bartered with them. The initial price was 1300 yuan (£130), and like the hat seller he was not amenable to bartering. We eventually established a price of £120.

Nina suggested I think about it and also think about how I would get it home in my backpack. I relented. I find that in cases like these a second opinion is invaluable, otherwise I can become a little focused on finding and getting what I want (whether it is the desire of the day or the year). Thinking about it, it's ironic that the object of my desire was a piece of Buddhist art.

We returned to the town to find that bicycles had returned to the bike rental shop. We set off for the grasslands.

The only direction we had for the direction of the grasslands was "the road past the monastery". We passed the monastery and continued cycling. At first I was unnerved because the road, though wide, was busy, and there was no obvious destination in sight.

However as we passed out of the town and through a village the traffic quietened until we almost had the road to ourselves. There were mountains towering on either side, a hot blue sky, a wide open road and little else. I had by now forgotten all about thinking about purchasing original art.

I was still uncertain of our location and destination when the mountains began to fall away from both sides and we entered into an expanse of rolling grasslands. We were far, far from any Chinese highway now. The road ahead ran for hundreds of miles and would only wind deeper into the Tibetan plateau.

We eventually reached a Tibetan village whose name I forget. We locked our bikes up and found ourselves the object of much Interest from the local children. They admired my bike and one asked me how much it cost. I didn't know what to say.

We walked up and down the one street of the village and then sat to eat noodles. The noodle maker took us into her kitchen to show us what she had. We had fried noodles with vegetables and Tibetan tea which is black and tastes earthy.

We headed back, aiming to return by sundown. I don't know if we made it because the sun disappeared behind a mountain. It took us fifty minutes without stopping. On the way we stopped to buy some grasslands honey from one of the roadside beekeepers. I was curious about what grasslands honey would taste like and planned to add it to the truck stockpile of communal food. I later found out that Claire bought a big vat of honey for the truck from a roadside honey seller in Kyrgyzstan, so I've kept it for myself and have taken to taking odd sips of it.

On our return Nina and I said goodbye. Our routes would diverge from now on.

Stephen