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.