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.