I've been putting off this blog all week just because I know it's going to be long and I have other things to do. The weekend is finally here, and although I still have a couple of midterms, things have slowed down for a bit.
Xinjiang was a ton of fun. We've been talking about going to Xinjiang ever since we walked into a Xinjiang restaurant and ate
dapanji-big plate of chicken. The grilled lamb kebabs found nearly everywhere in Chengdu cemented the deal. We had to go.
In both October and May there is a week-long holiday in China. Nearly everyone has the time off, (although they are forced to work the weekends to make it up) and they often use it for travel. Traveling is insane; the trains are packed, the airfares are high, and the buses are stuffed to the brim with workers and students returning home. Although taking the train would have been cheaper, we couldn't afford to spend three days on the train each way. In the end, we opted to fly.
Flying to the capital of Xinjiang, a city that looks just like nearly every other city in China, takes well over three hours. We arrived in the evening, grabbed our bags and headed out to catch a cab. We'd been warned that cab drivers in Urumqi were notorious for their bad practices, so when we asked the driver to use the meter we weren't surprised that he ignored us and only after some badgering did he comply with our request.
After checking into the youth hostel, we headed out to the night market. Our guide book listed this as one of the only things to do in Urumqi, and added that it was not to be missed.
The night market stretched down a narrow road for about six blocks. Every stall sold some sort of kebab, and many more additionally sold noodles, yogurt, naan bread, and other treats. I love Xinjiang food...
The next morning we met up with some other foreigners we had met in Chengdu. They have been living in Xinjiang for nearly a year now, so they were familiar with the layout of the city and could give us some advice. Our first order of business was to take a trip to the train station. We wanted to get on a fast train to Kashgar. While we were standing in line, we met another European foreigner. He looked like one of those rejected by the West types. He was drunk, dressed in Hawaiian garb, and had a girlfriend young enough to be his daughter. We told him our destination, and he commented that ha ha, if we find Bin Laden, ha ha, we were not to turn him over to the Americans, ha ha.
No fast train tickets were left, the only train that we could get took over twenty-four hours.
The entire trip is made through the desert. At times you can see ruins of some homes or a small town just off the horizon. At others, dusty mountains tower over the tracks. The ride was hot. Every hour or so, we would open the windows to let fresh air in. About ten minutes after that, a Chinese person would come along and close all of them. Sometimes it was justified; the wind would blow and all the passengers would suddenly be covered in a layer of dust. But most of the time it wasn't justified. It was hot, and the open windows helped a lot. This opening and shutting of windows went on all day, all evening, and all the next day until we finally pulled into the Kashgar station.
The hotel we were booked into claimed to be the sight of the former British consulate in Kashgar. It’s hard to know what to believe, the place looked just like every other building in China, and the interior was most definitely a hotel. The hotel was comprised of several cookie cutter buildings, all with different names. The building we stayed in was called the Qinibagh, the one across the way had the word “International” written in English, and the word “Friendship” written in Chinese.
Because we’re all poor students, we opted for a three-bed cheap room. We didn’t know this until we got there, but the place we were staying in was under construction. It was obvious when we walked in the doors that something was amiss. All the lights were out, and you could hear workers banging around with their hammers and things. When we stepped off the elevator, we very nearly walked into a bucket of paint. Everyday we had to walk over piles of newspaper on the floor, duck hanging wires, and avoid piles of debris to get to our room. The electricity was iffy, the wall had a hole in it, and the water only had two temperatures: scalding and ice.
We decided to check out the night market and see what we could scrounge up for dinner. As usual, everything was delicious and we got to try several things we’d never had before. On our way back to the hotel, Sarah and I passed a shop that was selling fur hats. The best ones they had were hats made from sheep. Not wool hats, sheep hats. I tried to resist buying them, but the urge was too great. I’m sure you’ll agree they were a worthwhile purchase!
Our last stop before turning in was at a small stall near our hotel. The vendor was making a drink out of yogurt, honey and ice, which he mixed expertly by flicking his wrist causing the drink to splash up and back into the small bowl. While we were drinking, an English-speaking guy approached and introduced himself as a tour guide. I thought he was going to try and sell us one of his tours, but nope, he just wanted to warn us to eat something hot afterwards otherwise would be spending the whole night puking. With that friendly reminder, he trudged off into the night.
Our first full day in Kashgar was spent at the morning market. The city isn’t very big; everywhere we wanted to go was within walking distance. The morning market was a covered market, and nearly every stall was jammed with prayer rugs and hajib scarves. We spent a lot of time just wandering around looking at all that could be had. The biggest mosque in China is located in Kashgar and in order to visit we were told that we would have to cover up. Even though there was a huge selection, most of the scarves weren’t that pretty or just didn’t suit our tastes. The women in Kashgar dressed differently than the women in other parts of China. Some women wore more rustic looking traditional clothes, but more often than not, the women were wearing gaudy, loud, neon colored, sparkly dresses. I couldn’t figure it out; here these women were going about their daily routine in ugly sparkly dresses! I wish I had taken more pictures of this; it was way too funny.
After making all our purchases, we decided to walk to the mosque. On every street corner, people were selling fruit and spices that we don’t see in the rest of China. There was a ton of pomegranate merchants, most of them making juice out of the fruit with large, spiky contraptions.
The mosque itself was rather small. At the entrance there was a sign talking about how wonderful China is for allowing freedom of religion, and how the minorities all sought unity with Beijing and the country at large. This kind of propaganda was everywhere in Kashgar (which ironically is home to the largest statue of Mao in the world). Xinjiang is not one of China’s happiest places, but yet if you believed everything that was written, you would think it was paradise.
We booked a tour with our hotel to Karakul Lake and the Stone Castle. Included in the tour was a “home visit.” Also included was a stay in a yurt at the lakeside. The guy who booked our tickets had a friend who let us stay at his place, bypassing the tourist yurt-motel area and the accompanying fees.
The next morning we got up early and drove several hours to a small town called Tashkurgan near the border of Pakistan. On the way, we had to stop and go through a Chinese checkpoint. No pictures were allowed, but vendors had already sought out the lonely spot and were selling their wares.
The Stone Castle is located just outside Tashkurgan’s small downtown. A total of maybe a dozen buildings housing grocery stores and restaurants were all that was there. In the far corner of the town was the ruin of what we were told was Stone Castle. I really have no idea what this fortress was; I’ve searched the internet and haven’t turned up anything useful. Needless to say it was fun poking around and looking at various rocks and animal bones at the sight. Sarah and I both found cool rocks, something we’ve been doing since the beginning. From the castle sight, you could look out into a valley where a dozen or so yurts were located. From my spot on the hill, I could see a small soccer game taking place and people outside all engage in various activities.
That afternoon we were taken for the home visit part of our tour. I was dreading this part of the trip, the whole thing sounded hokey and contrived. I wasn’t disappointed. We were led by our tour guide to a mud house down at the edge of the valley. Several women sat outside in traditional clothes working on some crafts. Another women held a baby (I’ll show you the picture in the next post, I don’t want to horrify you all when you’re half way through the blog!), and a small boy stood shyly by his mother. The oldest women invited us inside to take a look around and ask any questions if we had them. It turns out that they were the perfect, China-loving, communist family. On the walls of one room, pictures of all the past communist leaders were displayed lovingly. The visit went from awkward to really, really awkward when the tour guide decided to stall us until the hour was up. Finally, we left.
That night we stayed at Karakul Lake. I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves as to the beauty of this place. Several hundred feet down the shore was the yurt motel. This is where I thought we were going to be staying, but because of the tour guide agreement/shady dealings we ended up staying in someone’s home. They cooked dinner and breakfast for us, and made up beds when it was time to sleep. When we first arrived, we asked where the bathrooms where. The tour guide laughed.
The next morning the ladies who made us breakfast treated us to the obligatory sales pitch. They laid out their jewelry and hand made crafts, while the tour guide acted as interpreter. Even though the price was jacked up, I just couldn’t find it in my heart to refuse these ladies. I’m such a sucker.
A little later that morning one of the yurt neighbors came by trying to sell us sheep hats. Along with the sheep hats he had some made from unknown animals. I asked what they were, but he didn’t seem to know. One hat looked particularly familiar. When I was a kid, I owned a tabby cat named Silvia. This hat looked just like her! I know it’s a little gross, but at the time I thought it was hilarious and so I asked the guy if he had any others. He then invited us to his house where we sat and waited for his brother to go and get them from another yurt neighbor. I’ll let you all know I bought two of them, and they are kind of gross.
We stayed at the lake one night, and the next morning headed back to Kashgar. Again we spent the day checking out the sights of the city, although this time we made a special stop to a Taj Mahal-style mausoleum. That night we stopped again for a bowl of yogurt/ice drink. As soon as the vendor saw us, he put a cassette tape in a small player and began to play Uyger pop music. Then he wanted to dance. The small benches were pushed away from the stand, and the music was cranked up. Then he began to dance. Soon a crowd had gathered and he was inviting us to join him. The dancing included a lot of walking in circles and arm waving, but it was a ton of fun. After everyone had joined in the dance at least once, it was time to close up and go. The crowd dissipated after a number of goodbyes, and the bill was paid only after a short argument with the now drunk vendor.
In order to make our plane in Urumqi, we either had to fly the night before or take the sleeper bus. Sarah, Ben and I opted for the sleeper bus. Carly, who is much wiser, opted to pay the airfare. To be fair, the sleeper bus wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, although it didn’t stop enough and you couldn’t get up and walk around. The beds were too short for me, so I slept with my legs sprawled out into the aisle. The bus has three rows of bunk beds, each about half the size (length and width) and a normal twin bed. I was in the middle bottom bunk, with the television just above my head. The kung fu movie and karaoke wasn’t the worst I’ve seen in China, but it was bad. I’m not sure I’d travel this way again, but as all things in China are, it was an adventure.
We made it back to Chengdu in one piece, and I packed up and sent the cat hats home a day ago. Xinjiang was awesome, but I’m happy to be back.
