TONY KALHAGEN photography TERRI-LYNN KALHAGEN
To my travel partner Terri-Lynn. Thank you for your bravery and desire to see the world with me.
“You travel to come back changed, not the same as when you left” Tony Kalhagen
1. An Unexpected Trip
I have always said “you do not choose travel, travel chooses you”. Two months ago, I had no idea we would be flying into Xinjiang, an autonomous region home to the Uighur people – ‘Chinese Turkestan’ in the Taklamakan desert at the base of the Pamir mountains on the borders of Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, and Pakistan. There is a loneliness to the traveler, not just the idle hours spent on trains, buses, ferries, and donkey carts, but the hours spent at home, surrounded by love ones who do not understand the overwhelming desire of being completely disconnected yet entirely present in the moment, allowing yourself to be carried by synchronicity and the kindness of complete strangers, entrusting your life to someone you can only communicate with through sign language, a smile and a few grunts and snorts. Eventually the trips become your life, and your life is now the foreign land.
2. Beijing 8 years later
Returning to a place you have seen in the past is like a new observation of comparisons of what you knew, and what you now see. I knew Beijing as smoke filled restaurants, the constant sound of hawking and spitting, floors covered with peanut shells and saliva. That was only eight years ago, it is l an entirely different place now. We were dropped off in the dark. My directions said walk down an alley into Zhengjue Hutong and look for the red lanterns. We found the lanterns and walked in through the ornate wooden doors right into someone’s house. We startled her but it seemed this had happened before as she pointed for us to continue down the street. We found the hostel and also found a group of twenty-three Australian students staying there as well. This would not be a quiet night.
We looked for street food. Arriving into an international hub at night gives you little orientation as to where you are so it is usually best not to wander off too far. Add to that you may have been awake for forty hours with unlimited cocktails on your international flight so your reflexes and decision making skills may not be at their best. By chance the nearest dining option just down the alley was a Uighur restaurant.
Our hostel with 23 Australian students
3. A Cold Introduction
It would be a new experience to travel in the winter. Packing enough warm clothing into a mid-sized backpack was the first challenge of the trip. Our hostel, aptly named the Red Lantern, was in the Zhengjue Hutong just west of the Houhai lakes. Hutongs are reflections of the old Beijing. Narrow alley ways pulse with the rhythm of everyday life. Old walled courtyards fronted by large thick red doors are a pleasure to wander through and get lost in. I was happy this was the area of town we had been placed in.
A typical Hutong in Beijing. Hutongs are also being demolished by the government
The lakes themselves are a peaceful retreat in the middle of this hectic city. Willow tree branches swayed in the wind and kissed the water, seniors exercised on machines, practiced Thai Chi and fished while Chinese tourists strolled around the lake holding hands and taking pictures. We found some meat filled steamed buns for breakfast, they were one yuan each, about fifteen cents and an hour later we walked by some girls making crepes on the corner. Another five-yuan filled us up for the morning.
That night the rains came. Rain brings a different energy to a city. A peacefulness, a calm. Life continues as usual as the street vendors huddle under umbrellas and makeshift tarps shielding their produce, meats, electronics, and gadgets from the rising puddles waiting for the next customer to come, and they do. It was business as usual. Travel allows you to step into people’s lives for just a moment. It is a very voyeuristic way to spend your time. Still this was not the China we came to observe. In fact, it is not China at all that we are here to see. Tomorrow we will board another plane for a four-hour flight west to the autonomous region of Xinjiang.
4. Checking Out
It was a good thing I had sent an email off to our family and friends before we left alerting them that we may not have access to the internet. Since 2009 the Chinese government has been randomly cutting off the internet in the Xinjiang region as part of their counter terrorism efforts. But it was worse than we had thought. In 2013 they blocked google, facebook, twitter and Instagram across the entire country. We had no way to access our gmail accounts. We would be out of touch for the duration of the trip.
5. The flight to the western Frontier
There was no knock on the door at 4am as promised. The greatest challenge of travel in China is communication. There is virtually no English spoken and as we were soon to find out no Mandarin where we were going so the Pinyon in my guide book would be useless.
The knock came at four twenty am, the taxi was already here. Luckily, we were awake and ready thanks to jet lag. We made it to the airport with time to spare as there was no traffic on the dark empty streets. At the airport, we encountered our first tout, not bad as it was already day three. An older gentleman dressed in an airport uniform offered to help us check in and get our tickets, he then asked for twenty yuan. I smiled, pretended not to understand, and just walked away. Touts are just a necessary nuisance at best and an irritant at worst that are routinely placed in the lives of a traveler. Some of the worst I have encountered were in West Africa. There was a time pulling into Ougadougou the capital of Burkina Faso on a bush taxi when the driver would not let us off with the other passengers. As soon as the young men outside the window saw us they rushed the bus. The driver took us across the street to a waiting taxi and hurriedly shoved us in while the mob of men crossed the street shouting at us in French. “Hotel” “Change Money” “What you need?” “Hotel” “Money Change”.
A typical bush taxi in Burkina Faso. (That’s another story)
So this elderly man at the airport dressed in his nicely pressed suit making an attempt to extort a few yuan from the sleepy travelers was nothing. We had time to kill so we found a ramen restaurant for breakfast. I ordered the duck, Terri-Lynn had fried squid and shrimp, it was 6am and everything was perfect.
6. Welcome to Urumqi
There was nothing below us as we flew across northern China. Vast deserts, brown land, and wrinkled mountains with no sign of life, not one tree. Then, after four hours they appeared, the snow-covered Pamir mountains and to the north the Tian Shan mountain range. At the base of the Tian Shan was the capitol city of Xinjiang, Urumuqi.
It was not straight forward getting us here. The Chinese government frowns on foreigners traveling in the region and journalists are strictly forbidden. I had to write a fake itinerary and book hotel rooms in another region to get our visas.
Sunrise in Urumqi
The Uighur people have inhabited Xinjiang since around the 8th century. These central Asian people were originally nomadic and Buddhist until about the 12th century when Islam was introduced to the region. It is the most conservative province in China. In 1865 the region was known as Turkestan but this was short lived. Two decades later the Manchu army marched into Kashgaria and the region was incorporated in Chinas new Xinjiang. When the Qing dynasty fell in 1911 the region was ruled by various Muslim and Chinese warlords and the national government had no control of the area. Between 1930 and 1940 there was a movement in Kashgar to establish an independent state of Eastern Turkestan but this too was short lived. Since 1949 Chinas main goal has been to develop the region, dilute the local culture and bring in millions of Han Chinese. At one time 90% of the population was Uighur, today it is less than 50%. In 2008 protests and bomb attacks spread across the province. In 2009 a clash between the Han and Uighur in downtown Urumuqi killed 200 people and injured 1700. In 2014 Uighur separatists attacked a train station with knives in Kunming killing 29 people and injuring 143. The next month there was an attack at the Urumuqi train station where two individuals set off vest explosives and a few weeks later a suicide car bomb killed 31 people at a market in Urumuqi. In 2014 a knife attack on a police station in Yarkand led to 96 official deaths. By this time the government had banned all media in the region so the actual details are unknown. Uighur groups claim the death toll was over 2,000. So no, it was not easy getting into Xinjiang. As we stepped off the plane in Urumuqi I was happy, and felt lucky to be here.
A selection of Uighur knives. (I should have bought one)
The taxi dropped us off on a busy corner in front of a large department store, there was a tank out front surrounded by military personnel with automatic weapons. It was nearly impossible to find the hostel. After walking the streets with our back packs for thirty minutes and wishing I could sneak a picture of the tank we found a stairway down an alley behind a restaurant with a sign indicating our hostel was up the stairs. Why do hostels always seem to be hidden down an alley? At the top of the stairs were two shields, helmets, and various weapons in the lobby.
The walls were covered with writing and drawings from past guests. We were happy to find that we had our own bathroom and shower and the room, though basic and sparse had a big bright window looking out towards a hillside with a temple at the top. I grabbed some beers and we made plans to get out and explore the city.
The next day we were awake at 6am Beijing time, 4am Xinjiang time so we laid in bed and read our books until 8. Though unofficial, Xinjiang does not recognize Beijing time, among other things so they are two hours behind which can be an issue when purchasing train and bus tickets. It was still dark. The hostel was dark and silent and we were locked in. At 9am Beijing time they unlocked the doors, the sky was just starting to turn light.
We had a cheap breakfast of steamed buns and a purple colored bland soup with pickled vegetables from the restaurant below the hostel.
Our simple clean hostel in Urumqi Steamed buns and unknown purple bland soup
We had a list of areas we wanted to explore and set off in the direction of Hongshan park. It turned out to be the hill we could see from our window, we hiked to the top to the 18th century pagoda where views of the city spread out before us. Urumqi is very much a central Asian city, no longer Chinese and inhabited by a multicultural mix of people from the neighboring countries. It has the look of a wealthy city. There were few other visitors to the park this morning and this would be the start of visiting many sites when we would feel as if we were the only ones around.
It may be the time of year, it was below freezing, or it may have been the travel warnings to the region. Whatever it was it felt good to have the place to ourselves.
We took a cab to the Erdaoqiao market on the other side of town. Urumuqi is not a city that is intended for walking. The streets of Urumuqi remind me of a pig’s intestine. A coiled mess. Innards stuffed with a throbbing mass of stiletto wearing women in hijabs, skinned animals and tanks appearing around the corners surrounded by automatic rifles. Suddenly an unpassable freeway will appear in front of you and you will find yourself walking a mile to go what appeared to be three blocks. So, we lamented to take taxis and busses around town. On one corner, there was a security booth with large canvas curtains covering the doorway. The police were pulling in every Uighur person that walked by, men women and children were made to walk through a metal detector and then a pat down before exiting the other side. They appeared to be very unhappy about this. This would be just the first instance of many that we would witness of the oppression towards the Uighur people by the Chinese and one would assume the cause of the tension and violence that is affecting the region.
Erdaoqiao market and Kalon Minaret
The Erdaoqiao market and international bazar is more of a souvenir mall geared towards tourist as opposed to a local market for locals to trade. It does have a replica of the Kalon minaret from Bukhara in Uzbekistan and the adjoining mosque is quite lovely. It was a pleasant enough place to stroll around and the shops were aimed towards the overnight millionaires that were emerging across the country. Oversized jade carvings and wooden sculptures filled rooms that had the appearance of a museum. I looked on as the wealthy Chinese men would stroke the ostentatious symbols of status as they would a lover.
The surrounding smoke filled streets were all Uighur and the smell of street food permeated the air. We found a stall selling Mantang a sort of pressed nougat with honey and various nuts, the vendor was cutting off small squares from the oversized block with a hack saw, it turned out to be great bus food. The cauldrons of Polov, a rice pilaf with mutton and sweet peppers drew us into a restaurant for lunch. The rice had an oily texture and was delicious. On the side was a salad of shredded carrots heavily laced with cumin.
After lunch, we continued to explore the side streets for a bit and then hailed a cab to take us to the Xinjiang Autonomous Region Museum. Normally it is safe to say that we hate museums. But this one we had heard had mummies from the region, 3800-year-old desert mummified bodies of Indo-European ancestry. Since we had never seen a mummy we made an exception and decided to go. It turned out to be a fine experience and the museum had very thorough representations of the regions minority groups.
We set off in the late afternoon and after walking for a few hours ducked into a small Uighur restaurant. Actually, we were pulled in by the mother and the restaurant was empty. There were no picture menus. Often the menus in restaurants throughout China will have pictures that you can just point to and order your food. This one was all in Cyrillic. A young girl sat at a table playing video games on her phone while the dad separated stalks of Chinese chives on the tile floor near his bare feet. I wanted a beer, but knowing this was a Uighur restaurant I was sure to be out of luck. I asked anyway with sign language and somehow, she understood what I wanted. She ran out the door and within a few minutes returned with two beers. We had no idea what to order so the father took Terri-Lynn back into the kitchen where she could point at vegetables and noodles that were available. It was a wonderful meal called Laghman, or pulled noodles. This was just the beginning of the Uighur hospitality we would encounter while travelling through Xinjiang.
I enjoyed Urumuqi more than I had thought. At first it was just a city with an airport on the silk road, a means to an end. But it turned out to be a perfect introduction to Xinjiang and a fascinating mosaic of cultures and welcoming people. Tomorrow we will continue our journey towards the Pakistan border. The next stop, Turpan (Tulufan) the second lowest depression on earth at 154 meters below sea level.
7. Hostels
We left Urumqi on a bus and drove through the typical ugly grey industrialized suburbs of a Chinese city. The road followed train tracks, windmills, and powerlines and soon the terrain resembled a well-used cat box. We began our decent through the mountains to the Turpan basin, nothing was growing outside the window. We again were mostly alone, only 4 of us traveling on this full-size bus filled with bags of dead chickens.
Unlike Urumuqi Turpan is nicely laid out as a grid and a pleasure to walk through. Grape vines cover the streets as this is reportedly one of the hottest places on the planet with temperatures in the summer reaching 50 degrees Celsius and dropping to minus twenty in the winter.
We found that Turpan wine is quite good, maybe the best in the country. The original travelers on the silk road had a daunting task placed before them, cross the Taklamakan desert. It is a hot blistering and jagged expanse of nothingness at the base of the heavily glaciated Tian Shan mountain range. Its name in Kazak translates into “go in and you won’t come out” and this is how the oasis town of Turpan was created. Hundreds of kilometers of underground channels were created from the source of the water melt with gravity pulling the water down to the Turpan basin to irrigate the crops which consisted of grapes, melons, and dates. These channels are called Karez, they date back two thousand years and are still in use today.
It was a challenge, as usual to find our hostel. Getting off the train the usual onslaught of taxi drivers approached us, we chose one and placed our packs in the trunk of the car. I showed him the pinyon script for the hostel and he looked confused. He got out and for the next twenty minutes walked around the parking area talking to other drivers trying to figure out where we wanted to go. We finally set off and came upon the Uighur area of town with single story buildings made of mud bricks and poplar trees and were officially lost. Our driver started asking people along the road where to find our hostel and finally he found a person who knew where we wanted to go. The hostel was simple with an outdoor commons area and we were told to take our showers during the day as it would be warmer, we soon discovered our room had no heat.
Looking for our Hostel
There are many differences between staying at a hostel and a Chinese hotel. The people who run the hostels generally speak some English as they are accustomed to encountering travelers, in Chinese hotels there is no English spoken. Hostels are a gathering place, a meeting ground for overlanders. Weary travelers going in different directions, swapping stories, recuperating from the jarring bumpy roads, doing laundry and I would suspect, occasionally hooking up for the night before moving on.
The “Old” Turpan where we were staying and our hostel. It was quickly being torn down and replaced by a typical Chinese city covered in LED lights
Here we met Charlie and Louise, 27-year-old twin girls from the UK who were on a six-month bike trip from London to Hong Kong. They had gone through Azerbaijan and Georgia, crossed the Caspian Sea on a thirty-one-hour ferry and biked across Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan before ending up here in Turpan. As expected on this trip the topic of our election came up, we tried to make sense of it but it was next to impossible to explain mass insanity. But we had this in common. Just two months’ prior the citizens of the UK voted for Brexit, the referendum to leave the European Union and we discussed the similarities of our situations. They spoke of how their Prime Minister tapped into the fears and prejudices of the less educated lower class population mostly in rural communities and used this as a campaign to control them. The very same thing was happening in America. The devaluation of the pound was immediate and they were hoping for a special election to remove the Prime Minister. We were still one week away from our election and felt confident Americans would make the right decision though it would take years to heal the great divide created by the Republican candidate. In her cute, naïve, worldly “we just biked through the Stans” 27-year-old innocence Charlie looks at us and says “It’s OK, we’re going to be OK, and so will you.”
8. “Progress”
It is 9:20am and we are waiting for breakfast. Our host walks by with rolls of toilet paper in his hands which is great as it has been out for a day. Terri-Lynn looks at me and says “And this is our entertainment”. The center of Turpan is typical Chinese. Large buildings covered in led lights, shopping malls and parks.
The original town of mud brick buildings were torn down to make space for this very modern looking city. And it was still going today. I wanted to walk the backstreets of Turpan. If there is a difference between a tourist and a traveler this is it. Tourists would be at the sites and museums, we chose to walk through the poorest neighborhoods of Turpan. This was exactly what we traveled this far to see and what we came upon was as disturbing as I had thought. Bulldozers coming down the street demolishing buildings that were hundreds of years old while residents looked on, a look of confusion and sadness on their faces watching the town disappear in the name of progress.
A man approached us “Asalam Aleikum” I said “Aleikum Asalam” came the reply. And then the standard question, “Where are you from?” “America” I replied. “Amerigua?” Yes, “American” “Amerigua!”. He smiled and waved excitedly for us to follow him. We strode quickly down a narrow alley of mud buildings and approached an elderly man, he turned and pointed to the man saying “daddy”. We exchanged Salams and he motions us into a large ornately carved wooden door, inside is an older woman and he points saying “Mommy”. Inside the next room are two younger women I take to be his wife and daughter, they are surprised to see us and immediately stand up and leave the room. Within minutes they returned with a tray of dried dates, nuts, nan bread and tea and motion for us to sit. Our hosts name is Doas and he makes a motion that we are now friends, brothers. We sit and communicate the best that we can. He makes a motion that appears to be a person working in the fields, he must be a farmer. He wants to know what I do, I make the motion of playing a guitar, “Musica, Artista!” he exclaims. I nod, he seems happy about this and turns to his family and says “Musica, Artista”.
The nan and dates are delicious as is the green tea and nuts and this has easily become our dinner for the night. After a while it was time to leave, we exchanged Salams, touched our hands to our hearts and he points us in the direction of how to find our way out of the mud brick maze. The evening was complete, there was nothing more to do. We walked into the brown haze of the night and disappeared.
That night we did what we always do and some amazing street food
9. The Silk Road
There is a perceived mysteriousness to this region. For the Chinese, it was a land of sand serpents and central Asian barbarians. To the west, it was a vast unknown land of towering peaks and endless deserts. We found a driver for the day, a Uighur man named Tahir and set off into the unknown. Our first stop was the Bezeklik caves. As we traveled by the flaming mountains we past abandoned mud huts and I asked our driver about this area. Apparently, the Chinese government wanted to plant trees along this part of the road and constructed these buildings for the workers. Tahir said, “they do not give us water for our crops but they have water for these trees that have no purpose.”
The Flaming Mountains and the road to the Bezeklik caves
We continued into a canyon that was dotted with Buddhist caves. The Uighurs were originally Buddhist and their sculptures and art can still be found in these remote areas of Xinjiang.
Old Budhist caves
We reached the Bezeklik caves and were the only visitors there. The canyon was spectacular and as we walked down the path to the caves we could hear Uighur music echoing through the hills.
Unfortunately, the caves are now famous for having most of its art cut out from German, Japanese and British archeologists. Even more unfortunate is that during world war two most of these artifacts were destroyed by bombs. The remaining paintings have also been defaced by Muslims that cut out the faces of all the Buddha’s. It was still a delightful place and I jammed with a Uighur busker, gave him a few yuan and we were on our way.
Old art and busking with a Uighur man
Upon exiting the complex I was approached by a Chinese man who worked at the caves, we walked up the stone steps and as expected I was asked about our elections. “You will have a new president” he said. “What do you know about our elections?” I asked. “I do not know, I just know it is very important for China, and for the world.” We talked about the candidates, he was familiar with Saparmyrat Niyazov AKA Turkmenbashi, the wealthy lunatic and dictator of Turkmenistan who had died in 2006. This was a person who erected gold monuments and statues around the country and refused to let go of power as he believed it was “best for the people” that he stays in power. He compared this to one of our candidates, a person who built grandiose displays of wealth to promote his image and then plaster his name on towers, condos, vodka, neck ties and steak all with the arrogance that his brand would increase their value. Much like Turkmenbashi he threatened to place his opposition in jail, at his rallies you would hear the cry to “lock her up” calling for the imprisonment of his opponent. He is supported by a base of white supremacists, the ones that said “He’s saying what we think”. As we reached the top of the stairs and exited the complex he placed his hand on his heart, bowed and said “God bless America”.
Talking about our 2016 election and a building used for drying grapes for the Turpan wine
The next stop was the ancient village of Tuyoq, a mud constructed village in a green valley at the base of the flaming mountains. Tuyoq has been a pilgrimage site for Muslims for centuries, seven visits here is like a visit to Mecca, and if you are traveling to Mecca it is said you must come here first.
Exploring the streets of Tuyoq and the mosque
Above the town is the Hojamu Tomb which holds the imam who traveled from Yemen and converted the Uighur population to Islam in 1219. It is a quiet place, especially since once again we are the only ones here. We can hear the local population behind their closed doors but very few are out on the streets, it feels like a ghost town, or just another replica built for the tourist, but it is not. It is a traditional Uighur village that very soon may be left to the tourist industry as the younger generation moves out to the cities for education and the opportunity for a better life. It was time to leave.
The Hojamu Tomb
We stopped for lunch in a Uighur restaurant somewhere in the desert outside of Turpan. The meal was the standard bowl of Laghman with mutton and vegetables also known as Suoman. We asked Tahir how he liked Chinese food. “I have never tried Chinese food” he said, we were of course surprised to hear this. “It is not Halal, I may only eat food prepared by a Muslim”.
Lunch with Tahir
After lunch, we still had one more stop but the day was getting late and we wanted to explore Turpan on our own before leaving tomorrow so as nice as it was to have a driver for the day we ended our trip, said farewell to Tahir and walked into the back alleys of Turpan. That night we had a feast from various food stalls at the night market, there were hot pot vendors, the ubiquitous Laughman stalls, bowls of Polov, goat heads and entrails stuffed like sausages, we had a bottle of wine in our pack. We gathered our food, sat down at a small table near a man making pulled noodles, poured a glass of wine and blended into the night.
Street Food. One of the best parts of travel.
10. Alone
No one is traveling at this time of year and we have had the sites all to ourselves. Turpan can be opressingly hot in the summer with temperatures reaching 50 degrees Celsius, it is currently around 4 degrees which makes spending a day walking through the desert quite enjoyable, I was happy to be here at this time of year for those two reasons. Today we will board an 18-hour train to Kashgar at 5pm so we still have a day to explore the area. Our hostel comes with breakfast, though we find ourselves waiting till 9:30am Beijing time for a few bites of Nan and some green tea. Lindy is the person who runs the hostel and we find out that we are lucky as she will be closing for the winter next week. She is Chinese and a new mother, she will be going home to the Jiangxi province next week where her family lives. Outside the hostel are several small Uighur stalls selling steamed buns and various other items in baskets and of course nan. We point to a basket of steaming buns and sit down while the wife pours us green tea from an oversized pot boiling over hot coals. It cost seven yuan, about 1 USD.
We head out for a walk to the Emin Minaret 3 kilometers away along a busy road with no sidewalk. A van approaches us and asked if we are the ones who called for a driver that day. I said “no”. He then proceeds to ask us where we are going and when. Terri-Lynn made the mistake of telling him we are traveling to Kashgar today on the train, when we are leaving and where we are staying. He said he would pick us up at the hostel at 2. I did not feel comfortable about this as we always make it a point to avoid touts. We’ll have to deal with that later.
We could see the minaret in the distance past the grape arbors and the fields. After nearly circling it from a distance we found the entrance, as usual there was no one there. The minaret is a 44-meter-tall mud brick structure built in 1777. It is the largest in China and is covered by a fusion of Islamic and Chinese designs. The adjoining mosque is simple and empty, visiting these sites almost feels as if no one cares that they are here. Wandering through these important historic relics alone make the ghosts come alive. There are several tombs with offerings placed around them and we walked through the graveyard before heading back to the hostel.
Emin Minaret
We had to do something about the unwelcome taxi driver that would be here at 2. I asked Lindy to call us a driver and have them be here at 1:30. To our surprise our driver from yesterday Tahir showed up at the hostel to drive us the 54 kilometers to the train station located in the middle of the desert. It was a familiar and reassuring feeling to see him. We closed the doors to the cab, the engine started and we drove down the dusty street while the quickly disappearing neighborhoods of old Turpan evaporated.
We talked more on the way about life for the Uighur people and how it was changing. He said 90% of Uighur people are happy with the Chinese occupation as it makes them feel safe. I thought about this realizing there are around 8 million Uighurs here, that would leave per his opinion and numbers 800,000 that were not too pleased. He also said he prefers the original buildings and does not care too much for the new city.
One of my favorite parts of traveling to a Muslim region is waking in the morning to the Adhan or “Call to prayer” recited by the local Muezzin, It is like beautiful music as the sun rises and usually lasts at least fifteen minutes. I had not heard it this trip. Tahir informed us that the government had banned the Adhan from being broadcast. I was disappointed and sad to hear this. He said especially out here in the country the people were not strong enough to stand up to the government and that perhaps we may hear it when we reach Kashgar due to its isolation and closer proximity to central Asia. We heard they had also tried to ban the hajib, teaching the Uighur language in schools and had at one time banned men from wearing beards on public transportation.
After an hour of driving through the desert we approached the Turpan train station. It felt good to be leaving Turpan this way, saying goodbye to Tahir and reflecting on the people and conversations we had over the past three days. But it was time to move on towards the destination of this journey, the fabled city of Kashgar, Kashi as it has been known for centuries. And we were just an 18-hour train ride away.
11. The Lucky Ones
The Lucky ones get to travel. Looking around the waiting room at the station I see a room full of weariness. Tired individuals loaded down with luggage, boxes, backpacks, and noodles, but we are the lucky ones. Waiting, always waiting. This is another lonely part of travel when you are no longer where you were and you are far from where you are going, waiting for the next mode of transport to arrive and, hopefully deliver you safely to your destination. I am lucky to have a partner in my travels. We had a few hours to kill and we needed supplies for the trip so I decided to leave the secured lobby and venture outside where numerous vendors were selling everything a traveler would need for their trip. This would entail having to go through numerous checkpoints, metal detectors, and pat downs when I returned, but I had time to kill. Outside the station, I observed more waiting and the usual tank with military personnel. People looking at phones and selling their nuts, fruit, dried noodles, dead birds, and hard boiled eggs. Cab drivers are waiting for the next weary traveler to emerge from the secured station to take them to their next stop. There were piles of fresh nan and people collecting food for the long journey ahead. This country has and does appear wealthy compared to other parts of the world that I have traveled through. But still, the ones outside this train station look as if they may never have the opportunity to travel. Making a few yuan here and there each day waiting for the next person to buy a hardboiled egg or a package of noodles may not be enough to get out and see even another village just a few hundred kilometers away. I gathered some dried noodles, fruit and nuts and a few beers and we left Turpan at 17:26, settled in and had a happy hour of beer and roasted nuts. I felt happier in this moment then I have been in years.
After ten minutes of leaving the station we were once again in a moonlike landscape of grey nothingness. Desolate, no life. Some of the other occupants on the train were already asleep, some congregated between the cars smoking cigarettes. Mountains rose to the west as we traveled south towards Kashi. The sky darkened and the haze that is always above us blocking the sun and sky turned a thick dark grey. It is 7:30 Beijing time, 5:30 Xinjiang time and the greyness that covers us is like a heavy blanket pushing down on your senses as if to suffocate or at least make one turn claustrophobic. Tombouctou had the sense of brownish beige where the earth and sky blended to become the same pallet. This area of central Asia is grey, lifeless hills rising towards a grey sky and on occasion a small hut, some sheep, a power line, a rock quarry, some tents, a car may appear like some weird hallucination in the middle of a bowl of grey soup.
All through China you will find potable hot water so instant noodles are always a good idea to have on hand. We made a dinner of noodles and a bottle of Turpan wine we bought for 35 yuan.
Terri-Lynn is frustrated and walking between cars trying to find a restroom. Apparently, they lock them when we arrive at stations along the way and sometimes it seems they forget to unlock them again.
We have the entire berth to ourselves so we make our beds in the two lower bunks. Falling asleep while the train glides gently along the tracks, clank bum clank bum clank bum clank bum, it is like a lullaby of sorts that rocks you to sleep while the Chinese in the next berth talk throughout the night while their cigarette smoke lingers in the air. I fell asleep knowing that in the morning I will be in Kashgar.
“Spiff!” Spiff!” I was woken up at midnight by our conductor making funny bird sounds. Through my bleary eyes, I motioned a “what?” He held up a hand-written sign on a piece of paper that read “Keep your belongings” I realized we were not quite secure. Hard sleeper berths do not have doors and our packs were lose at the foot of our bunks. I got up and tied the packs to the bars on our bunks and stowed my books and headlamp under my pillow. I always sleep with my money and passport under my pillow, even in a hotel room so the most important items were already secure.
I fell back to sleep to the rumbling of the train. My first dream was of a rave party, likely due to the thumping of the tracks. It was like being enclosed in a familiar welcoming womb that rocked me to sleep. My dreams that night were vivid and intense, dreams of home and friends. I woke at 8, Beijing time, still dark, got up and made a cup of Nescafe from the hot water spout near the toilet. After three more cups the sun rose across the Taklamakan desert to the east with the mountains glowing to the west.
12. Welcome to Kashgar
Our train pulled into the Kashgar station at noon as planned. Exiting the station, we were met with the standard taxi que. There were 30 -40 men shouting at us wanting to take us where we needed to go. I chose one. We threw our packs in the trunk and I showed him the Pinyon script of the hostel. He looked very concerned. For the next fifteen minutes, we waited while he nervously walked around the lot asking other drivers where he should take us. When he finally returned I just told him, “Take us to the Id Kah Mosque” This he understood. He smiled and we were off. I knew I could find the hostel from this location as I was told there was a roof top that looked out over the main square in front of the mosque. We were dropped off in old town Kashgar. Central Asia, no longer China. We found the hostel up a flight of stairs covered in barbed wire and they had a room for us, every room had a name, ours was Tashkurgan. The air is filled with BBQ mutton as there is a restaurant below us. Skinned animals are hanging from every shop, some have their heads and tails intact. There is no alcohol in this part of town, luckily our hostel is run by Chinese so we can have our beers on the roof.
The buildings and people are no longer Chinese, Pinyon has disappeared and all the signs are in Cyrillic. We wander the streets, supposedly just a replica of the past but still quite beautiful and for us, exciting.
The Chinese government has spent many years tearing down the original buildings of Kashgar and replacing them with these replicas. But it is still amazing and exotic. I feel fortunate to be here, we traveled a very long distance to stand in this place. We will stay here for four days, we rarely stay this long in one place, but this is the place I came to experience, Kashgar on the silk road. In a few days, we will travel further weather permitting to the Pakistan border and the town of Tashkurgan.
So far, the timing and weather on this trip has been perfect. I checked the weather forecast today on a Chinese computer and from what I could make out there was a very good chance we would be able to reach our final destination of Tashkurgan which sits at 3600 meters on the Pakistan border. It was still unclear however if we would need a special permit to continue on. It was also Thursday, tomorrow the Id Kah Mosque will be full of worshippers, Sunday one of the largest markets in central Asia will take place here and on Monday when we head out we will pass through another small town en route to Tashkurgan that too will have a market day.
I woke this morning to the sound of the Adhan, the call to prayer. It was the first time I had heard it on this trip. It was 5am Xinjiang time. We are as usual locked in so I shuffled out to the rooftop and looked out over the square to the sun rising in the distance over old Kashgar. The traveler always has a list of destinations, this has been on mine for over eight years and I was finally here, I feel fortunate. They finally unlocked the barbed wire gate at 9am Beijing time, 7am Xinjiang time and we were hungry. Luckily we have been traveling with packets of nescafe and the rooms in China always have a teapot to boil water. Somewhat caffeinated and beyond hungry we head out to the square and find some fried bread and again, steamed buns filled with mutton. We have not found traditional soy sauce on this trip, it is all a combination of soy and vinegar and it is driving Terri-Lynn crazy.
We explored the back alleys of Old Kashgar getting intentionally lost through the narrow maze of buildings. I think to myself that my goth friends back home would fit in very well here. The men are all dressed in black with fuzzy black hats made of mink or fox, dark jackets, slacks, and leather boots. The women wear heavy dark eyeliner and are quite beautiful.
We passed a street that must have been the shoe market part of town as people haggled and bargained for the best price, more of a social interaction than a retail transaction. The old streets of Kashgar have virtually all disappeared replaced with replicas of their glorious past. Dust hangs in the air like a construction site, concrete is being mixed on every corner. Old doors are being used on some of the new builds and instead of mud and poplar many of the new structures are steel and cement. Although it felt like a living museum I still found it quite pleasant.
We are the only foreigners here. We choose our destinations to places where the culture we are visiting are just as curious about us as we are about them. We call it stare fest. We found a hot pot restaurant for lunch which can be a bit pricey but it will be a nice break from Uighur food. The waitress asked to see Terri-Lynn’s passport and the rest of the staff came over to see it, I am wondering at this point just how many travelers make it into this part of town. Were they curious as to where she was from? Did they just want to see a passport? I am reminded again that not everyone gets to travel, if you have a passport you are lucky.
We returned to the square somewhere around 4pm Beijing time, 2pm Xinjiang time and were met with thousands of people pouring out of the Id Kah Mosque.
Making it through the crowd was almost impossible so we retreated to our roof top hostel and watched it all unfold while drinking a warm Xinjiang beer. The streets surrounding the Mosque throbbed with humanity moving in all directions pushing their way through the small alleys and dispersing into the darkening haze.
The wind is picking up and I notice there is sand on my notebook. I smell like a BBQ and the buildings that were once in the distance are no longer visible. A sandstorm is blowing in. The owner of the hostel comes out and motions for us to come inside, instead I grab my camera. The streets are still full of people going about their normal day as the store front awnings flap violently in the wind and sand swirls in all directions.
The next day we decided to take a day trip out of Kashgar along the southern silk road into the Taklamakan desert. So far, we have avoided most of the checkpoints as we have been on trains. Bus journeys are a bit more complicated. The government has set up checkpoints all throughout the region that can increase your travel times up to 50% as the entire bus must disembark and walk through a building with a metal detector and a pat down, show your passport or ID card if you are a local then get back on the bus and prepare to do it all again a few kilometers down the road. We set off for the remote town of Yengisar. At the final check point before town the police were not too amused by our presence. “Where are you going?” I was asked. “Yengisar” I replied. “Why?” came the response. “For fun, just to see” as I made a motion to my eyes. “How long will you be there?” he was becoming more irritated. “Just a few hours and then we will go back to Kashgar”. He continued looking at our passports and finally waved us through as we were holding up the entire bus.
We were dropped off in Yengisar. There was nothing there. We walked along the streets for a while and there was not much to see. It was time for lunch and as usual we went off looking for a place that would have beer which was not likely as this is a very conservative town. We passed a hotel that had pictures of food and a beer on the window so we walked in. The lady at the front desk was startled and I made the motion that we were looking for food. They nervously looked around, she started pointing at various small rooms with a single table in the back. They quickly took us into one of these rooms and closed the door. Not all hotels in China can accept foreigners, in fact it is a small percentage that do. We were not in a foreigner approved hotel. She brought in a menu, there were no pictures. I knew the mandarin word for beer and she brought us in two. I started thumbing through my translation book and found the pinyon for green beans and egg flower soup. Within a few minutes our food arrived and it was wonderful. Each time I walked out of our private room to ask for another beer the startled staff would run over to me, grab a warm beer off the wall and motion me quickly back into the room. It was a delightful and relaxing lunch.
Our private hidden room
We decided it was time to try and find a ride back to Kashgar as it was getting late. There was no bus. We found a private car, paid a few yuan and headed back. Travelling through the desert listening to middle eastern sounding music and watching the crumbling towns pass by the windows is surreal. There are fields of cotton growing outside. We were nearing Kashgar when the young man in the front seat turned to us. His name is Abdul Halik and he works for the government in Yengisar and lives in Kashgar. “Where are you from?” “America”. “America! Welcome to Kashgar”
That night we collected food from the highly-animated night market across the street from the Mosque. Grilled meats, goat heads, noodle dishes and Opke Hessip a dish of lung and intestinal sausage which we gave a pass filled the stalls that were packed with locals.
The next day we had our typical steamed buns stuffed with greens and mutton, sweet milk and fried bread and made our way to the bus stop to the Grand Bazar.
Just crossing the main street in Kashgar entails an underground passageway complete with metal detectors. On the other side, we boarded the crowded bus for one yuan each. It was especially packed that day I believe due to the Sunday market. We found the market, it was easy to know when to get off, there are literally thousands of people overflowing onto the street.
After passing through another metal detector we dove into the bazar with the smells of cumin and BBQ drifting through the air. Terri-Lynn had a mission. She has been admiring the long colorful flared out jackets that most of the women here wear and she wanted one. After a few hours and a considerable amount of intense bargaining she was walking away with a new red coat. By this time it was nearly impossible to get through the crowds so we moved onto our next destination, the Afaq Khoja Mausoleum. We missed the stop this time on the bus and were dropped off somewhere far out of town, we got on another bus and I asked the driver to let us off at the mausoleum. There was too much construction and the route had been detoured. We were let off as close as possible and he pointed to the direction of the Mausoleum. After a few blocks we were hungry so we took a break from the current scavenger hunt, chose a small restaurant and ordered a dish of surprise, noodles and vegetables complete with a big mutton bone. It was delicious as always. The restaurants here all have a wood stove in the middle of the room topped by a large tea pot that local people huddle by for warmth.
We left and continued our search, we had reached a sort of dead end in the shape of a massive construction zone, or rather demolition area. Bulldozers furiously attacked the mud brick neighborhood while local people passed through on their way to the homes that were not yet in danger of being stripped away. In the middle of this war zone looking place was the Afaq Khoja Mausoleum. The Mausoleum was built by the Khoja family that ruled the region during the 17th and 18th centuries. It is a three-hectare complex filled with several Mosques and stunning Islamic architecture. It is said to be the holiest site in Xinjiang. Unfortunately, due to the construction we could not find a way to get in. We circled the entire complex tripping over the rubble of the neighborhood that used to stand here, passed through a cemetery, looked at the old homes across the street that were still standing and made our way out. Along the side of the road ornate wooden doors were stacked onto each other. We wondered if these would be used for the new buildings or if they would be shipped off to some import store in the west, we guessed the latter as on the other side of the Mausoleum stood a brand new and vacant yellow building that appeared to be a future shopping mall.
It was our last night in Kashgar. Tomorrow we would board a six-hour bus that would take us on the Karakoram Highway to Tashkurgan, the last town on the Chinese side before Pakistan. They were currently not requiring foreigners to have a special permit, the weather was clear and the state of the road was said to be good.
13. The Slow Road to Tashkurgan
It was time to leave Kashgar. I was ready to go. I felt happy and fortunate to be here, but when you stay in a place too long you begin to feel noticed. No longer an invisible voyeur. The looks you receive say, “you have overstayed your welcome”. You walk the same streets, visit the same shops, people know you. It was time to go. After walking through another metal detector, we bought our tickets at the empty and cold train station and waited. We had recently picked up another traveler, her name is Mai and she is traveling here alone from Japan. She asked if she could join us on our trip to Tashkurgan and we said yes. I had this uneasy feeling the bus would not be the large luxury model and I was right. We squeezed into a small minivan overloaded with people and supplies. This brought me back to the days of traveling overland through west Africa in dilapidated vehicles that would break down every few hours and I wondered if that would still appeal to me. Was I getting older? As the exhaust fumes were filling up the vehicle they were showing a safety film encouraging the passengers to wear their seatbelts. The film showed actual accidents with passengers flying through the air, of course our seat belts did not work. After one block, we stopped, and waited. This is the second time a driver stopped outside a bus station and picked up a passenger, we are assuming so they would not have to pass through the security checks, interesting.
The tightly packed bus coughed and rumbled to a start and headed off down the road towards the Karakoram Highway, very slowly. There is something else that is very different since the last time I was in China, the driving. In 2008 we called it passing on a blind curve, the drivers of buses and minivans would speed around the mountain roads as fast as the vehicles could go racing towards anything that was coming their way. This was no longer the case. The posted speed limit was 60 kmh and this is exactly how fast we were going. Traveling down a long straight road through the dessert with no other cars in sight at this speed seemed ridiculous. But I appreciated the change, we felt safe.
After about an hour we stopped in the small town of Upal that was having a market for breakfast. The usual stalls were selling the usual items, I have been enjoying the Samsas which are baked mutton dumplings. Some can be extremely delicious and others, like these not so much. I found myself spitting out the chewy fat with every bite I took while a lovely older Uighur lady played with Terri-Lynns hair and offered us Nan bread and bananas. I again was reminded of times eating street food that seemed questionable and later regretting it.
Back on the road we traveled up the Karakoram highway towards the Khunjerab pass, the border of Pakistan. Caravans have used This part of the silk road for centuries and the name Khunjerab translates to ‘valley of blood’ as local bandits would use the treacherous terrain to their advantage to slaughter merchants and ambush caravans. We entered the Ghez canyon which would be the first of many checkpoints. The red sandstone walls rose on each side of the road following the Ghez river. Soon the Kongur Mountain appeared on our left rising 7719 meters into the sky followed by Muztagh Ata an equaling impressive mountain whose summit is 7546 meters. I immediately wished we were outfitted for camping as the road nearly touched the glaciers.
The villages in Xinjiang remind me of Africa. Mud brick huts with drying chilies, nuts and melons. I was happy to be here. After a scenic and safe ride on the karakoram highway we arrived in Tashkurgan.
14. No Vacancy
They dropped us off in the middle of town. Looking left and right was the same, store fronts and BBQ’s. The Bus station hotel was closed. We walked. It did not take long for someone to find these three foreigners walking blindly through the town. Rahmir, a personable older gentleman approached us and offered to help. He knew where the hostel was and walked us there. He also owned a Pakistani restaurant and the thought of curry, was a refreshing change.
We stood outside of the hostel. The mountains framing our vision with a vacant looking building in view. We walked up the stairs, there was no one. The lobby could be wonderful in a backpacker sort of way. Couches, carpets, prayer flags, a full bar. At the right time of year this could be fun. But it was closed. The owner came out and said we could stay for 30 yuan a piece and showed us the options. The showers were brand new and the beds and linens perfect. But it was a construction zone with people working in different rooms. Ultimately, it was closed and being remodeled. Mai stayed, we moved on.
The next two hotels I had marked were also closed. Border towns. We flagged a taxi but at this point I have no other leads and our driver is Pakistani so my Chinese guide book is useless. I make the motion of sleeping. Our driver understands this and drives off, in a few blocks he picks up a friend and they have a lengthy discussion, I am assuming of where to take us. We drive off and in just a few turns they stop and motion for us to get out, they found us a hotel. This was not a metered trip so I hand him a 20 yuan note. He refuses and reaches into the wad of cash in my other hand and pulls out a 10.
Everywhere we have been we have met honesty and kindness. Maybe we’re just lucky. We are standing in a marble lobby and trying to get a room. There is no English. Other Chinese travelers are checking in quite efficiently. I really feel sorry for the people who must deal with us. This is nice, the girl behind the desk seems nervous. She holds up her phone with the text of “We are not allowed to accept foreigners” We just stand there. We have nowhere to go.
15. You made it
After an hour of standing in the lobby of the hotel we would not be able to stay in our girl behind the desk found us a room. She held up her phone that read “I am afraid they will not find me, I will come pick them” A black sedan pulls up and we have the largest trunk space for our backpacks this entire trip. It was the owner of the hotel, he takes me into our room, and excitedly raves of the heated floors. I am really looking forward to heated floors at this point.
I am sure too this hotel is not allowed to accept foreigners. We felt lucky to be here. It was the most luxurious room so far with a TV. After 12 nights in hostels this was a welcome change.
We went to the Pakistani restaurant for dinner. Chicken qurma, cheese soup and beef nehari , we asked Ramihr about finding a car to Khunjerab pass. A phone call was made. The driver was on his way. He arrived, we talked. We knew we would need a special permit from the police. The driver said not to worry he would get us there. We agreed to meet at 9am Xinjiang time, we left the restaurant and he wanted to show us his car “it’s the red one”.
The past few years we have taken a break from traveling. This trip reminded us how important it is. You place yourself in the hands of strangers. With no verbal communication, sometimes in the darkest night, no electricity, just a glow from the fire of a BBQ as you bounce down a rutted street. The smell of coal burning the air, the dust coating your eyes and filling your lungs.
I am happier tonight than I have been in a very long time. Walking through the Tashkurgan Tajik Autonomous region of the Pamir mountains. Negotiating our ride to the border and hearing them talking in the kitchen about “the Americans”. I feel better about the world, and people. This is proof our species will always welcome and assist another of its kind no matter how foreign they may be. Oh, and tomorrow is November 8th, 2016.
16. Decisions
I was awake at 6am, 4am Xinjiang time. We have rules while traveling. One is “keep a low profile” stay invisible. So, going to the police in a region you are not supposed to be in and staying in a hotel that may not be authorized to accept foreigners and then trying to get a permit to travel to a border that may be closed would not be staying under the radar. I have also inquired several times on this trip about permits and was told they are not allowing foreigners to the border “something happened” a Chinese tour guide in Kashgar told me. Terri-Lynn was awake. We both had the same concerns. We arrived at breakfast as promised and asked Ramihr to call the driver and cancel the trip. As expected, this would not be easy. I was excited about scrambled eggs. By this time steamed buns were getting old. The eggs arrived and they were creamy and sweet. They must have whipped sweet condensed milk into them, yay. We finished our sweet eggs and went back to the room.
I was on the toilet. There was a knock at the door. Terri-Lynn answered. “Tony, someone wants to talk to you” Our Pakistani driver found us. I walked out into the hallway where he was speaking with a staff of the hotel. I told him we would not be going, he said “no problem”. Upon leaving the hotel he was still in the lobby and now arguing with the owner, the man who had come and picked us up the day before. They pulled me in the argument and it seemed they wanted me to solve it. Here we were speaking Mandarin, English and Pakistani and the incoherent discussion became escalated with physical contact. I waved my hands with a “no problem” “sorry” gesture and walked away. I was sure we would return to the hotel with our backpacks on the street. I left thinking “so much for staying under the radar” now everyone in town will know the Americans started a fight between the Pakistanis and the Chinese.
But that was 10am, Beijing time. We went about our day and walked to the Tashkurgan fort. There is a new fashion here. Women wear pill box style hats with colorful scarves that drape downward. Men are still dressed in black. This town is mostly Tajik and Pakistani.
We are at 3600 meters (11,811 feet), the air is clean and crisp, the mountains have an alpine glow. I want to go hiking. We walked around the Tashkurgan Fort, a 1400-year-old ruin surrounded by a boggy plateau. Narrow fingers of water penetrated waving blades of grass and we found a bench on the board walk to have our lunch.
Take out is not typical. We ordered our dish and I motioned that we would want to carry it out. I admit, the visual translations are usually more humorous then helpful. It came on a plate. I made the motion again for a box, this time she understood though irritated, with a sour look she went back to the kitchen and returned with a Styrofoam container. We found our wine at one of the many Chinese stores. Why are these people here? There is no one here. We took our food and wine down to the boardwalk surrounded by yurts and mountains. This was it, we made it.
17. November 9th, 2016 (8th American time)
“Where are you from?”
“America”
“We are all Pakistani and Tajik here, we are peaceful people, we think the same.”
His name is Moquil Ali.
I told him “I am enjoying my time here, this is a very good place.”
“You are a peaceful man” he says, “it is good you are here”.
He asked me “Are you here with your family?”
“I am here with my wife. “
Sitting on a stool inside a small market next to the door he says “that is good, we are peaceful people”
I told him, “we are all the same, all of us.”
“Asalam Aleikum”
“Aleikum Asalam”
I left with my beers. He was still talking to the walls, but I was done.
I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of Terri-Lynn vomiting.
Shit. This is a typical thing. In most parts of the world there is no refrigeration, meat hangs in the sun, fish gasp for air on a sidewalk and the water is always a consideration. The constant cramping in her stomach kept her in a fetal position on the bed the entire morning when she was not throwing up.
Today is a six-hour bus ride.
At 7am Xinjiang time I walked to the bus station in complete darkness.
Terri-Lynn cannot carry her pack. There are already 20 people lined up to buy tickets, the bus here sat 14. I turn around and see the other options and find a car for 120 yuan per person. I tell him my wife cannot make It to the station, you must pick her up. He agrees. I walk back to the hotel with heated floors and flat screen TV, TL found a news station broadcasting our election. It was November 9, November 8 American time. It was early in the day, the first eight states posted the results. Trump was ahead 60 to 44. We had a six-hour drive ahead of us. I thought, when we get to Kashgar, we’ll know who won.
We are in a car, 3 in the back and 2 in the front with all our gear in the rear. TL is on the passenger side of a small car with two military girls in big puffy camo jackets alongside of her. We are traveling on the Karakoram Highway. One of the most spectacular roads in the world, it is a pleasure.
It was a hell of a trip for Terri-Lynn. She had been up vomiting with diarrhea since 3am and now was squished in the back of a taxi with two cute girls from the Chinese military in oversized puffy jackets for six hours. Luckily there was only one check point open today, and it had a W/C.
The long slow drive through towering mountains and rivers where grazing camels stood in the road brought us back to Kashgar. We are now going home. We splurged an extra 28 yuan, about $4 USD on a hotel for comfort, and for a TV to see the results of the election. We found a news station, it was all in Chinese and they were broadcasting our election. Trump looked sad. Hillary was smiling. Then an English sound bite came on, it was Trump. “I will be a president for all Americans.” I went to the bathroom and threw up.
My natural reaction was to find alcohol. A challenge in this conservative part of the world and especially this neighborhood. I returned to the hotel with two beers in a bag. After walking through the metal detector, the security guard stopped me and checked my bag. He waves his hands and says “No!” pointing to my beers. I stand there. He continues to motion me to go outside. I have traveled in dry countries and respect the culture. I was caught off guard, I should have known this is Kashgar but I was not in the mood. I refused to leave. We argued in sign language and he didn’t care so I motioned for him to get the man behind the desk, the one who checked us in. He shuffled off across the marble floors and returned with the manager. The manager looked in my bag, looked at me with a crooked grin, and waved me on allowing me to take my beers to the room. For the rest of our stay the security guard glared at me every time I walked by. I always smiled as I passed through the revolving doors.
18. The Long Road Home
The most rewarding form of travel is being lost. Placing your life in the hands of a stranger and allowing them to carry you through. But this time it felt different. This was a new kind of lost, completely disconnected from friends and family during a very interesting time in our history. I felt isolated, but I also felt incredibly connected to the girl that was standing next to me on this journey.
The news spread quick. The day after the election I spent my day in Kashgar buying items to take home. Saffron is 150 yuan a kilo. As he continued to scoop up the delicate red stamens, the large plastic bag was becoming as large as my backpack. I was dancing inside, but wondered how I was going to get all of this home.
Then the usual question “where are you from?”
“America”.
I paid and a young man across the room in front of a computer looked up at me and said “President Trump”. I motioned “No, very bad, we are very ashamed.” I think they understood and seemed to offer me their condolences.
We arrived at the train station in Kashgar at 2pm Beijing time, noon Xinjiang time. After four security check points and being felt up by a young exotic girl in a surgical mask we were in the station, tickets in hand. We paid for a soft sleeper as it has a door and we found the bathrooms in this car are cleaned often and there was even a western toilet. The train was filling up and I had a feeling we would have a roommate, we did. His name is Juong. I’m sure the look on my face the moment he walked in our berth was not the most welcoming. After getting settled in he reaches in his bag and hands me a beer. Juong is a delightful roommate. From what I can tell he is an art distributor as he types away on his IPad. We all ate our dinner of dried noodles and drank a few beers. He found a movie on his IPad that was in English with Mandarin subtitles. We watched the film together, a documentary about Greenpeace activists risking their lives in the Antarctic to stop the illegal Japanese whalers. Terri-lynn is on the upper bunk and I am writing a few notes. I neglect to brush my teeth and drift off to the clank bum clank bum clank bum of the slow train to Urumuqi.
We slept 11 hours and woke up just before 9am Beijing time. Aside from a 2am stop when people kept opening our door with bright lights and talking loudly in Chinese it was one of the best sleeps this trip. I realized we could possibly continue, skip the hassle of Urumuqi and gain a day by continuing to Jiayuguan. Our train arrived in Urumuqi at 11am, we got off and made our way to the transfer window. The lady behind the glass was not understanding where we wanted to go. She placed a “closed” plaque on the window and walked out. She came out, picked up my extra bag on the floor and motioned for us to follow her. She walked us around the security checkpoints and took us to a window that was closed. She said something to the man behind the glass and the word “English”. She smiled and waved goodbye.
“It would be my pleasure to assist you in your travel sir”, said the man behind the glass. This was the first time I would buy a ticket in English. I was excited.
I told him where we wanted to go, Jiayuguan and the soonest train possible.
“Fast train ok?” he says.
“That would be wonderful.”
We purchased our tickets, the train leaves in 90 minutes.
It has been eight years and this is an all-new China. I have not had to use a squat toilet this entire trip.
19. The Fast Train to Jiayuguan
We are speeding across the desert on the fast train to Jiayuguan on what feels like an airplane. Gone is the rhythmic rumble and clank of the tracks as we float by at 205 kilometers per hour. Carts go by with food and drink, announcements are made in Mandarin and English and the toilets have soap and toilet paper. We will reach our destination in six hours.
We are approaching the Hexi corridor from the ‘sand demon wastelands of Central Asia’ towards the boundary of Imperial China as the mountains rose on both sides. I marveled at the original silk road travelers that made this journey through this unknown and harsh terrain. I wondered how they survived the barren desert where nothing grows and there is no water, trading goods and spreading religion. The silk road has a powerful draw, even to this day as we find ourselves following the paths of the caravansaries.
We arrive in Jiayuguan after a twenty-five-hour travel day from Kashgar, it was an easy and pleasant journey across the desert. Upon existing the station the usual line of taxi drivers were waiting for us, we chose one and showed the pinyon script for where we wanted to go. It was the first time in weeks that we had a Chinese driver so he could read where we wanted to go. It was a thirty-minute drive into town through what appeared to be a very clean and orderly city and we were dropped off in an area of department stores. We found the hotel and walked in. The girls behind the desk immediately freaked out and began motioning for us to go saying “No” “No”. An older lady with visible plastic surgery, nice clothes and stiletto heels hurriedly rushed us out of the hotel which now appeared to be a brothel. A friend of ours, a Parisian living in Hong Kong who travels often in China told me before this trip, “Leave your guide book at home, it will be no use to you” She was right. Almost every hotel suggested was either closed or, in this case is a hooker den.
We walked out of the brothel and our cab driver was waiting for us, he motioned for us to get it. He drove us two blocks to a hotel that looked as if we could not afford, but it didn’t matter at this point and we were ahead of budget. I tried to offer him some extra yuan for the trip and he refused to take it, smiled and waved goodbye.
At the beginning of this trip I commented to Terri-Lynn how easy it was getting around, we were staying in hostels instead of guest houses and hotels. I realized hostels are accustomed to seeing foreign travelers and so there is always some English spoken, Chinese hotels do not, this was the most challenging check in we have had. For thirty minutes, we attempted to understand the cost and deposit and communicate the length of our stay. Prices kept changing, they were very expensive. I finally typed into their phone “Cheap discount room”. She smiled and understood that, she wrote on a piece of paper 150 yuan and 500 deposit. Great, we’ll take it.
We had not had a proper meal for two days and we were excited about dinner. We walked around for an hour, most places were closed and we finally found an expensive looking Hot Pot restaurant. They were very welcoming even though it looked as if they were about to close. Three people helped us go through the menu without English. We ordered the broth, greens, tofu and beef. This turned out to be the best meal of the trip so far, the beef was like a thinly sliced high grade carpaccio. Terri-Lynn was still getting over her food poisoning so she had rice. It was apparent they do not see foreigners much as the entire staff came out with their phones and took pictures with us for 15 minutes. As they left we could hear them giggling and talking down the hall. This was one of those special moments of travel and was worth the price of the meal. We felt happy. I looked at Terri-Lynn from across the table, a slice of raw beef in my chopsticks and said “where are we going next?”
20. Love on the Great Wall
We stopped off in Jiayuguan to do something we rarely do, play tourist. The first time we came to China I was not too interested in seeing the Great Wall, this time was different. Partly because it made sense as it tied in with our trip. Our way back to Beijing would take us through the Gansu province and the Hexi corridor to the end of the Great Wall. It was here the silk road entered Imperial China, it was called the throat of China, the end of the Great Wall was the end of the civilized world as the Chinese knew it. Beyond they said was a vast barren landscape with stories of sand demons and the barbarians of central Asia, Xinjiang the new frontier. Surprisingly there is no public transport to the sites, so we flagged a taxi, showed him the pinyon where we wanted to go, agreed on a price of 200 yuan for the day and we were off. The first stop was a museum and a replica of a fort along a gorge with an icy river below. We explored the area, crossed a suspension bridge, found our driver, and continued to the wall.
Sometimes it is fun to play tourist, especially in China. You are usually the only foreigner in sight and the Chinese tourists are always happy and smiling with selfie sticks. We started our hike up the Great Wall and a group of young girls excitedly approached Terri-Lynn and started taking pictures. This went on for at least ten minutes as they each needed a personal photo on their individual phones.
After a sweaty climb, we reached the top. The view out over the desert went to the horizon, nothing in site. It made us wonder why people were fighting over this land which is the reason this enormous wall was built. Looking over the wall back towards Jiayuguan was a nuclear plant. A surreal blend of ancient and present China.
We walked through one of the restored bastions at the top and came upon thousands of locks, the kind lovers leave to eternalize their love and commitment to each. In the past I have looked at this as littering, but this was a pretty site. Looking up we saw the man sitting in a shack, selling the locks. I saw the look on Terri-Lynn’s face. I guess if you are going to do this once in your life it may as well be on top of the Great Wall of China. He had us write our names in a book, ours was the only one not in Pinyon. He engraved our names on the lock and motioned for us to write something else. Our thirty-year anniversary is in four months, we wrote “30 years” He engraved that too with today’s date, November 12, 2016. He put the lock in place, we took pictures and started our walk down. I looked at Terri-Lynn and said “I might want to come back here someday”.
21. Blowing our Yuan
This will be the first time we have come on a trip and not had to take out extra money or put a hotel on a credit card. Even though prices have increased 2-3 times what they were eight years ago, China is still an affordable and exciting destination. It looks as if we have some disposable yuan, we started buying souvenirs and gifts a few days ago, such as my half kilo of saffron for 75 yuan, about eleven US dollars.
We smelled our way through a tea shop and picked out a black tea with fruity accents. Large bags of tea piled in perfect pyramids covered the street outside the shop. We found more raisins from Turpan, red ones this time. Terri-Lynn started feeling sick again so even though it was early we found a place for dinner. The dish we ordered read “boiled and fried beef”. What arrived was a bowl of soup, but rather than stock it was pure oil with beef and vegetables floating in it.
The Uighur food was good, seemingly healthy, and aside from the occasional over sheepy mutton was quite delicious. For some reason the Chinese food this trip has been especially greasy with the bottom of the dishes consisting of a half an inch of oil and mediocre at best. Our last trip here was in the southwest and I recall the food being amazing. We have reached the part of the trip where a hamburger is starting to sound good.
Terri-Lynn was up all night sick again and we decided to consider a direct train to Beijing. We still had over half way to go to get across the country, we had done what we came to do and saw what we wanted to see, let’s go home.
22. The Slow Train to Beijing
We walked into the station in Jiayuguan. No cameras, no tanks, no military, no guns, no inspection, no metal detectors, no questions. We were no longer in Xinjiang. There was a train leaving in 90 minutes at 12:30 and arriving the next day at 7:30pm, a thirty-one-hour journey. We stocked up on food and beer, it looked ridiculous how many dried noodles and beers I was buying and the lady behind the counter was laughing. We were also able to book the two lower bunks as the ticket seller spoke some English. We booked a soft sleeper. Soft sleepers cost almost twice as much as a hard sleeper, they are the first class of train travel in China. A big difference is the berths have a door, useful if people are smoking in the hallways, boarding the train in the middle of the night or just staying up partying and drinking. They also clean the bathrooms and mop the floors regularly, and there was a western toilet.
We found our berth, it was beautiful complete with a flower on the table. Terri-Lynn came back to our berth and with a big smile on her face said “There’s a dining car!” Our car was also mostly empty so hopefully we would not have anyone else in the upper bunks and this would be a luxurious and romantic ride on the rails to Beijing.
The train creeped slowly out of the station into the barren lifeless desert past windblown hills, mud brick settlements, grazing camels, and the occasional electrical wire, and then nothing. I had my dinner of dried noodles, Terri-Lynn ate cucumbers and bananas as she was still sick. The romantic notion of eating in the dining car would not be happening tonight. We stopped at non-descript terminals picking up 2-3 passengers at a time and some cities, typical Chinese developments of buildings that are all identical, skyscrapers, some unfinished with cranes on top. Building, building, somehow China is always building. And the people come, migrating to work, maybe for just a few months out of the year and then returning home to their families. And then returning, to a concrete block. This may be a highlight of the trip. Atypical as the end is rarely something to remember. But here we are, two people who live, work, play and love together on a trip where everything has been left behind. The Chinese government helped by cutting off access to our internet accounts. We are completely by ourselves. We spend our nights talking about the day and planning the next move. I will finish writing a few notes tonight. Tomorrow we will have a full day of travel towards Beijing, towards our little dog, our friends and family, and towards an all new America.
The train seemed mostly empty. The conductors and staff standing by with a look of boredom on their faces. At five o’clock they all gathered in the dining cart for a meal of rice and cigarettes. This was the life I saw in China. Storefront workers watching movies on their phones waiting for a customer, restaurants with 30 employees sleeping on the tables until we walk in and then being woken to be attentive. The train staff with blank facial expressions falling asleep while staring at the foreigners on this long slow ride to Beijing. I like China, I Liked it eight years ago, It is an easy and challenging place to travel through.
My dreams are always more intense when I travel. Foreign beds write colorful dreams, rarely nightmares, more like episodes of your present life of family and friends, your dog, episodes of unreality, things that could never happen. Riding a thirty-foot wave collapsing on a shore and being met by a slender white faced doll on a motorbike in stilettos taking you to a steam filled bath house with beds heated by stone while dozens of hands pummel your mussels as the sweat drips off your skin and the smell of sweet tea enlivens your senses enough to stay conscious. And then you wake up on a train. Somewhere around 2 am the door opened and we had a new roommate. The next morning, we continued our way west.
The view from the dirt stained window was the same. Brown hills of nothing, sometimes electrical wires, occasional towns, and the eventual train station. We were now 24 hours, 3 cups of instant noodles and 8 beers into the 31 hour journey, we made our way to the dining car.
23. Culture Shock
I always try to disconnect when we travel, Teri-Lynn likes to blog. This always leads to a distraction in travel. An email coming in, work issues, things we can do nothing about as you are a world away. The Chinese government gave us this freedom on this trip. Google, facebook, twitter, Instagram, blocked. It is a good thing people do not know where we are or how to find us. This gave us independence, freedom to explore with no attachments. I wrote an email before we left, “Don’t worry, we always come back.”
31 hours on a train is a long time. We made it to Beijing, it was already dark. Then the usual, find a taxi and be patient. Our cab driver was an idiot. Even after calling the hostel he dropped us off in the wrong hutong. We walked down a narrow alley and passed a security guard. I showed him the address in pinyon, he pointed forward then left. We reached a main street, turned left, and saw the sign for Shuitang Hutong. After another ten-minute walk through a dark alley we saw the red lanterns welcoming us to our room for the night, we walked through the door and wanted to run.
Beijing is a culture shock. A world away from Xinjiang. A world away from the Uighur minority region. A world away from Tashkurgan. Transported into Beijing tourism, the forbidden city and Tiananmen square. We decided to just dive into hostel land and have a few drinks in the bar. We watched an ‘international dj’ impress anyone that would listen, “Let me tell you about…” he would always start off. There were incapable travelers not even willing to purchase their own train tickets harassing the girls behind the desk and asking way too many questions while another traveler tried to convince one of the girls to show her around town on her day off.
“It is your day off tomorrow, that is great! You can show me around and take me to the silk market.” She sternly said, not asking
“No, I do not have the time.” Came the reply.
“But I will pay you”
24. End
On my first trip to Africa I wrote “You travel to come back changed, not the same as when you left.” Xinjiang gave me everything I came for. We always read the travel warnings and take them for what they are. “You will be spit on” “They’ll chop your arms off” “You will be kidnapped”.
My greatest fear of traveling here was not the tanks on the street, automatic weapons, bomb scares or mass stabbings at the train and bus stations. I told Terri-Lynn my greatest fear on this trip was landing on an icy runway in Urumuqi. And that too was not true, I have seen the greatest fear I traveled to see. To witness and feel the encroachment and dilution of a culture while towns are taken away and replaced with at best a replica or at worst, a shopping mall. How the Uighur people can do nothing about it but sit by and watch.
One block from old Kashgar where skinned sheep hung from hooks and BBQ smoke filled the air outside of the Id Kah Mosque there were boutique stores selling $20,000 yuan designer coats to wealthy Chinese tourists. Guards searched the trunks of the cars as they entered the parking lot. Uighur music filled the courtyard, elderly bearded men in mink hats sat chatting while camels drooled in the sun. This is Kashgar, Xinjiang. And I was happy I came here.
Thanks Terri-Lynn for liking what I like