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Friday 2004-06-25 - Kashgar, Xinjiang (China)
Into Xinjiang
After the actual border crossing on the Kirghiz side, it’s a long trip to the building of the Chinese border post — at first over a bad road, alongside it pieces of old iron that have fallen off the truck exporting it to China: enough to fill another truck. Then into a new river valley, a much better road here; the mountains on each side are mostly bare but along the river bed there’s some greenery and we see some (ethnic) Kirghiz nomads grazing their herds here; the bus sometimes has to stop for a large herd roaming all over the road. Later, we see more agriculture, and Uyghur houses shaded by rows of poplars.
Before the actual border post there’s a small building where the quarantine office is housed now; the questionnaire has a question about SARS, and our temperature is taken (with a kind of hand-held scanner). But since we left late by now we’re late here, too; two trucks are before us, with a load of carpets an other stuff that all has to go through the (single) scanner first. When it’s finally our turn, I’m asked if I have any books (of course!); I then have to open my bag to show them — I take out only my travel guides and decide not to show my old Hebrew book just yet, not knowing what they’re looking for. The officer is probably just curious (but officially looking for subversive materials?): he’s trying to figure out what the books are about, looking through each for maps; it’s obvious he cannot actually read any English; he even walks away with my books into an office: I’m getting worried I might have to leave them behind. After a long time, it’s declared “OK” and I can put my books back. Phew! Ouside there are money changers, but we ignore them; we must move on.
When we finally get into Kashgar, it’s late — and we find that not only the banks are closed but since a year hotels apparently no longer are allowed to change money either. So there we are without any local currency. We’re allowed to have dinner at John’s Cafe (now moved to a building on the Seman Hotel’s grounds) at credit, giving our room number: we can pay tomorrow, when we can get money. Well, I hope … tomorrow is Saturday: will the bank even be open? But we can’t really do anything but have dinner on credit tonight. We’re effectively grounded — forget about going into town. I’m not in my best mood now.
Saturday 2004-06-26 - Kashgar, Xinjiang (China)
Foot and mouth disease
Traveling for 65 days over bad roads, eating non-familiar foods, getting used to local water (and just when you are, you’re moving into a different country again) … things happen to your body. And sometimes we’re just tired: this isn’t the most relaxing of trips (not that we were looking for that when embarking on this); a tired body is less able to fight off infections. Here’s the balance (in no particulaar order) after traveling some 50 days with our little group of 12 — not naming names…
- The usual ‘traveler’s disease’ of course (diarrhea, sometimes vomiting): we all get our turn (or turns)
- a corner broken off a tooth
- two teeth (at once) coming off a denture
- a broken crown
- a tooth filling falling out
- various nose colds and coughing (most of us, taking turns — it seems to ‘bounce around’)
- swollen legs
- a sprained knee
- dislocated foot bones (that’s two of us!)
- contused ribs
- blisters — not just on feet, also a big one as a result of a 2nd degree burn
- insect bites (a lot)
- fistual (or some such) on a finger, surgically removed in hospital
- big infection on a leg — also treated in hospital
And through all of that, we all keep moving…
Renovation at breakneck speed
After changing money (first a little at the hotel shop, possibly illegally, then after some false tries at other banks more at the main branch of the Bank of China which is indeed open) we walk in the direction of the Id Kah mosque in Kashgar. The first thing I note, a way before we get there, is a big poster depicting the future of Id Kah square: all new design, rows of new shops all around … but when we walk on we find this vision isn’t that far into the future — in fact it’s nearly finished! A large chunk of the old town around the mosque has been torn down to make place for the fancy new buildings, some in quasi-Uyghur style. There’s a fence all around the are but we notice locals walking through various openings and doors in the fence to avoid making a long detour. While we’re watching this, a woman simply waves us through and we find ourselves on the eerily empty new square. We can walk around unchallenged. The new square pavement is nearly finished but it looks very strange without all the usual bustle and market stalls. After walking around some and taking pictures, we leave the building area again through a a half-finished building and another opening in the fence. Then we try to find another way into the old town — or what’s left of it.
Vegetable Market Road is open and physically unchanged but much quieter than I know it, probably because part of the market crowd has disappeared with part of the old town where all the shops and stalls used to be. Farther on, the old houses still stand, but they’re working on completely new road pavement. I wonder if these houses will disappear as well but at least the new pavement follows the old road pattern. Maybe not — or not yet?
China is busy renovating all of its cities in preparation for the 2008 Olympics but here in Kashgar there’s an cynical twist to it: the process of renovation (or ‘renovation’) has been going on for years already, driving the Uyghurs out of the city center to new flats at the outskirts of the city, and letting Han Chinese into the city (though their apartments aren’t all that much better). On the one hand, living conditions for the Uyghurs should be better in a practical sense, providing them with water and (better) sewer systems; on the other, culturally they are much worse off: they no longer have their old neighborhood mosques nearby, let alone the Id Kah (a Friday mosque); and if they’re not living on the top floor of the high-rise apartments, they have other people walking above them — something quite disconcerting for people who normally live in family dwellings around a courtyard. I feel that in a sense, it’s taking the heart out of their culture. This may not even be intentional: the supremely pragmatic Han seem to have no sense of the value of a cultural heritage.
Even two years ago, we found half of a large cemetery had been razed to make place for new apartment buildings (I was happy to have seen it before it was destroyed — it was quite impressive then). Now, the Olympics form a good excuse to speed up this renovation process. I can’t help but wonder what will be left here in four years’ time, and how far the Uyghurs still living here will then have to travel to go to the Id Kah mosque on Fridays. (The mosque is also used by Hui, Muslim Chinese, but they are a very small minority here.) Still, at least the mosque itself will be spared; two years ago even that wasn’t certain. But one of the charms of Kashgar was the contrast between the old Uyghur center and the new Chinese town growing up right next to it; at least some of that is disappearing now. It makes me sad — and makes me wonder what’s happening in Tibet now…
Another portrait finds its subject
Farther on in the old town of Kashgar (there is at least some left) I deliver yet another photograph — the woman I pictured working on her embroidery is quickly found with the help of friendly and delighted neighbors; she herself is so surprised, at first she can’t do much more than giggle at seeing her picture!
The largest mosque in Xinjiang
The center of Kashgar has turned into a huge construction area (the preceding destruction seems to be finished already). The main entrance of the Id Kah is closed while ‘renovating’ the square in front of it, but the mosque is still open. We locate a back entrance I hadn’t noticed before and find ourselves right at the wide, open prayer hall at the back of the large courtyard. Pillars and roof beams are made of wood, decorated with carving and painted in various bright colors; there’s some decoration on the walls as well. The whole of the huge courtyard is shaded by a mass of poplars also lining the ponds. As a result, it’s always cool and pleasant here, a spot to quietly sit and ponder the world and whatever upper being(s) you believe in. Now, it’s also like a peninsula of the old Kashgar in a sea of modernization. A spot to find your inner peace again, just sitting under the rustling poplar leaves.
Just when we sit down, a man approaches us and asks if we have a ticket — well, no, we entered at the back, there’s no ticket office there. We’ll buy one, of course. No problem, you can stay where you are, just give me the money (10 Yuan), he suggests, which we do. A little while later the friendly man comes walking back to bring us the tickets and tells us they’ll be closing in a few minutes. We ask and get permission to walk a little around the courtyard before actually leaving!
This mosque, with its huge poplar-shaded courtyard is not just unique: it’s also the largest mosque in all of Xinjiang; originally built in the 15th century, it was extended and renovated later. Also interesting is that (as I noted when I was here before) not only Uyghurs come here, but Hui (Muslim Chinese) as well. I’m glad this very special bit of Kashgar will at least remain.
Sunday 2004-06-27 - Kashgar, Xinjiang (China)
No Sunday market
I wake up with a cold, and my foot still hurts after our rather long walk yesterday, so I decide to pass up on the Sunday market today; after all, I’ve been there already, I don’t feel as though I’m really missing something. After dozing a bit longer, I go outside and sit at a table on the terrace at John’s Cafe to catch up with writing my journal, strengthened by a large pot of jasmine tea (free). That may have been a good choice: when the others come back I understand not only were most disappointed at the animal market (as I was two years ago, when it had already been moved to the outside of the city) but the Sunday market is now in a brand-new building — another sign of the breakneck speed at which Kashgar is changing — I can keep my memory of the way it was.
The drummer gets his portrait, too
I’ve gotten fidgety after sitting and writing all morning so after lunch I decide to go out for a little walk. I’m curious to see what’s left of the old town of Kashgar East of the Id Kah square, behind the department store building, so I head in that direction. Besides, last time I photographed two Uyghur musicians in that building — I’m hoping (vaguely) to find them back. And I’m lucky today: when I arrive at the building I hear drums, though the sound is coming from the other side of the street; I look over — and immediately recognize the drummer from my picture. Different doppa but on the same head, similar old-fashioned jacket, same way of moving and drumming — there’s no doubt in my mind: it’s him; he’s drumming together with a young boy. The department store has an underground floor which goes under the street and further below the Id Kah square, so I use it as an underpass and go to the musicians. Like last time, the old man is instructing the youngster at the large drum (good to see a bit of culture being passed on); I stand aside and smile at him, waiting for a break in the music. He smiles back, and plays on; and on. The young boy at the big drum is actually quite good and eager to practice but after a little while an older boy takes over from him — he constantly misses a beat. Finally, there’s a break, and I show my picture to the old man — his smile immediately widens into a big grin: Yes, that’s me! When I give him the picture, his delight is unmistakable and it’s carefully put away in an inner pocket. He then gestures that the zurna player from my other picture is around here somewhere (his instrument is leaning against the wall right here!) but I don’t see him anywhere; but when I want to walk away, the drummer waves me back: he’ll give it to him. This picture goes into a different pocket.
Behind the department store building I find to my delight that part of the old town is practically unchanged — but for the work going on to put new pavement on the street, and below that apparently new sewers and conduits for cables. Whether the Uyghur buildings will survive, I cannot tell, but (as we saw in another part of the old town) the new road simply follows the old street, curves and all.
When I get back to the hotel, I’m simply too tired to go to the hotel business center to go online - I walked much farther than I had planned but I’m glad to have seen a relatively untouched part of old Kashgar: in spite of the fast changes, and contrary to my initial fears, Kashgar is still a nice town, not in the least because of the very friendly inhabitants.
Monday 2004-06-28 - Kuqa, Xinjiang (China)
On the train
At 6:10 am the bus is already waiting to take us to the train station which is way outside the city. The train will take us from Kashgar to Kuqa, a town which is new to me. The station is modern: luggage goes through an x-ray scanner before we’re let in to the waiting room and here, at least, there are no stairs to climb to get to the platform (I have bad memories of Ürümqi in that respect). We have reserved places on the train in a hard-sleeper carriage; there are open compartments with six beds each (on three levels) and two little folding chairs in the corridor alongside the compartments. Custom dictates that as long as people are not sleeping — and this is not a night train — the people who have the upper beds can sit om the lower bed since the two folding chairs are not enough. Alas, in our compartment, a very uncouth Uyghur claims his bed and Carla is banned to the folding chair. Meanwhile I sit on the corner of the other bed, which belongs to a mother with a young boy: for them it’s no problem, even when they stretch out for a nap. Big thermos flasks with hot water are provided so we can make a cup of tea or prepare a bowl of instant noodles; every now and then an attendant comes past with a little cart with fresh hot water but on this train no food is sold and there’s no hot water tank at the end of the carriage as is normal in Chinese trains.
We ride along the edge of the Taklamakan desert, with the Tien Shan mountains in the North, here mainly consisting of bare sandstone in various colors. Near the rails, grass has been planted in a square grid pattern to prevent the sand from blowing away or blowing onto the tracks; at some stretches I even notice the tubes of a drip irrigation system: not for agriculture but merely to promote a little vegetation and stop the sand…
Apart from the unfriendly Uyghur (an exception), the atmosphere on the train is nice; people sit around quietly to chat or eat a snack; no one is loud, not even the children. On arrival in Kuqa, one man even helps us to get the luggage off the train, handing us our bags through the window. Then he waves goodbye to us.
We arrive a little late, but a bus is waiting to take us to the Min Mao hotel which has a curious “old-soviet” style with a key lady to open the room for you — who usually has to be found on another floor first. Otherwise, no complaints.
Tuesday 2004-06-29 - Kuqa, Xinjiang (China)
Buddha caves - from the outside
A two-hour drive away from Kuqa are the Kizil Buddha cases; similar to the Thousand Buddha caves near Turpan (which I visited two years ago), but supposed to be more beautiful.
The road out there takes us through some really spectacular landscapes: the Tien Shan Mountains here consist mostly of layers of sediment only partially hardened into real stone. In some place, these layers are still perfectly horizontal and water erosion (!) has worn them into near-perfect pyramids — these formations are a protected landscape. Farther on, the layers have been pushed around and in one area are now nearly vertical: erosion here has worn away the softer layers, leaving near-vertical ‘walls’ of the harder stone; sometimes such a wall has toppled but many stand. After an hour of such impressive views from a fairly good road, we suddenly take a turn to the left onto a track which first takes us through a wide river bed and then on into the desert which looks like a flood plain (maybe there are flash floods here when it does rain?). Our driver actually gets off the bus to check the track (marked with a line of little flags) before turning into the side track. We’re vaguely worried: are we really heading into the right direction? When a taxi with one passenger overtakes us a little later, it seems we are; after another hour over rough tracks, half-finished roads and detours around road-building works we do indeed arrive at the site of the caves.
Another bus arrived just before us. At the gate, the ticket-selling lady waves us through but when we have climbed a lot of stairs and arrive at the first of the caves — all locked with a padlock — it turns out we do need to buy a ticket after all, as well as a guide to open all those locks for us. So down again we go, with my knees and my hurt foot screaming in protest: stairs are not good for me now!
So I pass: I’m not going to climb all those stairs again (and then lots more) and descend them again; these caves may be better than those near Turpan (the pictures I see later do suggest that) but at least I have seen something similar already. Instead, I take a nice quiet (and slow) stroll in the little wood at the foot of the mountain, where I spot two cuckoos who refuse to sit still for a photograph, and (at last!) make my first picture of the elusive flowering tamarisk bush (until now always only seen from a moving bus). Pity about the caves but I have a nice time anyway, and the landscape on the way here was worth the trip all by itself.
On the way back over the same tracks, half-finished roads and detours our driver suddenly stops. Photo stop? The landscape is beautiful. No — it turns out we have a very tire: no surprise really on these tracks covered with sharp stone fragments. Our driver is quick replacing the tire, obviously having done it before.
Uyghurs and Han Chinese
Back in Kuqa, Carla and I first walk around the new part of town a little, checking out the shops. In the evening, we all have dinner together: next to the Min Mao hotel is a well-stocked supermarket and next to that is the “Uyghur Restaurant”.
Although this is actually my fourth visit to Xinjiang, here in Kuqa I see for the first time ‘imported’ Han Chinese interacting normally and friendly with the original local population — Uyghurs here. (Original at least when the Chinese claimed this territory; much farther back in history, the Turkic peoples and Tajiks themselves moved into what is now the Xinjiang province of China.) What I saw until now was two different societies living almost completely separate lives, going to different schools, shopping at different shops and market stalls, eating at different restaurants. Here in Kuqa I’m interested to see a mixture of Chinese and Uyghur on the market, a Chinese woman having a friendly chat with an Uyghur woman on the street corner; and here in the restaurant, run completely by a team of Uyghurs serving both Uyghur and Chinese food, both Uyghurs and Chinese come to eat.
This warms my heart: maybe, given time, these peoples can indeed live peacefully together without the Uyghurs giving up their identity.
The atmosphere at the restaurant is very pleasant, and the food is truly excellent so we end up taking nearly all our meals here.
Wednesday 2004-06-30 - Kuqa, Xinjiang (China)
Relaxing and shopping
We will leave tonight on the night train, so we have most of the day to do as we see fit. Together with Carla I first walk out of the modern town which we explored a little already yesterday: As in Kashgar, the old Uyghur quarters are on the outskirts, but nearby here since Kuqa is a relatively small town.
We discover a small Uyghur cemetery where there even is an old tomb (which we don’t visit) as well as a small mosque. Within the walls, we sit in the shade a bit and see several men arriving for payers, several on their bike. We “chat” a bit with an old man who (of course) wants to know where we are from; he’s 100 years old, claims his companion, which probably just means “very old” — he certainly is that.
Along a small unpaved road we detour back to the modern town where we explore the nice market, and more shops; I even buy two shirts.
After dinner together, again at the Uyghur Restaurant next door, we leave at 21:30 for the station, taking four taxis this time. Our train is a slightly more modern version of the one we had from Kashgar. Lights out at 23:00.
Thursday 2004-07-01 - Daheyan, Xinjiang (China)
Deserted desert
I wake up at seven; the sun is shining and an attendant is bringing a new thermos of hot water. We’re riding through a nice mountain landscape, obviously quite high but these mountains are covered with coarse grass; we see some snow-capped peaks behind. Every now and then we go through a tunnel or over a viaduct across a valley. There’s very little sign of human habitation.
Farther on, the landscape gets harsher, a mountainous desert. Curiously, we see a lot of small groups of houses along the railway, even villages — all completely deserted: only the walls stand, all roofs have disappeared. There’s no sign what the inhabitants of these houses could have lived from: no fields, no stables, just houses; yet they must have lived from something. The very sparse vegetation seems barely enough for grazing a few goats. At one point, we cross a river and upstream we see a whole town, also completely deserted: no roofs, no windows in any of the houses and apartment blocks; a power station that no longer works. Why were all these houses, villages and towns built? Were they here before the railway came — or built because of the railway and abandoned again when the railway was completed? Something else? The number of completely deserted villages here in the desert is remarkable but we see no explanation, no clue.
At a little past noon we arrive at Daheyan, a small factory town in the middle of the desert; a bus is waiting to take us on to Turpan, which isn’t on the railway line.
Thursday 2004-07-01 - Turpan, Xinjiang (China)
Hot!
Turpan lies in a basin, the lowest point of which is at 154m below sea level: the second-lowest on earth and sometimes called the “Oven of China” because it’s so hot. So hot, in fact, even I think it’s hot! (It wasn’t this hot last time I was here, but that was at the beginning of October — now it’s summer.) Our hotel, the Turpan hotel, is along the renovated Nian Qing road though, a pleasant avenue completely shaded by grape vines with walking paths on both sides, and the central road accessible only for public transportation. The hotel is OK, nothing special, but doesn’t offer a place to sit outside in the shade — no problem: the local branch of John’s Cafe across the road does. While the kitchen here isn’t as good as that in the Kashgar branch it’s a nice place to gather for a meal or drink — or just sit and write. After a drink in the shade, Carla and I brave the hot sun to find the bazaar, about the only ‘sight’ in Turpan I haven’t seen yet and rumored to be nice.
The rumor is correct. It’s a really very nice bazaar, and since most of it is covered we can stay in the shade to look around and shop a little. There’s a pleasant kind of organized disorder — or is it disorganized order? Trades and goods each have their own corner or street, a whole hall of restaurants, another with just dried fruit and nuts, a street with shoes, and so on, but it isn’t all straight and new either and large enough to get lost in the labyrinth of streets and halls. We see all kinds of foods that are new to us; frequently we are offered a taste if we just look (pickled whole garlic bulbs for instance — I get a clove to taste and it’s very nice) and we end up buying a bag of spicy rice crackers: nice with a cold beer). The people, both buyers and sellers, are a mixture of Uyghurs and Chinese here, all very friendly. I also get myself a nice pair of red-and-black fabric shoes I can use as house shoes — I can use the salesman’s stool to try them on and they cost me only 15 Yuan (1.50 EUR); I don’t even bother to bargain!
Friday 2004-07-02 - Turpan, Xinjiang (China)
Too hot!
Most of the group has hired bikes for today to see some of the sites around Turpan, planning to leave early. I hate biking — I live in Amsterdam and don’t even have a bike! — and I’ve seen all those sites anyway, so I decline and when Carla leaves at 7:00 I just turn around to get some more sleep. At 10:00 I’m woken up again by Carla returning: they’d seen the Imin minaret and adjoining mosque but then Carla decided it was actually too hot to ride a bike and returned, immediately followed by the others. They’ll get a taxi later in the day to see a few other sites…
Fast Internet
I go to the Internet service across the road (a few houses from John’s) to catch up with my site. I’d asked the lady about the price yesterday: only 5 Yuan per hour (it’s 10 per hour in the hotel). In fact, the shop is a small business center, offering photocopies, fax, phone, and Internet access (from a single machine), apparently competing successfully with the business center in the hotel.
When I arrive this morning, there’s only a young boy in sight, 10 years at most. “Internet?” I ask him. No problem, he turns on the modem, the monitor and the machine and waits until the connection is live: I can now work with Windows XP on a modern machine with a 100Mb ADSL connection. Half an hour later mum returns, switches on the airco for me, and asks if I want to drink something. I end up typing for more than three hours in a nice, cool room, with a large glass of hot green tea beside me — and paying only 19 Yuan (less than 2 EUR) for the privilege. “Tired?” she asks, when I get up to leave. Yes, but I’m not finished yet, I merely need a break; I’ll probably be back in the afternoon, I promise her. I still have a lot of catching up to do!
First a little walk to check out the grand “Tour and Culture Square”: I see not much changed here in Turpan since my last visit: I can find back all the shops I remember and buy some snacks for tomorrow on the train. Then after a short siesta in the hotel, I go back to the Internet service for another batch of items in my travel blog. Three more hours of typing takes care of all of Kyrgyzstan. Then back to John’s cafe for a cool beer. I feel I’ve earned it.
Desert storm
Yesterday at the end of the afternoon, a wind started blowing, people at John’s cafe hurried to lay down all the flower vases standing on the tables, so they won’t blow off. Today, the pattern repeats itself, only more so. With Turpan lying in a deep depression in the desert, dust storms are to be expected, but I never experienced one.
After drinks at John’s, some of us have moved to the Uyghur restaurant next door for dinner (very nice, and the friendly girl serving us is soon absorbed in an English-Uyghur phrase book); suddenly, the wind gets a lot fiercer, and it starts to get dark; when we look outside, the air is suddenly full of dust and it’s hard to see any distance. Curiously, through the dust, a few very thick drops of rain are falling as well. Poplar trees are bending over in the strong wind, their crowns almost perpendicular with the trunks. We’re sitting safe here, but looking outside it’s a bit scary.
Power fails a couple of times; a guy from the restaurant sits in the corner, constantly fidgeting to switch between normal and emergency power so we have light to eat by. Thom, sitting at the Internet service next door, is not so lucky: when the power fails, the computer just switches off, and he loses all he’d typed…
Saturday 2004-07-03 - Turpan, Xinjiang (China)
Pizza with chopsticks
There’s a popular theory that says that Marco Polo found pasta on his travels in Asia and introduced it in Italy. That’s quite possible since we’ve seen a wide variation of pasta all over Central Asia, both dried, in all kinds of shapes and even colors, as well as fresh hand-made noodles. But of course it’s equally possible the introduction of a new food went in the other direction or that pasta was simply invented in multiple locations. Today though, the theory gets an extension:
At John’s Cafe here in Turpan, one of the specials posted is something called “Kashgar pizza”; I have no idea what that is (and never seen it in Kashgar) but I’m curious, so I order it for lunch. What arrives is a nice surprise: food for the stomach as well as food for thought. Imagine a flat, round, local nan (bread, baked with some sesame seeds on top), neatly cut into pointed slices. On top a big mound of stir-fried vegetables: bean sprouts, spinach, onions, tomatoes, coarsely chopped garlic (a lot) and mushrooms (a little), all topped with a little melted cheese — and served with chopsticks. I have to think a little before tackling it, ending up eating some of the vegetables with the chopsticks, then a slice of bread, and so on; it turns out to be delicious.
But is this just a local interpretation of ‘pizza’ or is it maybe the other way round? Flat round bread, when covered with vegetables, looks just like a pizza bottom. Could Marco Polo also have found pizza in Central Asia and introduced it to Italy? Who knows, but it’s at least possible….
After my late (and big) lunch I end up eating only a fruit salad for dinner. Around eight we leave in the bus which will take us to Daheyan station again.
Saturday 2004-07-03 - Daheyan, Xinjiang (China)
Honoured guests
On arrival at the station in Daheyan we’re waved into the “Lounge for Honoured Guests” — normally reserved only for people with soft-sleeper tickets (which is not us): apparently as foreigners here we’re considered “honoured guests” as well. There’s one disadvantage to that: we have to climb six thickly-carpeted stairways with all our luggage (not so good for my foot) but there are advantages, too: nice big, soft chairs, we don’t have to put our luggage through the scanner (why not??), and we’re let onto the platform and train first so getting onto the train isn’t as hectic as usual.
