transcript

Speaker 1:
[00:19] Hey, Geoffrey here, and welcome back to Night Falls. Hope your day has been stress free, and you're ready for some restorative sleep. I want to give a huge shout out to subscribers. You get the best of Night Falls, and your support makes Night Falls the best it can be. So, thank you. I love learning about history, finding out about how the world worked, and connecting the dots to how it works now. At the moment, I'm reading about the Indus Valley civilization, about ancient India and its cultural and economic impact on the world. Fascinating thinking about people's lives in the past, and although many moons ago, how similar their thoughts and desires were. It's a bit like time travel, I suppose. Which brings me on to tonight's story, where a quiet evening in Night Falls takes an unexpected turn when a book wonder is reading about the Silk Road sparks an adventurous idea. Before long, my friends and I find ourselves stepping back onto the path of time and traveling far beyond the lake and woods we know so well. Our journey carries us deep into the ancient world, where we catch glimpses of the people, places, and traditions that once shaped one of history's most famous trade routes. And as the night unfolds, we discover that sometimes the most remarkable journeys begin with nothing more than a little curiosity and a willingness to follow it. The sun lingered a little later by springtime in Night Falls, and it only started setting when Lyra handed round the cups of tea we usually took to bed with us. That evening, from the very first sip, the valerian root, lavender and lemon balm in the brew Lyra steeped for us, was soothing me to sleep. I felt exhaustion making even my thoughts heavy, but that night, as usual, Wanda was able to resist rests reaching arms. Even as she finished her tea and set it down, she evaded the pull of sleep. Wanda never went to bed without finishing off the chapter of whatever book she was engrossed in. When my head settled in the soft sands of Night Falls Beach, my eyes drifted closed and I bathed beneath the starlight. My mind always drifted back to the day. My thoughts found their way to the places I loved the most, and they traced over the faces I never wanted to forget. I thought of the way the sun rose and set over the sharp mountain peaks that protected the clearing. I thought about the song the birds sang and hoped for a reprisal in the morning. It wasn't the same for Wanda. When Wanda closed her eyes, her mind found its way back between the pages of a book. Her thoughts drifted back into the business of her favorite characters, and she ran over the facts she had harvested from the driest non-fiction books. What are you reading? I asked, the campfire crackling beneath my voice as she opened up the same book for the fifth time that day. It's about the Silk Road, she murmured, unwilling to invite further conversation with pages to get through before bedtime. What's it called? I might borrow it after you. Devani peered over her shoulders. Life on the Silk Road, Wanda sighed as she turned the page and tried to block us out. You'll have to join the queue, Lyra settled a warm hand on Wanda's shoulder. I already asked to borrow it. Wanda traced over a section of the book as we crowded around, pouring her attention into the text. How long do you think it will take for you to finish it? Lyra had the nerve to ask. I could tell she was aiming for an easy tone, but Lyra often failed to iron all of the impatience out of her requests. Wanda closed the book with a sigh. It will take as long as it takes. She rose from her stool, intent on finding somewhere more peaceful to perch. If we're also curious about the Silk Road, why don't we take a trip? I suggested. The night is young, Devaney nodded. But Wanda was not in agreement. The night is, in fact, not that young at all. The moon is already out. She pointed to the crescent moon in the sky, as though she was pointing out the answer to an equation on a blackboard. It's a clear day, Lyra shrugged it off. The moon has been out since lunchtime. Reluctantly, Wanda eyed the entrance to the path of time. Across the lake, thick vines were beginning to creep over its entrance, and I was reminded of the constant battle Wanda waged with her worries. Fine, she said, we'll go. However much Wanda wanted to see the Silk Road for herself, she could get no more comfortable with time travel than she could air travel, or boat travel for that matter. Something in Wanda's soul told her to keep her feet firmly rooted on land in the present. If she was willing to forego those circumstances for even one night and step out of her comfort zone, it meant the Silk Road was certainly worth seeing. Standing at the entrance to the path of time that night, I could feel Night Falls magic drifting on the soft spring breeze. I sensed it lingering between the trees. I had seen it shifting in the sands that surrounded the lake as we padded across them. That evening, something about the magic felt strong, supportive, steady, and perhaps even a little sleepy. When we began down the path, disappearing between tall hedgerows, I felt the magic catching on my clothes. I heard it at my ear. I sensed it at my shoulder as we rounded every bend. It sped us on our way, willing us there, willing us back through time to the very beginnings of it all. We could have walked for hours or mere moments that night. I lost my bearings or let go of them somewhere around the fifth bend, trusting that the path would draw us back to China's Henan province, where silk was first created from the larvae of silk moths. That the foot of the path of time was a wooden door. I pushed it open, stooping to fit through the door frame and following after my friends. It was early evening in Henan when we found ourselves crowded into the very first silk workshop. According to Chinese legend, Wanda said as soon as she had found her footing, Lai Zhu, or Lady Xiling Shi, first discovered silk when the cocoon of a silk worm fell into her tea. She tried to remove the cocoon, unraveled, revealing a long, delicate strand of silk. Is the story true? I asked. Of course not. She looked at me as though we didn't live in a magical mountain range, steeped in myth and legend. Raw silk comes from the liquid secretions of silk larvae. When that liquid comes into contact with the air, it solidifies into raw silk, changing state just like the larvae will when they're ready to spread their wings as moths. From the worktops to the floor, the ceiling and the beams that supported the roof itself, the workshop was made entirely of warm, toned wood. And there were more people harvesting silk within its walls than I could count. What would a little larvae need with all that silk? Devaney asked. They use it to make their cocoons. Wanda pointed toward the delicate, thimble-sized silk shells being brought to the boil in shallow pots of water to help them unravel. When they were warm enough and steam drifted in streams towards the ceiling, the workers carefully unraveled the thread of silk that held the cocoons together. It wasn't until thirty-something shells had been opened out that those skilled craftsmen and women began the work of spinning each strand of raw silk into one, single, stronger thread of pure silk. I've read about this place. Wanda drifted through a row of people's spinning thread, each wearing brighter silk than the last. And I wondered if they were wearing their own works of art. I wasn't sure if it was Night Falls magic or the way they focused so intently on their work that made sure none of them noticed my friends and I as we drifted by. Almost instinctively, Wanda walked out of that first wooden building and into the wide courtyard beyond. Just outside, making use of the last of the daylight, women sat working behind looms, weaving the raw silk thread into the finest of silks. The sound of water splashing in the fountain at the center of the courtyard was music to my ears, and the way the late evening light danced on the rippling surface of the fish pond was mesmerizing. But the weavers never looked up from their work. They were entirely lost in the process. There was no knowing where the thread ended, and the fingertips that wove with it began. We followed Wanda across the courtyard, and as she pushed open the door to the next building, I let go of a breath I hadn't known I was holding on to. Swathes of silk hung on long lines that stretched across the ceiling of the room. There was a silk sheet two shades brighter than the brightest of blues hanging on the far side of the room, and dangling from the rafters just above us, a fine cloth dyed a deeper, richer red than I had ever known. There were cauldrons all across the room, boiling away, but it seemed that only one woman was responsible for dying all of the cloth. She was perhaps a little older than Wanda, Devani, and I. Her thick black hair hung long down her back. She wore a silk robe cinched at the waist with a wide belt, and tested the temperature of the water in the cauldrons constantly. She was devoted to her work without question. She didn't look up once as she meticulously measured out the dyes, and submerged freshly woven fabric in the water with a long wooden pole. The dying process is terribly fragile, Wanda explained. The cloth has to be bleached, then dyed, and then washed. If the water is too cold, the dye won't take. But if it's too hot, the bleach will damage the silk fibers. It's an impossible balancing act. She certainly seems to be managing, Devani hummed, reaching up to touch one of the soft swathes of fabric that hung from above us. The woman was wringing out a deep purple piece of silk when she finally regarded us. That one isn't dry, she explained, wiping her hands on a cloth tucked into the side of her belt. This one will be better. She pulled a vibrant green cloth from the drying line above her, and as she shook the silk out, it shimmered in the candlelight. She wrapped the silk around Devani's shoulders and smiled warmly at her. Perfect. If Devani thought she would be getting that silk shawl for free, she was mistaken. Take these down to the front gate for me. The woman reached for a heavy pile of silk bolts and stacked the long rolls of fabric high in Devani's arms until she could barely see over the top of the pile. No problem, Devani groaned, arms shaking under the weight. I took what I could from the top of the load and followed Wanda back out of the workshop into the courtyard. The curving slope of the workshop's roofs reminded me of the temples I had seen on my travels yesteryear, and the rich reds painted across the exteriors to invite prosperity certainly seemed to have served their purpose, for, beyond the gate, there were more customers bartering for the silk than I could count. As we approached the gate, the guard stationed in front of it raised a hand to halt us. He was tallish, broadish, and trying desperately to come across as someone punters ought not to argue with. But his eyes told a different story. He had the ease-filled eyes of a young man, for whom standing outside the workshop gates was more of a pastime than a profession he took too seriously. Workshops like this one had to be protected, Wanda murmured before I could ask. Silk was China's main export, and it closely guarded the process that allowed them to make the lavish fabric so that other countries couldn't profit from making material. The Silk Road began because merchants could only buy silk at the source, from China. How long did they keep it a secret for? I asked. Nearly three thousand years, Wanda explained, and my breath left me with a whistle. Exporting silkworms or divulging the secrets of the silk-making process was considered high treason. Rome and Persia both traded heavily in silk, but thought that the fabric grew on trees. It was the only plausible explanation they could think of. Wanda snickered. Eventually, through migration, the knowledge spread to Korea and Japan, then India, then the Byzantine Empire, and then, many years later, the knowledge found its way to Venice, Italy. This way. The guard bade us follow him out of the heavy iron gates, and as we stepped beyond them, the hustle and bustle of the Han Dynasty was there to greet us. It was the dawn of trade, and vendors in the market down the street were calling out prices. The prices that seemed to shift by the second, every vendor aiming to undercut the other. The wooden wheels on the ox-pulled carts creaked over the dry-packed earth beneath my feet. We followed the road leading away from the workshop, the faint smell of the mulberry leaves that the silkworms were so partial to, following us all the way. I had never pictured a caravan of camels scuffing their hooves on the dried earth in Hunan, but on the outskirts of town I was greeted with the sight of one. This is Varaz, the guard explained. He's a Sogdian merchant. He'll take the silk from here. Varaz stood at the front of a line of twenty camels, and he looked as though he felt just as out of place as they did, standing in that crowded, narrow street. This is one of the camel caravans that traverses the Silk Road, Wonder said in awe. It's bigger than I expected. The camels stood in a line, their long necks casting even longer shadows in the late evening light. Their humps sat high on their bags, and most of them were already carrying other treasures and merchants with them. How far are you traveling? Lyra asked Varaz. To Samarkand, he grunted, rummaging in one of the bags packed onto his camel side. We looked to wonder expectantly. Samarkand is a city in modern-day Uzbekistan, she swallowed, turning to the group. I haven't got time to go to Uzbekistan before bed. That's funny, Davani's brow quarked, and I knew we were in for a world of trouble. Because I have precisely the right amount of time to travel by camel to Uzbekistan tonight. Can we join you? She asked Faraz brightly. You pairs of hands are always helpful, he nodded, pleased to have found what he was looking for in the saddlebag. Faraz paid for the silk with the contents of a woven pouch, and the guard promptly took his leave, walking back to the workshop gates to carefully guard China's best kept secret. Where are you from? Faraz turned his attention to us. Scotland, I supplied. I wouldn't be travelling that far, the merchant laughed, brushing a hand over his dark beard. But I can drop you off in the city, and you'll be able to arrange passage home from there. Faraz helped each of us up on to a camel. Wanda went last, swearing that she would much rather have stayed home and simply read about this part of the journey. The magic will see us back to Night Falls soon enough. Devaney levelled with her, and Lyra had to agree. The magic really has never steered us wrong. Dust kicked up from the ground in a cloud, as Wanda's camel came to stand beneath her. Though it took her a moment to settle into it, as the caravan made its way into the countryside, she seemed rather at peace with the circumstances. On the road, carts led by oxen passed us occasionally. But if the drivers were surprised to see twenty camels trotting out of a town, they kept it to themselves. Further out of town, rice grew in paddies on either side of our path. When the stars finally came out, the wetlands reflected the cosmos above, and it felt almost as though we were weeding by camel through the stars themselves. The air was heavy and humid, and I couldn't pinpoint precisely when, but my eyes must have drifted closed on their own accord. Something like sleep settled in my bones, and I let myself drift through time on the back of that camel, far as up ahead, my friends at my back. When my eyes fluttered open once more, I realized Night Falls magic had made sure we were far from the rice paddies. Faraz was still leading the charge, but it was less of a charge and more of a slow stroll along the Silk Road. The silk bolts were belted down beneath Faraz, and behind me Devani, Wanda, and Lyra were still snoring softly. Devani was slumped over her camel's hump, and when I turned and caught the creature's eye, I could have sworn he was trying to tell me that she had been sleeping just like that for hours. The cheek of it, I winked at the camel, wondering if, like Otto and I, we might come to share some kind of understanding. We were far from the reach of civilization, but I couldn't have said where, and had to ask Varaz. That evening was so quiet that the merchant didn't even have to raise his voice to let me know we were approaching the Tormund Basin. It was early evening again when the path opened out before my eyes. It was warm and humid, but still, the peaks of the sharp mountains that rose up around us were snow-tipped. Water gathered in a wide lake in the bowl of the valley, and as the sun set over it, the oasis glittered gold. Up ahead of us the desert awaited, and I wondered just how beautiful the Tarim Basin appeared to the travelers who had already passed through the desert on their way back to China. Perhaps in the haze of their exhaustion they would look upon that oasis, glittering gold with the sunset and consider it treasure itself. Liquid gold worth more than anything they would ever be able to trade. Are we stopping? Lyra looked over at the small settlement on the farthest edge of the lake. Not here. Veraz called back to her. The silk is precious, and last time I stopped here it invited the wrong sort of attention. We pushed on, drifting in and out of sleep as the sun rose and set over and over again. The Taklamakan desert sits in the heart of the Tarim Basin. I knew from my own reading that it was once one of the most fearsome stretches of the Silk Road. Merchants never crossed through the center of it. To do so would be near impossible. Instead, they wove in and out of the dunes at its edges to find the oases that would help them make passage safely across the arid expanse. A new Night Falls magic was at work because the sun was setting again when we finally cut a path along the side of the desert. We traveled between mountains that pitched into the golden sky and the shifting sands of Taklamakan. The rivers that ran off the mountains would flow into the natural oases that would sustain the caravan for a journey. I checked behind me to find that Wanda had already allowed herself to sink into sleep again, and perhaps that was wise. Up ahead there were more than 600 miles of sloping sandy dunes for us to cross. The gentle breeze blowing through the dunes shifted the sands and wiped away the tracks that other merchants had left behind them on their journey. As the day drifted away from us and the sands cooled beneath the hooves of my camel, I found it was almost impossible to keep track of which direction we ought to be traveling. Thankfully, Varaz had something of a sixth sense. Even with the night changing shape around us, he could find true west and point us on our way. Do you know the meaning of the word taklamakan? He asked me, but he didn't wait for an answer. It means go in and you won't come out. He laughed into the night. I've been in and out more than fifteen times now, so no need to worry. He sighed, surveying the dunes as the darkness deepened. I got the sense that the desert was something of a second home to Veraz. The hours reeled by. The dunes became but layers of darkness stacking behind one another as far as my eyes could make out. The night stretched its legs languid and rich and layered and endless. When I could fight the need for sleep no longer, my eyes drifted closed, and the sands of sleep swept me away with them. When my eyes opened again, we had left the desert in our wake, and Wanda, who had slept through most of that stretch of travel, seemed more than pleased about it. It was dusk again when we made our way into the city of Samarkand, and I got the distinct feeling that we had jumped forward in time whilst we were sleeping. The buildings that pitched up out of the desert were doubtless influenced by the Persian and Islamic merchants who had made their way through the city over the centuries. Intricate tiling climbed almost every structure we passed, painting the city in rich blues and greens that glittered in the last of the daylight. Varaz drew the caravan to a stop just outside the city center and helped each of us down from our camels. I was surprised to see Wanda patting the nose of the camel she had been riding. Devani let out a long, lazy yawn, and I looped my arm through Lyra's, who was more or less asleep on her feet. This is where I leave you. Varaz tipped his head to us before taking a few bolts of silk from the back of his camel. I'm tucking them under his arm. He wandered deeper into the city streets, and we followed him lazily in the direction of the market. We went just far enough that we saw him make his first trade before our attention turned entirely to sleep. Varaz will sell them on the Silk Road, Wanda explained, marking up the price he paid for it. Then the new owners will take the fabric on the next part of its journey, this time towards Europe. Shall we try to join them? Devani prodded. Absolutely not. Wanda wouldn't be swayed again. I'm going to bed, and you should too. There's a caravanser eye over there, and I intend to book a room. She couldn't fight the yawn that broke free from her. She made a beeline for what looked like the ancient equivalent of an inn. The city was bustling, but we were lucky to find that there was room for us all to rest our heads at the inn that night. The Silk Road had proven more stunning than anything I had ever seen. It was vast and desolate and somehow still entirely dreamy. But that night as Devaney settled in at my side and I blew out the candle on the bedside table, I was rather glad the endless evening that had seen us traverse the first half of the Silk Road had run its course. We'll leave our story there for tonight. I hope you enjoyed our journey on the Silk Road. Sleep well, and sweet dreams.