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.