Kashgar

Dear all,

There was once a country called Kashgaria and Kashgar was its capital. Its Uighur people had been ruled by Dynasty, Republic, and Communist China regimes in turn. They revolted against each overlord from the east, backed by the Soviets in more recent years, but they've never been successful - each time the city was reconquered with much bloodshed.

When we were there the city was peaceful apart from the bulldozers. They were in the process of demolishing the Old Town and resettling its near exclusively Uighur inhabitants into Chinese built Islamic styled housing and and Chinese built Chinese styled apartment blocks. The justification for this is that the Old Town is overcrowded and not earthquake safe. They discovered in 2009 this shortly after Uighur separatists attacked Han Chinese police officers with machetes.

We arrived at Kashgar late in the afternoon and immediately congregated at the nearby "John's cafe", part of a chain that we'd also visited in Dunhuang and Turpan. In each city it had appeared to be the sole source of wifi and so it was popular. It provided for all our needs for many hours - Internet, shade, beer and food.

The next morning we took to the livestock market. This formerly "stretched into the desert" but had been relocated and was now the size of a medium car boot sale. We arrived first thing when the farmers were still setting up. Unlike other residents of Kashgar they largely ignored us which was useful while we were trying to photograph handshakes and arguments.

We dodged about inexpertly inspecting animals and trying to keep out the way of people who were actually working. Eventually I got tired of this and went to eat roasted dumplings. These were mostly fat - waste not want not - but were hot, filling and charcoal flavoured. Also like every other place in China they came with free hot tea. My breakfast so far that day had been limited to a dry bagel like bread item picked up from one of many roadside bakeries with Xiahe honey messily poured on it so this hot liquid was gratefully received.

I watched them make dumplings as I ate. One of my truckmates said he saw the cook lick the fatty raw meat from his fingers while he was massaging the mix then immediately continue but I didn't see it so I don't have to remember it.

We drove back into Kashgar where we were dropped at the Sunday bazaar (market) and invited to make our own way back to the hotel. I felt at home here despite the majority of my company speaking an alien language and staring at me. Markets and car boot sales are very similar and so involve similar strategies. 1. identify rows then take each side in turn. Do not attempt to do two sides of a row at once. 2. Always haggle. 3. Don't try to follow people - they'll go too slow and you'll get bored, or they'll go too fast and you'll miss items of interest, like melons and retro stereos.

There was also the scene that can be seen in markets, car boots, fleas and bazaars over the world - a group of determined looking women crowd round and sift through a pile of assorted second hand clothes:

I systematically wandered through plumbing, teapots and kettles, flowery fridges, portable karaoke machines and past many colourful ice cream sellers and eaters.

I'm finding I prefer taking pictures of children. They are just as colourful as the adults, they stare at me without hesitation and their parents (when they were around) are more flattered than when I photograph themselves instead.

Eventually I found the fabric section. There were several rows (or columns?) of this, with all shades under the sun. Disappointingly they were mostly targeted at women but I don't know what I'd do with a length of beautiful yet manly Kasgharian fabric anyway.

I alternated between walking with my camera out and walking with my camera concealed. Walking with my camera concealed I didn't get so many concerned looks (some Muslims don't like having their picture taken) but the advantage of walking with it out it was that it was easier to take pictures and it serves as an icebreaker. A man and a boy both asked me to take their picture. I was happy to oblige. It's much easier to take a photo of a person when they are posing for it (with the exception of the lady above).

Eventually I arrived at rows of fur lined clothing and shirts. The fur lined body warmers, made locally, were poorly stitched but the shirts, made in factories in Turkey, were not. If you simply wanted to wrap a high quality fox around your neck that was easily done however. I spent half an hour haggling for a short sleeved shirt, umming and ahing about it, going and looking at competing shirts and shirt sellers, before returning to negotiate my bargain price of 70 yuan (£7). This is why I don't do markets with a group.

I'd almost walked down every row and column so I settled down for a cold mixed plate of tripe, tofu and noodles followed by two super fast sticks of lamb's liver to get my meat fix. With that inside me I was ready to get lost and confused making my way back to the hotel. I knew it was across the river.

It concerned me that I was mainly walking past building sites. I thought that I might have failed to find the good, colourful, ethnic and rustic bit (foreign tourist paradise) of Old Town but then I remembered that according to Wikipedia and Lonely Planet at least most of it was currently under (re)construction. I stayed my course and on reaching a crossroads suddenly bumped into Kelvin.

He was lost too. We compared (figurative) notes and by process of elimination concluded the best way to turn at the crossroads was the road that neither of us had tried yet. This was indeed correct as it took us to streets of smiths, carpenters, hat makers and fig merchants. They weren't top of our lists but we were glad to see them anyway. I bought some of the figs because they were there.

We reached the Mosque, decided to go in because we had no other plans and it was hot and Mosques are cool, but then determined from the numbers of Kashgarians heading in that now was not the time for tourists, now was the time for prayer. The Mosque and the neighbouring major road featured prominently on our sketchy maps which allowed us to easily navigate our way back to the hotel.

That evening we met for a leaving dinner and to celebrate Tom's birthday. Kashgar was a joining and parting town - here, new passengers could join or leave the truck. No one had chosen to join us at Kashgar and Myles, our guide, and Kelvin were leaving us. The Han Chinese meal was unexceptional (though possibly I'd think otherwise if I hadn't spent the previous three weeks eating very similar dishes).

After dinner we congregated not in John's cafe as per usual but on the truck. This initially confused me as the truck doesn't have much space compared to a bar and we weren't going anywhere. But then I saw the variety of liquer that was appearing from the fridge and many overhead lockers and I understood the advantages. Tim served me a reasonably chilled gin and tonic in a plastic mug that even had a lemon wedge.

Unfortunately the majority of the spirits on offer were those we'd purposely avoided drinking until now because they smelled and tasted disgusting - Chinese vodka and rice "wine" (the 56% stuff). As if that wasn't enough someone had gifted Tom with a bottle of ginseng wine, which smelled and tasted disgusting in an even more unusual way. Tom was up for the challenge of distributing this horrendous stuff and regularly topped up our mugs with it. I was drinking a perfectly good tot of blended Scotch when Tom saw fit to dump Chinese vodka (nicknamed 'blue' from the colour of the bottle) in it.

That's Tom in the Where's Wally tshirt trying to entice Mika to have another try of a distasteful spirit.

We had our music turned up (we could hear it without the engine on) and there was dancing in the aisle.

I'm afraid I can't provide you with a picture of my excellent aisle dancing. Who knows, one may materialise.

John must have become tired of sitting alone in his now empty cafe because he turned up at our truckstep to join the party. Unfortunately he didn't join in the dancing but instead filmed it. I can't imagine where that video is now. It may be worth searching the Chinese version of YouTube.

The next morning I was relatively free of hangover thanks to my discreetly poisoning a nearby bush with the blue and ginseng intended for me. I was ready to go, though quite where I didn't know. After a morning coffee, pancake and wifi fix at John's (Tom was conspicuously absent) I headed out towards town. Dan and Lucy, the couple from London, were headed that way too (naturally enough) so I joined them.

Dan, Lucy, myself and nearly every other Silk Road tourist had the same ticklist of sights to see in Kashgar. Remaining on our lists were the Uighur Mosque and the statue of Mao. We walked to the Mosque.

It was unexceptional. Imposing from the outside, the inside was a courtyard with shrubs and a mostly bare prayer hall. This is sensible for worshippers but of little interest to tourists. There was however an informational sign that stood out. Not humorous chinglish, but a statement of intent from the Chinese Authorities:

To paraphrase, because the authorities extended the mosque and added a bathroom it demonstrates that the Chinese respect and preserve Uighur culture and that freedom of religion is protected in Xinjiang, with the exception of those cases where any Uighur engage in illegal religious activities or where any Uighur decide that they would rather not be influenced by or contribute to Chinese culture.

After the Mosque we went to People's square to see Chairman Mao. He was large and impressive but was not entirely to my taste the square was largely deserted.

At the opposite side I noticed quite a few Chinese soldiers standing to attention. I didn't know why. I took a few pictures of them at maximum zoom. I didn't want to photograph them much closer because confiscation of my camera including memory card would not be welcomed. I don't know how great this risk is in reality but we had been warned on our journey not to take photos of military checkpoints or military bases (I took a few of the base at Jiayuguan, including tank exercises, but not close up).

I said goodbye to Lucy and Dan who were heading off to go shopping and walked across the square, past the platoon towards the People's park (I think it was a platoon) looking curious but trying not to look too curious. As I walked I noted the pairs of soldiers standing at a distance from the main group keeping watch in every direction.

Inside the park the atmosphere was quite different. It was quiet, shady, cool and not too busy. Fathers and mothers were ambling slowly with babies and toddlers and there were small classes were amateurs were learning how to wave fans and swords.

As I continued deeper into the park I found a bandstand of amateur Han Chinese singers and musicians performing together without conductor. They weren't quite in time and they were backed by a tinny synthesiser but their hearts were in it, they were giving it all they had. A elderly Uighur man was dancing off to the side.

The music ended and I picked a new path but now I noticed a group of figures in camouflage moving down a parallel path. I tailed them from a distance but as I did so I noticed a similar group moving in another direction. There were six in each and were armed with guns, riot shields and batons.

At what looked like a food stall four of the men picked up a heavy shield, large enough for two men to duck behind, and took it with them. They continued to the edge of the park then set up a post of sorts at the edge of a road and car park. They didn't appear to be blocking access to anything, they were just there, shield in place, watching in every direction. I left. As I walked I saw the other group set up in a similar fashion on a park path. I stared at them and they stared at me.

We said goodbye to Kelvin that night. Having taken his maximum leave he would continue work as a programme manager at Microsoft the day after he returned to Seattle. I didn't envy him.

Stephen