One China

Kashgar is renowned the world over for its Sunday market. This is the place that for millennia traders from all over Central Asia, and later Europe, have come together to buy and sell goods of all kinds. Marco Polo had strolled its streets and bazaars on his way to Peking to meet with Kublai Khan. 

In its hey day it was known as the place to deal in carpets, silk, furs, livestock, food and later ceramics. It was, and still is, the hub of the great Silk Road. We had visited the Kashgar market in 1988, 2 of only a handful of foreigners in Kashgar at that time. Back then Kashgar was a small, by Chinese standards, and old Uighur city that had changed little over the centuries. It was wild and vibrant with a sense of its place in the world. Today, however, it is a large, modern and predominantly Han Chinese city. 

Much of the Uighur heart of the city, that which is still standing, has a hollowness about it now. The Sunday market, once the living soul of Kashgar, has been cut in two. The raucous and hectic livestock section of it is now located well outside the city while the rest of the market remains several kilometres away in the centre of the old part of town. Traditional forms of Uighur transport, the donkey cart and horse-drawn taxi cart, while still abundant, are no longer allowed in the city during the day. They make way instead for thousands of cars, buses, VW taxis and motor scooters. 

Much of what was historic and beautiful about the old city has given way to 6 lane roads running in all directions, high rise buildings, supermarkets and clothing stores. The old city walls have all but succumbed to the developers’ bulldozers and what is left has the spectre of new apartment blocks hanging over it. In many ways Kashgar is no longer a living piece of history but has become it. 

Yet despite all this it is still possible within the old city to see, smell and feel small examples of the Kashgar of legend. A walk down some of the smaller back alleys takes you back in time. Blacksmiths still hunch over furious fires in small darkened alcoves pounding out all manner of steel products on their anvils and fur sellers will happily show you through their selection of goods made from rabbit, fox, wolf and lynx. Thankfully on this trip we didn’t see, nor were we offered, pelts or any other products made from snow leopards. Even though killing the endangered snow leopard was highly illegal even back in 1988, we had been shown and offered numerous pelts at that time. Carpet sellers will wait patiently for you to enter their shops willingly then unroll just about every rug, mat and carpet in the place in a bid to get a sale. Knife makers selling colourful and beautifully ornate knives still holler for your attention and your money. Food stalls and restaurants still offer up Uighur delights such as mutton kebabs charcoal grilled, mutton and chilli noodles, clay oven bread, boiled sheep heads and mutton and onion filled pastries – the Uighur version of a party pie. And all the while as you meander through the narrow alleys you are in danger of being run over slowly by donkey carts or quickly by motor scooters, motorised trikes and bicycles squeezing their way through in both directions, often overloaded and often driven / ridden by children. 

Sadly though, these are probably the desperate gasps of a culture on its last legs. Kashgar will soon have been tamed. Grown and settled by outsiders it will have become a diluted and flavourless version of its former self. If the rush to settle and modernise Kashgar does not completely wipe away its unique culture and places of historical importance, the best that can probably be hoped for is that small pockets of it will be preserved as museum pieces. All that will be left will be small static curiosities that offer future tourists a glimpse into a world that once was but can be no more. 

Some of Kashgar’s eventual demise is, I am sure, carefully planned and calculated by China’s central government in its desire for “One China.” Other changes, however, may be more accidental but no less welcome. 20 years ago, for example, a large proportion of Uighur men throughout Xinjiang proudly sported full and heavy beards while the Han Chinese inability to grow much facial hair at all was often derided. On this trip, as with the last, I let my beard grow but after a while I noticed that apart from the old men, very few Uighur had beards at all these days. When I asked why I was told that it was very difficult for bearded men to get jobs in Han Chinese companies and many companies in the new Kashgar are run by Han Chinese. As a result most Uighur men of working age are now clean shaven. For those that are not great fans of the hairy, “au naturale”, look this may not be such a bad thing but it is 1 small and obvious cultural distinction that has been erased in a single generation. 

Even out here in the Xinjiang Autonomous Region where, like the rest of China, school is compulsory, only Mandarin is taught as a language with English as a second language. The Uighur have their own spoken and written language that it is not too hard to imagine being all but gone in a few more generations. China’s desire to be “One”, at least to the eyes of the external world, is carefully managed by the central government. From the single time zone for the whole of the country to the often brutal crackdowns on minority groups demonstrating anything that might be considered anti-establishment, the government controls it all. The cynic in me also points to the 24 hour a day English speaking TV channel (Beijing had 54 channels when I was there) that daily has been showing the 1st annual minority group singing and dancing cultural festival. A celebration of all that is beautiful and diverse about China’s minorities maybe but with just days to go till the Olympics the timing is a little too convenient perhaps. 

After the early 2008 embarrassment of the Olympic torch relay overseas, the Chinese government was determined to display unity and wide spread support for its policies, particularly those in Tibet, at home. Following the swift and brutal quelling of the riots in Tibet in March, the government ran the torch relay through Tibet not once, but twice. The first was an ascent of Mt Everest and the second was through the capital Lhasa. In both cases it was a poignant reminder to Tibet, China’s other minorities and the world just who runs things within China’s own borders. The brutality of the crackdown in Tibet completely ignored the protestations of governments around the world and showed that the world’s largest nation and next superpower didn’t need to kowtow to anyone. The relays in Tibet passed without incident and no hint of embarrassment for China in front of the world’s watching media. When the relay later ran through Kashgar I understood why. 

Like Tibet, Xinjiang is, or was, a minority province. It is the largest province in China and like the Tibetans in Tibet, many of the Uighur in Xinjiang desire independence or at the very least, full autonomy. Xinjiang has its own separatist movement that is not opposed to violent opposition to the government and has on occasion in the past been responsible for a number of fatal public bus bombings. Chinese authorities claim this movement, being Islamic, is linked to Al Qaeda. When the torch relay ran through Kashgar, only those with official permits could line the route. Spectators were mainly made up of school and company groups. In this way the government could be reasonably certain that no spontaneous protests would be captured by the world’s media cameras. And of course, if there were any such protests, the authorities would know exactly who to pick up and punish. 

Kashgar these days is full of foreign tourists and I heard of 1 American man in his 70s who had secured himself a good relay viewing spot behind one of the street barriers early on the morning of the relay only to be moved on before it started as he was not one of the “official supporters.” Presumably the authorities feared spontaneous protests from foreigners too and probably with good reason. It does demonstrate, however, the lengths to which the government is prepared to go to ensure a friendly face is put on all Olympic proceedings within its own jurisdiction. 

For the Han Chinese at least, the Olympic games in Beijing seems to be seen as a recognition of China’s growing importance and place in the world and as a sort of blanket approval for their internal political and social policies. Excitement over the games within China in general, not just Beijing, has reached fever pitch. The Chinese are beaming with pride and can’t wait to put themselves on show for the world and to host the huge numbers of foreign visitors expected to come to the games. In every city and town we passed through there were street stalls and shops selling “I Love China” games T-shirts and no shortage of people proudly wearing them. Possibly the most bizarre T-shirt we saw though, and one that perhaps highlights a general lack of understanding of the plight and frustration of the country’s minority groups while at the same time demonstrating the desire for a unified China, was the one that read, “China IN Tibet, Torch IN Heart.” It is unlikely of course that Tibet will ever get independence from China and just as unlikely that Xinjiang will either. 

In recent years a new rail link to Lhasa has been completed and another completely traversing Xinjiang all the way to Kashgar has also been completed. In effect these links completely open up 2 of China’s most remote regions and mass migration of Han Chinese to both has followed. 

An added nail in the coffin for Xinjiang though is the discovery of oil beneath its vast Taklamakan desert – something China clearly won’t be letting go of. Sadly for all the Hollywood Buddhists and friends of Tibet the world over (I count myself among those friends) the Chinese government is more than likely going to achieve its goal of “One China” through migration and dilution of culture. Xinjiang will almost certainly go the same way. 

In the new Kashgar (and probably in Lhasa too although I haven’t seen it) there is now, like many other cities across China, a huge statue of Chairman Mao in the main city centre. With his right arm raised at a 45 degree angle he is the image of a benevolent father bestowing upon his children his warmth and wisdom. It could not say, “F_ _K YOU” to the Uighur minorities any more than if his hand was turned inwards, his fist clenched and his middle finger extended skywards. 

To close this entry on a positive note though I should say that China is still an incredibly beautiful and geographically diverse country with a rich, broad and long history. Culturally too it boasts amazing diversity and I think China has much more to gain than to lose by embracing that diversity and preserving its differences.

Kashgar (again)

With only 16 kms to go to Kashgar we slept late, had a leisurely cup of tea in our room then meandered out onto the road.

The day was fine, virtually windless and clear. As soon as we stepped onto main road we were greeted with the clearest view of the Pamirs we had had on this trip. As we looked back in the direction we had come yesterday the horizon was utterly dominated by the icy white collosus of this range. It was a stunning sight to take in but at the same time it reminded me of the sense of forboding I had felt in 1988 when cycling towards these peaks knowing that somewhere among them was one of the world's highest mountain highways and the pass that we would need to cycle over in order to reach Pakistan.

Already at that time the Karakoram Highway (nicknamed the KKH) and the Khunjerab Pass were legendary despite having only been officially open to foreign travellers since 1986. In the years since the reputation and lure of this magnificant road has continued to grow. Since 2007, however, the section between Tashkorgan (China) and Sust (Pakistan) has been closed to 'free' travel (eg. no bicycles) so for the foreseeable future, sadly, travellers will have to settle for a journey by bus. It is not 100% clear why the road is closed currently to free travel but Khunjerab pass and the KKH are sandwiched into a very narrow corridor between some pretty rough territory with Afghanistan and Kasmir only a few kms away on either side so perhaps it has been deemed for our own safety.

After taking a few photos we turned in the direction of Kashgar and got underway. For the next little while we stopped frequently to take more photos of the mountains behind us, each time seemingly a better shot.

As we approached Kashgar we encountered a detour off the main south road due to works and found ourselves instead on a ring road that eventually headed back out into the desert north of Kashgar and that continued on towards Aksu, and ultimately Urumqi. We didn't know this was a ring road at the time, assuming all roads lead to Kashgar out here, so we rode on.

Huge stands of poplar trees provide much of the shade, cooling and protection from the desert for Kashgar and at road level they completely obscure the city. At about the 20 km mark we realised we were somehow missing the city and when the road began to climb into the hills above where we assumed Kashgar to be and then curve right we knew we needed to get off it. The city was on our right somewhere so we took the next road, a rough dirt laneway, that headed in that direction.

We bumped and bounced our way down several kms of potholed and dusty roady, much further than we expected to. We passed through small Uighur settlements, passed men on donkey carts and workers in the fields but still didn't see any modern looking cement structures appearing above the tree tops in front of us. Several times we came to crossroads but none that were sealed or lead into town. The crossroads even had barriers and checkpoints although for what exactly was a mystery - we ducked under the barriers without getting off the bikes and kept on going, our passage raising minimal interest. The bikes were getting a pounding they were never designed for but they were holding up well.

Finally the road became sealed, if you could call it that. It was a very poor scattering of tarmac that seemed designed to highlight and accentuate the many large and deep potholes blotted along its length. They were so large and deep that even cars coming along it had too crawl and weave their way carefully through. At last though the road began to descend and a few moments later we found ourselves out on one of Kashgars many wide and beautifully smooth main streets. As luck would have it were were also only about 2 kms from out intended hotel, the Qinibar.

Our little detour had added about 9 kms to the morning ride but was worth the extra effort to see the older Uighur settlement areas to the west of the city.

At the Qinibar we checked back into the same room we'd had the previous week. This was by request as the room had a large tree outside the window that provided privacy and shade and ensured the room stayed cool throughout the day.

After showering and changing we headed to John's Cafe, conveniently located right outside our room, for beer and lunch in that order. It was Friday which meant we had made it in time for the Sunday market and for me to extend my Visa on Monday, 1 week exactly before it expired.

Shufu (2)

A short time later (a little too short really given the comfort of the car) we arrived at Bulungkoi. After unloading the gear from the car, thanking our driver and giving him his 300 yuan, we rugged up (the wind and weather was starting to get noticeably cooler) and got going.

We took the opportunity to stop briefly at our recent lunch spot for another bowl of goat soup as there wouldn't be another place to buy food for the next 40 or 50 kms. The bread rolls we got this time seemed to be the same ones we were offered about 5 days ago. They were certainly hard and stale enough to have been the same ones. By wrestling them into small pieces though and soaking thoroughly in the soup they helped fill the gap that the soup alone wouldn't.

A few more kilometres down the road we were at the top of the gorge once again and facing a ripper of a downhill ride. There was nearly 70 kilometres of switchbacks and long straight stretches ahead of us so, with the weather starting to close in rapidly, we decided not to linger. We had an added incentive to keep moving too. A couple of days earlier we had met an English cyclist who told us about a hot spring 15 kms down from the top, at the 1609 km road marker to be exact. With all that downhill ahead of us we figured we could afford to waste a little of the day soaking in a hot bath and frankly we probably both needed to.

As we began to descend we were met face on by a fierce wind blowing up the gorge. That we would have a headwind was not unexpected as the winds during the heat of the day tend to blow up the mountains and descend during the cool of night and early morning. It was a bit of a disappointment though that this wind was so strong. We needed to select easy gears and peddle quite hard down even the steepest sections of the road to be able to make any headway at all. Fortunately within a few kilometres we were out of the worst of it and moving once more with relative ease.

At the 1609 km road marker we turned down a short rocky driveway to an unlikely looking set of buildings near the river. This was the hot spring we'd been told about and, despite its modest exterior, the main building housed a large clean pool and several bath tubs that were continously fed by hot water from the spring nearby. We swam and soaked for about 40 minutes and got the cleanest we'd been in about a fortnight.

It was a very strange feeling to be swimming in a hot pool out here. Even though this part of China is bordered by some of the biggest mountains in the world, and we were among them right now, our strongest impressions and memories of Xinjiang have always been the extreme heat and dust of the desert. To be swimming in a hot pool seemed counterintuitive to say the least.

As we relaxed and let the hot spring do its job we could see through the few open windows there were towering white peaks above us. Huge blocks of ice hung menacingly on some of the steep slopes and it was clear to see where large chunks had recently broken away. We kept hoping to hear the loud crack and subsequent roar of one of these massive ice blocks letting go and avalanching down the slopes but it was not to be. If we hung around here for a few days or weeks we might be lucky enough to see exactly that but sadly we didn't have the luxury of that much time.

With the bath over we continued on. The road squeezed its way between sheer towering cliffs carved out by the roaring grey waters of the Ghez river. It clung impossibly to the sides and occasionally showed signs of having lost its grip in the past. When it had, whole sections of the road were plunged into the river and instantly erased. Avalanche was the other major threat to the road, and travellers, up here and and as we sped on there were numerous examples of recent rock fall dotted along the way. Although we stopped many times to take photos it was never a very comfortable feeling to stand in one spot for more than a few minutes so, again, we kept moving.

Finally, with the late afternoon came a widening of the gorge and a shrinking of the mountains. The road started to flatten out and turn north towards Kashgar. When we arrived back in Oytag we headed once again to the stall we had bought cold drinks from 5 days earlier and as we sat in the shade we toyed briefly with the idea of staying here again for the night. We had come a respectable 80 kms afterall but with the wind having swung around and now at our backs Kashgar, or somewhere much closer to it, beckoned.

We were both feeling fresh still and although it was now about 5.00 in the afternoon (Beijing time) it didn't get dark till around 11.00. After a brief look at the map we settled on the town of Shufu as the preferred stopping point for the night and, against our better judgement, turned our backs on Oytag and headed back out into the desert.

Two kms out of Oytag the wind turned suddenly into a stiff headwind and it began to rain. We found ourselves wondering if we should have accepted the good fortune that had got us so easily to Oytag a little more graciously and called it a day back there. The sudden change in the weather was only brief, however, like some sort of divine warning from the cycling Gods not to take their favour so lightly next time, and things soon returned to the way they were.

According to our map, Shufu was about 40 kms further on but either the distances on our map were incorrect or we weren't looking at Shufu for it did not emerge from the desert anywhere near where we expected it to. It did not appear anywhere near as soon as we expected it to either.

We ground on hour after hour until it was eventually too dark to see with sunglasses but still Shufu did not appear. Time and again a line of poplar trees in the distance would trick us into thinking we'd made it only to be disappointed to find a small village and then more open desert. At last, however, tired and with our legs functioning purely on memory, we rolled into Shufu in darkness. We'd come 152 kms for the day and 70+ of those since Oytag. Kashgar was just 16 kms away.

After asking around and finally being guided by a very kind, if somewhat drunk, Chinese man we came to what was apparently the only hotel in town. While Neil went upstairs with our inebriated guide to check out the rooms I waited out on the footpath with our bikes and gear.

Pretty looking women in short revealing skirts wandered in and out of the hotel constantly. The sight of such scantily clad beauties was at odds with the fact that this was a Uighur run, and therefore presumably Muslim, hotel. There was a nightclub (also not traditionally a Muslim thing) on the ground floor and then 2 levels of hotel rooms above. Weird, but I was too tired to give it much thought.

Neil was gone some time (but not that long in case you were wondering....) and when he eventually returned he had both good and bad news as he put it. The good news is they have a room with 2 beds, a TV and a bathroom. The bad news is it is up 2 flights of spiral stairs and we'll have to lug our gear up there. Oh yeah, and the place is a brothel. That explained what had been distracting me repeatedly down in the hotel entrance. Perhaps it also explained why our drunk Chinese friend was so eager to show us the place and why he, unlike most other people we'd asked, seemed to know exactly where to find it.

Oh yeah, said Neil, and another thing, the rooms have rats. Big rats!

Shufu

After keeping out of trouble in Tashkorgan for the next 24 hours, and spending a day wandering out on the grasslands, it was time to head back to Kashgar.

Two days earlier we had arranged with a driver of a ute to give us a lift back to a spot on the map (couldn't really call it a town) called Bulungkoi when the time came. Bulungkoi is about 130 kms back down the road towards Kashgar and as our travel plans had now changed somewhat, and there wasn't a lot of point in cycling over the same ground again, the ute seemed like a good option.

On the day of our departure the driver did not show up at our hotel at the agreed time so after a short wait we loaded up the bikes and went looking for him. He was easy enough to find as, like many of the utes and trucks up here, his was a vehicle for hire and he would take us pretty well anywhere we wanted to go for an agreed price. We'd find him either at the local bus station where we found him in the first place or somewhere nearby. He was in fact half way between the hotel and the bus station in the town centre and was glad to see us when we eventually showed up.

Originally we'd agreed on a price of 200 yuan to take us to Bulungkoi but, as expected, the asking price changed to 300 when we arrived already packed and clearly keen to get going. 300 was actually a pretty reasonable price, and one we had been quoted by a number of different drivers in the last few days, but we argued the point anyway and quickly settled on 250.

With the gear loaded in the back of his Mitsubishi Pajero (he wasn't driving the ute we had seen previously) we were on the road in no time and Tashkorgan was shrinking into the distance. It was an enjoyable feeling speeding over a road we had slogged along just a few days ago - a kind of guilty pleasure that could have been very easy to get used to. Had the road between Bulungkoi and Kashgar been a thigh burning climb rather than the screaming descent and flat that it was, we may well have given in to temptation and offered up the extra 300 yuan it would have cost to drive all the way.

The day was clear, much clearer than it had been on the ride up, and Mt Muztag Ata dominated the view from the front of the car for most of the trip. As Neil and I repeatedly oohed and aahed over the splendour of the site before us our driver saw his opportunity and offered to take us off the main road for a closer look for and extra 50 yuan. The opportunity to see Muztag Ata's many glaciers from a closer vantage point was too good to pass up so we readily agreed and our driver ended up bagging the 300 yuan he'd been asking for just an hour ago. He'd have done very well upselling at McDonalds.

A little further on, at the top of the 4000 metre pass we had dragged ourselves up a few days ago, we turned off the road and drove over a rough dirt track for about 6 or 7 kms in the direction of the mountain. A few light flakes of snow were drifting around and heavy clouds were starting to close in but the view from this point remained clear and was well worth the extra money. Muztag Ata is probably the most walkable (though I am sure that is a naive understatement) 7000+ metre peak in the world. One side of it, the side we were looking at, has a gentle slope that climbs evenly and uninterrupted from the valley floor all the way to its 7546 m top. In Kashgar for the right money (plenty of it) anyone can arrange an ascent trip up Muztag Ata and we had seen photos of people skiing its massive slope and even mountain biking on it. It left me wishing for tons more time and cash.

A Change of Plan

By the end of the first week on the road the extreme heat and stomach illness was taking its toll on Neil. Neither of us really enjoys the very hot temperatures but Neil struggles with it a bit more than I do. This combined with the fact that it would be school holidays in NZ while Neil was away (or so he thought), and he would miss out spending this time with his kids, had Neil talking about returning home early.

By mid June Neil had confirmed with the airlines that he could change his ticket and head back to NZ a week early and by the 28th of June he was on his way. This left me to ponder my options for the remainder of the trip.

We were now in the far west of China and Neil needed to make his way to Urumqi by the 26th to allow time to pack up his bike and get organised for the return home. I decided to join him as far as Urumqi and then head off again on my own for a few more days to Tian Chi (Heavenly Lake) in what was originally to be our last week in Xinjiang. The trip was now much less linear than I had originally imagined it but no less interesting or challenging.

Tashkorgan (2)

In the heart of the old town is the one major historical site Tashkorgan is famous for, the 1300 year old Stone Fort (or Princess Fort). It is also one of the few ancient sites out this way that has not as yet been tastelessly restored or completely rebuilt for the 'benefit' of tourists. It is thankfully still in its natural ruined state.

As we wandered around the fort we came to a back entrance into it and not wanting to get stung a ridiculous amount to see it officially we climbed up the steep path and entered this way. From on top of the fort you get a fantastic view of the river and grassland below (perhaps 2 kms wide and 20+ kms long) and the mountains all around. We took our time wandering around and taking pictures till we were spotted by the only official working at the site and beat a hasty retreat back the way we had come before she caught up with us. We figured it would be wise to avoid the area of the fort for the rest of the day lest we be recognised and went back to the hotel till dinner time.

The next morning we took the bikes and rode up towards the mountains to the west of the town. We found a small dirt road that looked as though it lead into a valley in the mountains and when we asked a local he confirmed this was the road through to Afghanistan. Our intention was to only go a few kms up this road to get a better view of the valley from a more elevated position so we set off.

The dirt road followed a small stream but after a couple of kms the road became a track then the track and the stream became one. We could go no further so we stopped and took a few photos before turning round and starting back down again.

We had not gone far when we were met by a well dressed man and woman who introduced themselves with a flick of their ID badges as local police. They had followed us up here (possibly after others had told them we were here) and wanted to know what we were doing. We explained we just wanted to get some nice photos and only intended to go a few kms up towards the hills. They informed us that the mountains were full of army personnel and that they were off limits to us. They then took our passports and asked us to ride down and wait for them at the main road.

At the main road we were met by 2 more policemen and 3 army soldiers. One of the policemen asked to see Neil's camera and started looking through all the photos. He explained that we were not allowed to take photos of the mountains at all which was a nonsense given that every tourist that has ever passed through Tashkorgan will have photographed these same mountains themselves but at this particular moment we were not really in a position to argue. Fortunately Neil didn't have any recent pictures of the mountains on his camera but I did.

While the policeman was busy with Neil I quietly removed the memory card from my camera, keeping it inside my bar bag the whole time, and hid it away. As it turned out I was not asked to show my camera at all - perhaps they thought we only had 1 between us.

Both the soldiers and the police recorded our passport details while the policewoman who had stopped us initially took her shoes and stockings off to wash the mud off them and her feet in the nearby stream. When she was done we were informed she would take our passports and return them to us later in the day at our hotel. We apologised for getting her all muddy on our account and then, free to go, headed back into town and our hotel for a rest and some lunch.

At 4.00 the policewoman came to the hotel to drop off our passports. She explained one last time that the mountains were off limits to us as this was a frontier region patrolled by the army and that we would need to stick to the town or the grassland from now on.

Tashkorgan

The wind whipped the tent throughout the night and we slept fitfully. The only comfort was that this was a tailwind and if it kept up into the morning, this combined with the downhill would make riding really easy.

When we woke the wind was still blowing and it was still a tailwind. It had also started to rain so we packed all the gear from inside the tent and lastly collapsed the tent itself. We skipped breakfast and got going.

The rain was steady but before long we had descended low enough to be out of the worst of it. After 30 kms we stopped to make breakfast, sheltering in the lee of a livestock pen (mud brick 4 walls). As usual we cooked up yet another delicious meal of tea and instant noodles.

It was still early and quite cool so we pushed on quickly to cover as much ground as we could while the conditions were favourable. We continued descending into a narrowing river valley and before long we were approaching a long line of large mountains. To us there appeared to be only 2 ways the road could go, left to follow the river into a gorge or right and up over the mountains (the latter being the least favoured option naturally).

As we were pondering what the morning had in store for us 2 cyclists appeared riding in the opposite direction. We all stopped for a chat and to exchange information about the road and conditions in the directions we had just come from. The cyclists, Itor and Maria, were from Spain (Itor was actually Basque) and had recently come through from Pakistan. Itor had been cycling on his own before meeting Maria and had started his trip in Malaysia. In the past 18 months he had covered and impressive 21,000 kms.

The news Itor and Maria had for us was good, the road up ahead curved left then dropped quickly into the river gorge and from then on it was an easy downhill into Tashkorgan. The news we had for them was less exciting but they took it well and set off smiling.

By lunchtime we were in Tashkorgan, the western border of China and the gateway through to Pakistan. This had been an important area and trading route since the days of Marco Polo and even today it still has many shops run by and for traders from Pakistan and Tajikstan. It is also only 30 kms from Afghanistan and a relative stones throw from Kashmir.

Near Mt Muztag Ata

We slept late for a riding day and made breakfast - more instant noodles, tea and bananas. By 9.00 Beijing time we were on the road again and climbing steadily up the gorge.

Ahead of us lay a 70 km climb from 1500 metres to 3300 and as we had no real intention of grinding our way up this we looked for opportunities for a lift. Seven kms up the road our chance came when a 5 seat ute came by while I was stopped taking photos. Neil waved it down and pretty soon we were flying up the gorge with all our gear safely tucked in the back. Our ride came courtesy of a road engineering crew headed for the top.

We had not been able to see the mountain peaks the day before or even that morning because of the desert dust and sand blowing up the valley but finally as we neared the top we could make out some of the bigger ice capped slopes. We were among giants here - Kongur Shan (7719 m) and Muztag Ata (7546 m).

Our ride ended at the top of the gorge and right in front of a row of street stalls run by local Tajiks. The stalls were all selling polished or interestingly shaped rocks and stones but all being too heavy for us and our bikes we politely declined to buy and prepared for the ride ahead.

It was cold - perhaps not really cold but compared to the desert below maybe 25 to 30 degrees cooler. We threw on our thermals and rode quickly off the pass and out of the wind.

The scenery at this point is other-worldly. There is a river valley on the plateau that is so flat and wide that it appears to be a lake. It's true nature is only given away when its slow current becomes discernible up close. The mountains around are heavily dusted with sand from the Taklamakan desert below. The dust hangs on the slopes as though some giant hands have gently poured it there hourglass style and the effect it creates is both haunting and beautiful.

About 5 kms up the road we came to a small but very neat Tajik building that was a rest stop for passers by. The place was run by an elderly man and his daughter. We sat at a table outside and ordered whatever the going dish was (usually these places only do 1 dish) and waited with anticipation (and a little trepidation) to see what we would get. To our delight we were brought a bowl each of clear soup with a bit of vegetable and goat meat in it. We were also given some stale bread rolls that when soaked in the soup became mildly edible and we were given tea. It could have been so much worse.....

We ate hungrily then pushed on. 25 kms further up the road we came to the famous Karakul Lake. This is a favourite tourist spot partly because of the stunning scenery and partly because for 50 yuan you can enter its now fenced precinct and for a further 30 yuan you can sleep the night in a Tajik Yurt. Nearly every tourist up this way does it. We pushed on stopping only to photograph the scenery and the few hairy wild camels that live up this way.

Towards the end of the day we approached a 4000 metre pass that I remembered clearly from the trip 20 years ago. At that time I had taken some nice photos near the top looking back down on the grassland below but in my haste to see the photos printed I had developed them in Pakistan and sadly the quality was very poor. I was keen to take some similar photos this time in nice safe digital clarity but to do that we would fist need to ride to the top of the pass.

There was an increasing tightness in my head as the effects of altitude started to take hold. The rapid climb in the ute in the morning had not helped. Breathing, which had been difficult earlier in the day was getting easier fortunately. Neil was feeling the altitude too. We took panadol, drank lots of water and pushed on.

The road over the pass was steep but perhaps only 6 or 7 kms long. We tackled it in 1 km bites reaching the top as the sun was getting low and the temperature was falling. At this point we were close to the base of Muztag Ata, its huge glaciers clearly visible around its massive base. It was too cold to stay on top long so we snapped a few quick photos then headed down the other side keeping an eye out for a sheltered spot to camp.

The landscape was rocky and barren once more but about 5 kms down we came to a small grassy river valley and pitched the tent in front of a military administration building (the only major building anywhere in sight for miles). Exhausted we skipped dinner in favour of an early sleep.

Oytag

The road toTashkorgan winds up a river gorge and climbs quickly from 1400 metres to 3300 before leveling out on a grassland plateau for about 70 kms then climbing again to 4000 metres. We had no intention of grinding our way up the first of these climbs given we would be descending the same road again a few days later. The plan instead was to take a bus to the first pass at 3300 metres and then ride on from there so we headed for the bus station and bought 2 tickets to Lake Karakul.

The next morning we arrived at the bus station 2 hours early to make sure we had time to get the bikes loaded up. Unfortunately the buses are no longer the old rattlers with roof racks that they had once been. Instead they are compact air conditioned coaches with limited storage space. When the driver saw our bikes and gear he told us it could not be loaded on the bus so we had not choice but to refund our tickets and hit the road.

It was 9.30 am and a late start for us for a riding day but we quickly found the road south out of town and were soon passing through farm lands and open desert towards the Pamir mountains. Ordinarily these mountains would be a very imposing site this close up but due to the hot summer winds and dust they were completely obscured.

As we sped along a small (perhaps 3 feet) brown snake happened to find itself out in the middle of the road with the 2 of us fast approaching. It turned around before I ran it over and slithered right into the path of Neil's bike. 100 kg came down to bear on the middle of its back as Neil's bike wheels ran over the unfortunate creature. It continued its hasty retreat as if untouched and quickly disappeared into the scrub at the side of the road but presumably did not last too long after that.

16 kms from Kashgar we came to the town of Shufu. Shufu did not exist 20 years ago. It is an impressive little town of model homes and buildings and is beautiful by any local standard. It looks like it has been purpose built to showcase what is possible way out here when the Chinese put their minds and money to it. It is modern, clean looking and completely out of place.

Near the centre of town we spotted a yoghurt stall (bowls of which are kept outside in the sun till sold) and being unable to pass up one of our favourite local foods, and having missed breakfast, we pulled over. I bought (50 cents) a bowl (approx 500 mls) of this sour, warm and yet oddly delicious curd and waited while the lady running the stall wiped off a spoon used by one of her previous customers on a dry rag and handed it to me to use. Neil and I shared the spoon and the yoghurt trying hard not to think too carefully about any of it and were soon on our way again.

A little futher down the road we spotted another stall selling another of our Chinese favourites, tea eggs (eggs boiled in tea) so stopped once more and bought 4 of these which we consumed on the spot.

Back out in the desert the road began to climb gently and the wind was at backs. The going was fast and easy. We sped past slower moving vehicles (donkey carts, tractors and motortrike taxis) and by early afternoon we had covered 86 kms and reached the town of Oytag.

Oytag was a spec on the map and probably had fewer than a couple of hundred people living in it. There was only 1 road through it and in the centre of town there were a few road side stalls set up to cater to the needs of the through traffic. We stopped at one such stall to buy some cool drinks and to rest in the shade a while. Having made good progress today already we were on the lookout for a decent site to camp for the night.

After we had rested we asked the stall owner, half jokingly, if there was a hotel in this town to which he replied quite unbelievably, yes. He lead us about 40 metres up the road to a wide paved driveway that lead through an ornate steel gate to a small but neat building. The building was in fact a disused bus depot and this man with his large bunch of keys appeared to be its custodian.

Inside it was cool with a large empty waiting room with ceramic tiled floors. Off the left-hand end there were 2 bedrooms each containing 2 beds and there was an office with a desk and hard sofa. There was no running water but there was electricity and a long drop toilet out back.

We were told we could stay here for 100 yuan ($A16) per night which was a joke and our 'host' knew it. We were not even sure we were allowed to be inside the compound but he insisted we were and suggested we could even check with the police just up the road to reassure ourselves.

Having been convinced it was OK to stay we started to haggle. We knew he would be pocketing the money himself but were happy with that notion provided the price was fair. We eventually settled on 40 yuan ($A6) and wheeled our bikes inside.

The rooms had bedding although just when it was last washed and how many people had used it since that time was impossible to tell - the colour and grime suggested it had been quite some while though. We picked out some of the cleaner looking quilts and pillows and used these to soften the beds while we lay our sleeping bags on tops (hoping not to encounter too many bed bugs).

After a dinner of instant noodles and tea which we cooked up outside we headed into our room to rest and read.

As we lay there in the late evening heat stripped to our underwear the man's wife appeared at our door having been sent by her husband to sweep the floor for us. Being Uighur and Islamic the site of 2 hairy, dirty and semi-naked men must have been something of a shock to the poor woman (or perhaps great amusement). A week later when we passed back through Oytag and again stopped for refreshments this same woman was sniggering and whispering with her friend as she looked at the 2 of us and we could only imagine what she was saying / implying.....

Kashgar (2)

The trained pulled in to Kashgar 2 hours behind schedule having made up a little time during the night. We disembarked and were herded through a large gate along with several hundred other passengers and out into the front of the station. A short while later we had our bikes and gear and were loaded up ready for the ride into town.

Kashgar had grown! I shouldn't have been surprised given our experience so far with all the other towns east of here but somehow I had imagined Kashgar was just too far west to be of any interest to the Chinese even now.

We weaved our way through the traffic down 6 lane roads passed supermarkets, bookstores and hotels towards the old quarter of town and the Qinibar hotel.

The Qinibar was the old British Consulate built in 1908 and it was the place we had stayed in 1988. Back then the hotel had occupied the original 2 storied complex but today it has moved into 2 new and very large hotel towers in the front of the grounds. The old Consulate building is no longer visible and most tourists would probably not even know it was there. It has long since been converted into a Chinese restaurant.

After checking into one of the new buildings ($A8 per night each) and resting for the afternoon, we ventured out for dinner. We made our way to the Uighur night market in the heart of the old town and along the way bumped into an English speaking man by the name of Akbar.

Akbar quickly attached himself to us and before long the 3 of us were winding our way down back streets in search of somewhere good to eat. I don't know that we actually found anywhere good but we ended up at a place that Akbar himself was happy to eat at so we bought him dinner while we plied him with questions about the impact of the the Chinese expansion in Xinjiang. Akbar was fairly cynical about the motives of the Chinese government, as many Uighur are, seeing their interest out west as a ploy to dominate and eventually stamp out the influence of the minorities in these remote regions. It is a more complex issue than that though and from what we have seen many Uighur have also benefited very nicely from the economic expansion in this part of the country. In many cases their lives appear to have improved significantly compared with 20 years ago - at least in the towns and cities (I don't think too much has changed out in the villages).

By late the next day Neil and I were both starting to feel a bit antsy about sitting around in Kashgar and were keen to get moving again so we started making plans to head to Tashkorgan.

Kashgar

With a third of the desert behind us and not much more to look forward to over the next 1000 kms other than more extreme heat, wind and large modern towns we decided we had seen as much as we needed to for the moment and bought train tickets for Kashgar.

Kashgar is at the base of the Pamir mountains and on the very western edge of Xinjiang. Our aim was to get there as quickly as possible then head up to Tashkorgan high in the mountains to escape the heat for a while.

At the Yiangji railway station we caused a bit of commotion when we arrived with our bikes and gear but after paying an additional 89 yuan ($A15) we had our gear sewn into 2 large sacks and moved into the baggage area along with our bikes ready for loading when the train arrived.

The train was running 3 hours late due to high winds out of Urumqi so as as we sat in the waiting room we amused ourselves by reading and trying to make conversation with the locals. Most people in the room were Uighur with just 1 or 2 Chinese.

At one point a very elderly Uighur woman approached us talking in a loud voice and we were unsure of what she wanted. Neil turned to one of the few Chinese in the room for a hint and the man indicated she was after money. Neil obliged by offerering her a few kwai (yuan) which the woman refused before unloading a stream of abuse on the poor Chinese man (much to the amusement of the other Uighur around her).

The Uighur are a very proud people and most of them struggle to hide there disdain for the Han Chinese. This elderly woman would have been insulted to have it suggested by a Chinese man that she was begging (even though it is not that uncommon these days). The poor Chinese man squirmed uncomfortably in his seat with all eyes upon him but with nowhere else to go he had no choice but to grin and ride out the abuse.

As the train finally approached we were all ushered out onto the platform by a large, squat and frightening Chinese woman with a loud hailer. She was screaming out instructions non stop, and at a distance too close for comfort, to all the passengers about where to go and stand for their respective carriages. She was irritating in the extreme but seemed to thrive on the authority the loud hailer gave her. Finally her annoying ways became too much for one older Uighur man who bellowed something back at the top of this lungs which I am sure translated to, 'Shut the f__k up you stupid cow!' It was received with loud approving laughter by those within earshot but made no difference at all to 'comrade platform attendant.'

We had booked hard sleepers on this train and when it rolled in it was a delight to see. The carriages were new and quite modern - nothing at all like the smokey, crowded and noisy hard sleepers of old. The carriages were 2 storied and contained 4 berth compartments that boasted sheets, blankets, pillows and carpet. Unbelievably they were also non-smoking (smoking only being allowed at the ends of the carriages near the toilets. At first we thought we had stumbled by mistake into the more expensive and luxurious soft sleeper carriage but we soon found out spot and confirmed we were in the right place.

It was nearing 1.00 am so after settling in and showing our passports and tickets we were soon off to sleep.

Yiangji

Apart from forgetting to give our room key back to the hotel manager when we left, we had a great start to the day. We rose at 5.00 (3.00 local time) and were on the road by 5.50. By 8.00 we had clicked off 40 kms and by 11.00 we were on the outskirts of Yiangji with 86 kms behind us and the day only just starting to heat up. 

We stopped long enough for me to scoff down a bowl of noodles, Neil was still not well so skipped lunch, then headed into town to find a hotel. 

Yiangji in 1988 had been a tiny town and it was the spot we were arrested and spent 4 days with the police while we negotiated a 'fine' to be released. Today though Yiangji is a large modern Chinese city (still with a Uighur heart to it) with wide roads, apartment blocks and department stores. 

After checking in to a pretty decent hotel ($A 8 per night each) we headed back out and had not gone far before we were again stopped by the police. Instead of over zealous young men this time though we had a couple of very friendly women officers to deal with. Because we were on our bikes they made us follow them while they drove a few blocks to the main police station from where, after the usual explaining about what we were up to, they lead us back to where they thought we were staying - it was the wrong hotel but a nice detour anyway. 

Our hotel was Chinese run and had a large restaurant on the ground floor so, feeling like a change from mutton and noodles, we decided to eat there in the evening. As we ate, the owner's younger daughter came over to join us and very politely asked if she could sit down. She welcomed us to Yiangji and her father's hotel. 

Chinese are normally restricted to 1 child and ethnic minorities 2 but if you can afford the financial penalties involved, Chinese can have more than 1 child and our hotel owner had 3 - 1 boy and 2 girls. Rui was 14 and spoke pretty good English. It turns out her elder sister is studying English in Auckland at the moment (sent by her company) and in all likelihood Neil is her teacher. Most foreign students studying English in NZ end up at Auckland University where Neil has several hundred students. It will be an interesting coincidence if Rui's sister turns out to be one of them. 

We ate well and had a few beers as well as took a few photos together with Rui and her dad. At the end of the evening Rui gave us a beautiful coffee table book of Xinjiang which was full of amazing photos of places we have yet to see. Dinner was on the house when we eventually got up to leave. When breakfast was again on the house the next morning we resolved not to eat at the hotel restaurant again for fear of creating an expectation of free meals and causing embarrassment.

Wushtala (memories of old)

If Kumush is a hell hole, Wushtala is paradise itself. Set in a basin it seems to have water running in at it from all sides. The whole town is lined with poplar trees and there are many square kilometres of cultivation going on including rice. Its trees provide shelter from the wind and dust and the place is relatively cool. 

To its south about 30 kms away is a large lake that boasts a resort with swimming, boating and water skiing!! This is not the Xinjiang I remember and it is definitely not what you expect to find on the fringes of a large desert. The town is not without unpleasantness, however, and the more common smells of the countryside, open air toilets and festering rubbish heaps, assault the nostrils as you ride down its shady streets. Yet, despite its few sensory flaws, and compared to Kumush, this is a place that with a stretch of the imagination a person could see themselves living. 

We found ourselves a very comfortable and clean hotel with a twin room, air conditioning and an ensuite ($A 8 per night per person), ordered 2 beers which the manager's young son ran up the road to get and then dumped our gear. 

With the beer consumed we headed back out to buy fruit and other essentials for the ride the next day. We had walked less than 100 metres when a police car swerved to the curb and 3 young male policemen got out and approached us. They directed us to a local street stall and ordered Pepsis for us before asking to see our passports. The stall was Uighur run and these were young Chinese officials so it was not immediately clear who, if anyone, was going to pay for the drinks. The police were very self assured and despite their youth acted for all the world as if they ran the town (which I am sure in many ways they did). 

We were soon asked to get in their car and go with them to the police station so, with Pepsis unopened, and unpaid for, we headed off to the nicest looking building in the whole town a couple of kms up the road. 

It had been in the next town not far from here that in 1988 we were arrested for travelling in closed (to foreigners) places and spent 4 days with the local police negotiating a fee for our release. Memories of that time came flooding back. 

At the station we were ushered into a large room with 4 desks and nothing else. The young officers said they would check our visas although without computers it was not entirely clear how they would do this. 

We were asked to each fill in a form which was apparently only required if you intended to stay in one town more than 72 hours, or so it said in English at the top of the form. We had already said we planned to leave the next morning but there was probably little point in arguing the details with these guys so we filled in all the relevant blanks obligingly and then returned to our bench seat to await further questions. 

Despite having our completed forms and our passports in front of them we were asked repeatedly what our names were as well as the purpose of our trip and our occupations. After a short while our hotel manager turned up with his guest register in order to confirm that we had checked in to our hotel properly. A call on a mobile phone was made and Neil was put on to an English speaking police officer somewhere who again asked our names and the purpose of our trip. He also asked if we were journalists as if saying, "no" somehow confirmed that we were not. After a short while we were told we were free to leave and enjoy our stay in Wushtala. It was left to our hotel manager to arrange transport back for us. 

The plan was to stay 1 night and then move on to Yiangji, the town of our arrest in 1988, but no sooner were we back in our hotel room resting than Neil started to feel very ill and we suspected the watermelon from the day before. 

It wasn't long before Neil was hogging the bathroom and purging his system at both ends. There was little for me to do, other than provide some medicine and sympathy, so I headed out for dinner despite my own unsettled stomach. 

I found an outdoor Uighur restaurant and ordered chilli mutton and beans stir fried over noodles. Together with a bottle of beer it hit the spot nicely and I relaxed in the warm evening to watch the families and others around me and to update my diary. 

In Uighur restaurants and stalls people commonly speak to us in Chinese even though they have their own language. After dinner as I got up to leave I thanked the restaurant owner in his own language and said goodbye (Rakmat and Hosh) to which he laughed loudly, and appreciatively I think, and repeated my words at the top of his voice to all present. This brought further laughter and calls of 'Hello' and 'Goodbye' from around the tables. I wandered next door and picked up a pack of 15 bottles of water and returned to the hotel. Neil was not doing well so, since we were in such a nice hotel anyway, we decided to rest here and assess things again in 24 hours. 

The next evening, after a day of eating dry bread and apricots, Neil wasn't feeling too bad so we began making plans to leave.

Kumush to Wushtala

I woke at 4.15 (2.15 local time) to a churning stomach and headed out back under the stars to correct the situation. Once back inside I could not sleep again and we rose at 5.00 to pack and ride on.

Another breakfast of instant noodles and tea and we were away. We were soon back on the main road heading west. The morning was cool, with little wind, and we quickly had 25 kms behind us.

It was in the town of Kumush in 1988 that Neil had forgotten his sunglasses and only discovered his mistake when we were about 20 kms up the road. I set up the tent (minus my sleeping bag as we'd both posted these on to Kashgar) and nearly froze in the pre-dawn cold while Neil went back to Kumush.

When he returned we discovered several underground houses very close to where I'd pitched the tent and in the early morning one of the inhabitants was up and about. He invited us into his home, a 2 room hole in the ground, for a some hot water and weevily bread - he and those around him were clearly extremely poor. He pointed proudly to the only picture he had on the wall, a picture of Mao. Looking around I couldn't help wondering what on earth this man's life must have been like before the Communist revolution that Mao had earned his adulation for. It would be impossible to know. Today there is no sign of these homes so perhaps things went from strength to strength for this man and his neighbours - I'd certainly like to think so.

We cycled on into a small range of hills and 15 kms later emerged on a high plateau that ran on flat for the next 20 kms or so.

Again, as the day started to heat up we found ourselves looking for shade and a place to rest till things cooled down a bit.

The new road to Kashgar that has been built since 1988 is elevated above the desert around it somewhat and at regular intervals there are culverts underneath it to allow for the snow melt run-off from the nearby mountains in spring. These are ideal places to shelter but they also provide excellent privacy for those on the long journey east or west to relieve themselves if they need to.

We dragged our gear and bikes down into one such culvert only to find it full of dessicated poo. We nicknamed the place Crap Culvert. It was better at one end than the other so we used rubbish and brush to clear away a spot big enough to lay the tent fly out and rest. We cooked up lunch, Maggi soup with instant noodles in it for extra body, and made a cup of tea. For a while we slept.

By mid-afternoon the wind was getting stronger, although the day was not much hotter, and with toilet paper starting to drift around us we decided to pack up and ride on to Wushtala 20 kms away.

Turfan to Kumush

From Turfan we managed a 93 km ride up out of the basin and into the eastern end of the Tien Shan range of mountains before setting up camp for the night. As we passed the town of Toksun the desert started to turn it up a notch and by the time we were out in the open it was nearly 50 degrees on the road and only bearable provided we kept moving. 

Nearer the mountains we came to a small wooded area with a run down building out front near the road. We pulled in and immediately headed for the shade (it was 44 degrees under the trees). The building was occupied by a woman and her son (in his mid 20s). They ran a business selling water to passing trucks and tankers. Behind the building and the wooded area was a Karez running out the mountains that was supplying all the water that kept this scrap of earth clinging to existence against the odds.

Shortly after arriving at this place 2 other cyclists we had passed pulled in. They had been covered from head to foot so we could not recognise them on the road but as they joined us in the shade they turned out to be a couple of retired Chinese men (57 and 59 years of age). We had a good chat (with the help of a phrase book) and took photos of each other. They were fascinated by our trip and particularly of the trip 20 years ago but we were in awe of them and their trip. They were heading through to Korla before turning south east, then curving back round to the north and and then west back to Urumqi. Their route would be pretty mountainous and pretty remote. They did have language on their side but apart from that they were in for a hard time ahead. 

As we talked (they were there for about an hour) one of them drank a small amount of water and had 2 cigarettes while I didn't see the other drink anything. Neil and I were guzzling water just to compensate for what we were losing in sweat sitting there. 

When the wind and the heat seemed to be at their absolute worst these 2 said their farewells and hit the road once more to climb into the hills. Neil and I shook our heads in amazement at their stamina and grit and resolved to stay put for the next few hours till things cooled down a bit. 

Sitting there in the dirt contemplating our good fortune at having found such a place we had mangy featherless chickens running in and around our hands and legs and our minds started turning to thoughts of bird flu (there had been warnings at the airport on arrival). I got up and went for a wander round back. 

About 25 metres behind the building was a locked gate through which could be seen a shady track just wide enough for a car and, of camp site quality. I headed back to tell Neil our lucky streak was getting even better. Just as I was starting to do so the 'lady of the shack' came and suggested we move round there to rest where it was cooler. She suggested waiting till 6.00 pm local time before attempting to move on. Moments later she had unlocked the gate and we wheeled our bikes into an orchard of all places. We were unable to work out what kind of fruit trees they were but the standards around here are apricots and nectarines so they were most likely these. 

After several hours of sleeping and eating we packed up the gear, thanked our hostess and bade farewell to the chickens. The day didn't seem to have cooled at all and the road was still blistering. A steady 17 km climb later and we were well into the mountains. It was getting late so we picked out a spot at the side of the road in a dried riverbed and and set up camp for the night. 

The following morning we rose at 5.00 am Beijing time (3.00 local time), cooked a breakfast of tea and instant noodles and then set about the 26 km slog to the pass. Nothing about our legs felt like riding this morning but we ground on, nibbling away at the road in 2 to 3 km bits between rests. We did not want to be caught still climbing when the sun eventually made its way into the valley. 

At 10 kms we pulled off the road at a truck siding and found a couple of guys selling watermelons. We / they were in the middle of nowhere. Neil bought a whole melon (10 yuan - $1.40) and we sat down to consume it. This was possibly our undoing. Being 90% water and most water sources being pretty dodgy it was inevitable we would get sick from this and 24 hours later we were. We should have known better. 

We pushed on to the pass at 1800 metres (we had climbed 2000 metres since the day before) and were soon descending quickly into the sprawling desert below. Our goal today was the town of Kumush and we were soon rolling down its only dusty street. 

If there is another name for Hell then it is Kumush. Everything about this place is whipped and beaten by the desert around it. There is barely a living thing there other than the wizened residents and there is nothing that is not the colour of dust and sand. Dust devels twist wildly down the street through rubbish heaps and coal piles. Everything inside and out is dusty and irritating. And it is hot! 

This was home for the night. There were apparently only 2 places to stay in Kumush. These were local guest houses (Jin Chao) and we happened upon the better of these. For an excessive 40 yuan ($A 6.80) we were shown to a filthy room with 2 equally filthy beds. Linen is not washed between guests and our beds looked like they had seen many dusty and sweaty bodies since the last time. It had a TV for distraction though and there was just enough room to squeeze our bikes in. Down the hall there was a shower and out back was a flat open scrap of land that was the communal toilet. 

We washed up and headed out for dinner - a bowl each of local noodles with fried mutton, vegetables and chilli. This really is a very good dish and is pretty much our staple on this trip. It was then time to prepare for an early morning start and to get some sleep.

Turfan

Turfan is an oasis set well below sea level in the Turfan basin. It is famous for its grapes and the raisins that are made from them. While Turfan is now perhaps only about 50% Uighur it still retains much of its old original appeal and atmosphere.

Behind our hotel is a westernised restaurant / bar called John's cafe. John it turns out is a Chinese man we met in Kashgar in 1988 when he was running his first cafe there. John now has 4 such cafes that cater to the basic dietary needs of the budget travellers in Kashgar, Turfan, Lhasa and Dunhuang. The one in Turfan is managed by one of John's drivers and his wife.

We showed some of our old photos to our hosts and explained our trip of 20 years ago. They were fascinated by it all and somewhat amazed that we had managed it back then, particularly given the restrictions on travel at that time. I think they were a little more bewildered though as to why we would want to do it all again.

We had one picture of 2 kebab sellers at a stall in Turfan and asked them if they knew of the men. They did not as they had only recently moved from Kashgar to manage this place. Another man did recognise one of the men in the photo though and said he now ran a clothing shop near the market.

The next morning we headed to the market place to see if we could find him. Sadly we could not although several people recognised the same man in the picture but all said he had since moved away from Turfan. It was a bit disappointing after our success in Da Ban but hardly unexpected.

Turfan is famous for one other thing and to me it is one of the most fascinating things I have seen in China. To provide for their water needs (drinking, washing, farming and irrigation) they have long used a system known as Karez. Karez are undergroung channels dug by hand that lead from the mountains to the town. In Turfan the nearest mountains are the Bogda Shan about 20 kms away. This system allows the water to reach the town without evaporating and allows the whole Turfan basin to be so well irrigated despite the excessive heat and the desert around it.

We took a bike ride a couple of kms to a Uighur part of the town where we saw one such Karez that is reportedly 200 years old. It supplies all the water needs for the people in that part of the town. In the heat and dust of that place it is amazing to see so much cool fresh water flowing.

Urumqi to Turfan

We got on the road at about 6.30 am Beijing time (everything in China runs on Beijing time), 4.30 am local time and after asking for a few directions found our way out of town.

Urumqi was much bigger than we remembered it 20 years ago. At that time it was a small provincial town populated predominantly by the ethnic Uighur. Today it is a city of nearly 3,000,000 (90% of the population of whom appear to be Chinese). The city itself looks like any other modern Chinese city now.

Once out of town the road turned south and we were on our way. At this point we were following the old Silk Road. There is a new highway that crosses the desert from east to west but we wanted to keep off that if possible to avoid the high volumes of traffic, particularly the trucks.

We had a light tailwind and the progress was good. As the day warmed up the wind picked steadily. This as well as the almost continuous downhill (Turfan is in a basin about 150 metres below sea level) meant we were travelling at time in excess of 60 kms an hour without peddling. We were flying and even though Turfan was 200 kms away it was looking certain that we would make it in 1 day.

About 90 kms from Urumqi we came to the town of Da Ban. I remembered this from 1988 as a speck on the map with little more than a local peasant's market. I had taken some photos of some young kids (perhaps 2 or 3 years of age) at that time and I had these with me now.

Da Ban has grown into quite a town since we were last here but smack in the middle of it we spotted a building with the words 'Da Ban Peasant's Market' painted above the large open entrance. It was the same building we knew from before.

Next door to this was a small shop so we entered and bought some locally made yoghurt before producing our photos from the last trip and asking the lady of the shop if she knew the kids. She called in some other women and pretty quickly we had a lot of interest and excited talk going on around us.

Initially they were more interested in the pictures of us from 1988 as well as those of our families but when we finally steered them back to the question of the kids in the photos I had taken, there began to be some acknowledgement of recognition. A phone call was made and shortly afterwards a young man arrived on a motorbike. He was not one of the boys in the photos but was the younger brother of one of them.

After lots of teasing, laughing and photos we decided to push on leaving a copy of the photo for the young man to give his brother. We could have stayed in Da Ban as we had already ridden a respectable 90 kms but with a howling tailwind now we decided to keep going.

At about the 140 km mark the road turned east and our day came undone. In the full mid-afternoon desert heat we were now dealing with a cyclonic crosswind and were constantly being blown off the road. At one point while trying to get myself back on the road my bike and all its gear was blown around 90 degrees to face into the wind with me still astride it!!

We continued on as best we could but it was becoming clear we could not get to Turfan under these conditions. It was also clear we could not camp in them either.

In the distance we saw some trucks parked at a rest stop so we decided to ride to there and shelter behind them. They had pulled off the road as the conditions were too bad for them and their precarious loads to manage either. We considered flagging down a truck and getting a lift the last 50 or so kms to Turfan and began making attempts to do so.

As we stood out on the road almost being blown off our feet, a battered old bus that had been converted into a mobile home pulled in to the rest stop. As it did so, and as if in slow motion, its front windscreen popped completely out, seemed to hang suspended for a few moments and was then flung to the road not 10 metres in front of us where it exploded into a million pieces. The wind quickly swept up the mess.

An elderly Brazilian man, perhaps in his late 70s climbed down from the bus while his wife and a young Chinese woman watched on from inside. Neil helped him retrieve the rubber seal from around the windscreen then he pulled in behind one of parked trucks. We suggested he reverse in but he chose to drive straight in. If the truck in front pulled out he was in danger of having every other window in his bus sent the same way as his windscreen.

Shortly after we flagged down a small utility truck and drove the rest of the way to Turfan.

At the Turfan Hotel where we had stayed 20 years ago we got ourselves a room but not before ordering and downing a couple of bottles of beer (750 ml bottles for $A 0.50). We had ridden 154 kms.

Arrival in China (Urumqi)

After having my flight diverted to Gansu provence due to high winds and a sand storm at Urumqi I finally arrived late on the night of the 1st. Neil had come out to the airport earlier to meet me but not knowing what time my flight would finally arrive, headed back into town.

I collected my gear and then negotiated an over-inflated rate for a mini van to take me to the hostel where Neil and I would be staying. A group of young Hong Kong university graduates on a graduation holiday were also heading to the same hostel so we shared the van. As we got into the van I stumbled and tripped my way over my bags in the dark and must have looked like some frail old man to these young kids. Somewhat embarrassingly, the only girl in the group gently took my arm and guided me to my seat.... Not exactly the seasoned Silk Road traveller image I was trying to portray!!

It was late at the hostel when I finally arrived and the elderly man behind the counter could speak no English. I checked through the guest book but couldn't find any entry for Neil. The old man didn't seem to know about him either. Finally I saw Neil's name on a scrap of paper that was used to keep a track of who was staying in the 'fancier' rooms (we had a 2 bed room with its own toilet and shower for 100 yuan a night - $A17, $NZ 20).

I took my bike and gear up to the room. Neil was still out somewhere but his bike was in the room so I knew I had the right place.

Neil returned shortly after and the trip was finally on. We would spend the next day buying food, water bottles and other essentials for the trip then be on our way.

Countdown

Neil heads off tomorrow (30th of May) from Auckland and will overnight in Seoul before flying on to Urumqi. Poor bastard will arrive at 1.30 am on the 1st of June. I leave Saturday morning (31st) and overnight in Hong Kong before flying on to Urumqi. I also arrive on the 1st but at a much more respectable 6.45 pm. Neil will have the fun of finding the hostel we will be staying at briefly in the wee hours of Sunday morning and sorting everything out before I swan in later that day.

Mie and Yuuki (my wife and nearly 4 year old son) will be flying out with me on Saturday but from Hong Kong they will continue on to Japan where they will spend the next 2 months at Mie's mum's place. Neil's wife, Naoko, will be waiting patiently for nearly 6 weeks back home in New Zealand while she looks after their 3 kids Wakana, Gen and Kaze. (Yeah, I guess we'll both be paying for this holiday long after our Visa card balances are back on zero....!).

At it again

If you are 20 something and between school and a job it is hardly remarkable these days to be seen somewhere out in the world with a backpack on getting your taste of adventure travel. It is pretty much a right of passage for many. What is a little more unusual perhaps is to be out there doing it when you are a family man with a career and in your mid-40s. Enter me (Dylan) and Neil, 2 ex-backpackers staring down the barrel of middle age and unable to let go of the past.

In our day we had worn out shoe leather and bicycle tires on some of the more out of the way backpacker trails the developing world had to offer and in some cases may have even pioneered the odd new one. Twenty years on and that hunger for adventure that drove us then, the dreams and the pure pleasure of living in the moment are luring us back once more.

As I write this it is 20 years and 1 month to the day since we set off from Urumqi in China's far north-western province of Xinjiang on a bicycle trip that would take us west for 2000 kilometres. It would take us across searing desert and frozen mountain ranges along the Silk Road to Pakistan via the lung busting Khunjerab pass (opened to foreigners just 2 years earlier). In doing so Neil and I became, if not the first, one of the very first sets of foreign tourists to cycle what has since become one of the classic adventure cycling routes of the world.

For 2 months we scarcely saw another western face, had almost no contact with friends or family back home and no access to news of the outside world - it was perfect! Hardly surpising then that 20 years on we find ourselves heading back there with the idea of doing it all again (well, all except the Pakistan bit.....).