Chapter 6: Karakoram Highway to Urumqi, Xinjiang, China

Our bus tickets in hand, having made arrangements with the PTC (Pakistan Tourism Commission) the previous afternoon, we cleared Pakistani exit immigration and made the scenic climb over the last stretch of the KKH, through the northern reaches of the steep and rugged Karakorams and into the broad plains of the Pamir Range. At the official border on the Khunjerab Pass, the smartly dressed Pakistani guard and the rather disheveled People's Liberation Army soldier made an interesting contrast. Several Landcruisers filled with Chinese tourists taking a peek at Pakistan were parked on the other side as well as several cycle-touring westerners heading the opposite direction from Xinjiang to Pakistan.

After a long downhill drive back on the right side of the road for the first time in 5 months, we got to Tashkurgan and cleared Chinese immigration by mid-afternoon, just in time to check into the Ice Mountain Hotel and take a walk down the main street into a dust storm. We were technically in China, but it certainly wasn't a China that we were familiar with. It had the air of a remote outpost (which it was) with little more to offer on its main strip than small, poorly stocked shops and a handful run-down restaurants. It was grey, windy and dusty. Welcome to China.

The gloomy atmosphere of Tashkurgan prompted us to make plans to leave the next morning, even though it turned out to be a nice sunny day. Nobody at the bus station seemed sure when the bus was actually leaving. the confusion mainly stemming from the time difference between official Beijing time and the unofficial local time which is 2 hours behind. Then, because of the number of people waiting, a "special tourist bus" was requisitioned. After a 2-hour wait, we finally boarded our bus which was bound for Kashgar, the old silk road oasis town situated at the western junction of the northern and southern routes that encircled the Taklamakan Desert. The only thing "special" about this bus was that it was ridiculously slow! It was either severely underpowered or there was something stuck under the accelerator because it never moved at faster than a brisk walk, except when going downhill (and then it only sped up to a brisk jog). So we decided to get off at Kara Kul Lake, nestled between the snowcapped peaks of Mustagh Ata and Kongur. We were greeted by offers of horse and camel rides around the lake (for a price, of course) and chose the latter since neither of us had been on one before. Barely fifteen minutes later we regretted the decision and headed back early, but not before Vivian's butt cheeks were rubbed raw by the so-called saddle. My bony butt had less flesh to rub and fared better.

The official government-approved 'tourist inn' was rather unappealing, so we took the suggestion of three British/American girls who had just finished teaching English in Sichuan and all headed off to a Kirghiz village a little further down the lakeshore that one of them had found earlier on a horseback ride. Upon arriving, we were offered a late lunch of nan-style bread freshly baked in an outdoor oven, yak yoghurt and tea, served in their yurt (traditional cloth tents of grassland nomads). Later, they invited us to stay for dinner and the night. The five of us agreed to pay for half a lamb if they would slaughter it for dinner, but two of the girls backed out after watching the procedure. That left Vivian, Sara and me to consume a rather large portion of very plainly boiled lamb. I communicated with the head honcho using his rather limited Mandarin and I guess I forgot to make clear that we would have preferred it roasted. Oh well. . .

Our plans to stay the night in an authentic yurt were upset when the proprietors of the official government-approved 'tourist inn' found out about us and threatened the family with a 1000 yuan fine if we didn't leave. So we went back to the 'zhao dai suo' as it's called in Chinese and stayed in a yurt built on a wooden platform and which lacked most of the atmosphere (and smells) of the authentic one. Pre-dawn light over Kongur Peak and the reflection of Mustagh Ata in the lake greeted us the next morning, though the chill of being at 4000 meters above sea level persuaded us to get back under the covers ("us" actually means "me", as Vivian rarely makes these early-morning sorties).

We missed the one bus that goes past the lake around midday due to more confusion over Beijing and local time (again), but managed to hitch a ride in a Landcruiser with some rather unimpressively sleazy locals. They insisted on completely running out of fuel before filling up the tank from some cans they had in the back. Then, they had fuel pump problems (no doubt having something to do with all the crud in the bottom of the gas tank getting sucked in through the fuel lines). We eventually gave up on their stop-and-go tactics and transferred to some public transport followed by a taxi once we got close enough to Kashgar. There were some amazing canyons and other geological formations along the way from Kara Kul Lake, so it was too bad that we were distracted from the scenery by our worries of being stranded in literally the middle of nowhere with ruffians I wouldn't trust as far as I could spit.

Upon arriving in Kashgar we checked into a hotel that used to be the Russian Consulate back around the turn of the century. It was a crap place, the shared toilets being easily found by following your nose, so we opted for a room w/bath that turned out to have a full-size tub (ah ... the pleasures of a hot bath!). The next day we moved to the former British Consulate, now also converted into a hotel. Both these places were important during the height of foreign exploration along this part of the Silk Road. (I highly recommend Peter Hopkirk's "Foreign Devils on the ..." which tells the stories of these explorers and much history and background on this fascinating region.) The room we moved into was a dorm and our roommate was a really nice Israeli named Iftach. We ended up touring Kashgar and the rest of Xinjiang with him and his cast iron stomach.

Uighers (pronounced 'WEE-gurs') make up the majority of the population in Xinjiang, but Kashgar is an important trading town and attracts minorities from all over the region including Tajiks, Uzbekis, Kirghiz and Mongols. But it's still a Uigher town and you can find their favourite foods everywhere: lamb shish kebab, nan bread, and handmade noodles fried with peppers, tomatoes and small pieces of mutton (called 'lamen'). Uighers are muslim, but are much more relaxed than their Pakistani neighbours and women openly take part in public society.

The best thing about Kashgar is the Sunday Bazaar. It's very lively and has just about anything and everything can could imagine (need a donkey or a shave?). We enjoyed some fresh yoghurt bought on the street in front of the market and had a great time wandering around and watching the locals buying and selling.

After the bazaar, we ran into a Dutch guy who was on our bus from Pakistan. He'd been complaining of aches and pains and we offered to go with him to the hospital to get it checked out. The whole procedure was much easier than we thought it would be, partly because Kashgar is a small city and people tend to be friendlier, and partly because the staff found it such a novelty to be treating a foreigner. They charged Peter more than "people's price", but only slightly more and not the ridiculous rates that we'd heard other big noses getting charged.

Traditional Uigher architecture consists of mud-walled buildings, enclosed courtyards and narrow alleyways. Modern Chinese architecture dictates stark, concrete, block-shaped buildings flanking absurdly wide boulevards that require packing a picnic lunch before a crossing is contemplated. We tried to stick to the older parts of town and spent several pleasant days visiting sights like the Idkah Mosque, Xiang Fei Tomb (that of a princess so beautiful that she continued to exude a lovely frangrance after death), several other tombs and museums, and watching Iftach sample all manner of local delicacies, including a dramatically prepared yoghurt drink made from the bane of all travelers, suspicious ice.

Xinjiang is a big place. It took us almost 24 hours travelling non-stop to get less than halfway across the province by sleeper bus: 3 aisles of semi-reclining double bunks - not a bad way to travel long distance in China. I say "not bad" meaning the same seemingly endless journey over short sections of pavement separated by long, bumpy detours around constructions zones if taken in a regular Chinese bus (i.e. knees jammed into the seatback in front of you) would cause pain and suffering you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy. The highlight of the trip was a mid-night meal stop at a collection of grimy roadside restaurants. The lighting was dim and smoky, the tables and chairs sticky to the touch, the staff rude and grumpy, and the food barely recognizable. Don't even ask about the restrooms. Iftach, of course, tucked into a bowl of lamen with reckless abandon.

Kuche was an important oasis town on the northern branch of the Silk Road. Disappointingly, it's been completely modernized by the Chinese with yet more ridiculously wide, dusty streets and very little feeling of community. We checked into a pathetic looking hotel and tried to wash the journey off our bodies. The altitude there must be significantly lower than in Kashgar, as the heat prompted me to try the air conditioner in an attempt to get some relief. All it did was make a lot of noise.

The next day we took a taxi to the Kizil Thousand Buddha Caves and finally got to see one of the places mentioned in the "Foreign Devils" book I'd been reading where western explorers cut frescoes out of the walls and shipped them back home. Just as described by Mr. Hopkirk, our guide took us from cave to cave and pointed to scarred walls telling us that such and such ancient artwork had been "stolen". But the Chinese have found a way of getting revenge by charging exorbitant prices to enter the few remaining caves with relatively intact frescoes.

When we came back to town for dinner, we ran into a Taiwanese grad student that we had first met on the bus from Tashkurgan to Kara Kul Lake. He helped us out in two ways, first by pointing out that Vivian's 'visa' to the PRC was going to expire in a week (it starts on the day it's issued, not on the day you enter the country) and second by telling us about a Mongol festival to be held shortly at one of the largest grass plains in China. We couldn't get an extension in Kuche, but obtained travel permits for our next destination, which we didn't think we'd need but came in handy in the end.

Another long, uncomfortable, but this time very scenic bus ride through red canyons, snowcapped mountains and rushing rivers brought us to the grasslands of Bayingbuluke ("ba" "ing" "boo" "loo" "ke"). It was quite late and all the hotels were booked out by the Chinese tour groups in town for the festival. Seeing what I thought was a gathering of yurts in the distance, we marched off only to discover that they were concrete 'tourist-approved' yurts. While I asked about possible accommodations, Vivian and Iftach found the real yurts and a Mongol family willing to share theirs with us. But just as I was trying to make a quick getaway from the concrete yurt booking office, the local official came along, started asking all kinds of questions and was all ready to ding us with a fine for being in a restricted area and charge us for the necessary permits. That's when we pulled out the ones we'd obtained in Kuche and made our escape (better luck ripping off visitors next time, sucker!). He did manage one final parry as we had to listen to him lecture us on proper procedures, the benevolence of the Motherland towards her minorities and the immorality of foreigners taking advantage of said minorities before he let us go to sleep.

The next morning, we watched our host family serve a breakfast of tea and fried dough to several tens of fellow festival attendees. The three of us sat waiting patiently, assuming that we would also be offered something at a convenient time. Eventually, it became clear that nothing was coming our way, so in my inimitable shy and reserved manner, I asked if we might have something to eat. Our otherwise hospitable hosts seemed somewhat taken aback, as if the idea had never occurred to them. We were then served the same fried dough and tea that everyone else had received. I couldn't quite figure out exactly what was going on, but suspected that some kind of prepaid meal plan or rotating duty roster was behind the (in our eyes) strange behaviour.

After breakfast and an excursion to what passed for the toilets (the knee-high remnants of a brick foundation for a small hut that everyone squatted in/near/beside) we watched the opening ceremony and the horse racing qualifiers, but it didn't live up to our expectations of a traditional Mongol festival. The opening ceremonies had just a bit too much Communist "ra-ra" flavour for our taste and after the horse races, there wasn't all that much to do. No sign of the famed Mongol wrestling matches, despite our earnest inquiries. So we took a trip to a nearby scenic sight, "Swan Lake" (no swans, but a few ducks), and got on a bus the next day headed east. Our early morning departure was made memorable by my discovery of a sheep's head left to age where we'd been storing our packs in the yurt and explained where that funky odour I'd noticed was coming from.

The views of the open grassy plains were beautiful, but the bus had an exhaust leak, the road and suspension were crap, and we were crammed into the back row of seats. Not a comfortable ride. After six hours with only a couple of quick pee breaks, we switched to a much more comfortable train and made it most of the way to Turpan, located in the second lowest depression in the world (much of it 100 meters below sea level). So in 12 hours of surface travel we went from cool evenings and comfortable days to sweltering nights and 45°C highs.

Turpan is another famous archeological center on the Silk Road and we did our best to see the sights without baking to death. This meant returning to the 'up at dawn, sleep through midday, tour at dusk' routine we used in parts of India. The best thing we saw was the Jiaohe ruins, a city that thrived during the peak of Silk Road trading, but the heat was too much, even at 7AM. That's when I really started feeling really run down and noticed other symptoms that warned me that things were not normal. I'd been feeling some abdominal discomfort in Kuche and a pronounced lack of energy at the Mongol festival.So we made for the provincial capital of Urumqi to get things checked out straight away.

I'd been unable to eat much for the past several days and even just the thought of lamb (the staple meat) was enough to make my stomach turn. So as soon as we arrived, Iftach and I headed for the "Holiday Inn, Urumqi", found the restaurant and ordered something familiar to eat. I ordered the Club Sandwich. Iftach, despite his cast iron stomach starting to give out on him, went for the all-you-can-eat buffet. The next morning I called some people my father happened to know in town and they took me to the hospital and Vivian to get her visa extended. The doctor took one look at me and noticed I was jaundiced (you don't spend much time looking into the mirror while budget traveling as their often aren't any in the rooms) and was pretty sure I had hepatitis. I pretty much felt like the walking dead at this point so we didn't do much except crash in our hotel room and go to the good old Holiday Inn again. I'd been happily eating mostly Asian food for the last 6 years. But the way I was feeling, I couldn't stomach anything but western cuisine.

The next day, I went for an ultrasound and blood tests. The prior showed that my liver and spleen were enlarged so it seemed that hepatitis was highly likely. We decided not to hang around and wait for the blood test results since, if it was hep, I'd just have to stay put somewhere and rest. We booked the the first flight out for Guangzhou and thanked our hosts who made everything SO much easier (and cheaper) than it would have been doing it all on our own.

The next day, after a 6 hour flight to Guangzhou, several hours transferring by bus to the new Kai Tak Airport in Hong Kong, and a 2-1/2 hour flight to Taipei, we were back where we started. Quite amazing, really. The original plan had been to travel to Yunnan province in SW China, overland to Laos, then on to Bangkok from where we would have flown back to Taipei. Instead, we spent about a month and a half split between Vivian's sister's livingroom and the spare room in my cousin's house.

The blood tests done in Taipei were inconclusive and showed I had antibodies for hep A and B before (I've been vaccinated for B, but haven't knowlingly had A - it turns out it was hepatitis E that shut down our trip). After resting from the end of July to the second week of September, I thought I was all better and headed for North America, making use of free tickets courtesy of China Airlines (Vivian's former employer).