Advertisement
Published: October 16th 2005
Edit Blog Post
Hitching in China is no sure thing, it is something that people are unaccustomed to - Walking along a remote track in the mountains, some 10 km from base-camp and without radio contact at the end of a long day, an infrequent vehicle approaches in my direction. I stand in the middle of the narrow dirt road and hale it with one arm. As it draws near, the driver tries to find a route past me left and right as I step in its way. I physically jump on the bonnet before it finally stops. What am I doing?
But getting dropped at a 3-way intersection with nothing but a sea of dunes around me is a whole new game! Fortunately, it was recognized that I was not just chilling, or exercising my right shoulder, and I got going without too many difficulties.
Late in the day, a sandstorm kicks up to screen our arrival in Hotan, the ancient southern silk-road town. With the arrival of dawn, the dust had settled. After a course of Samsas and grapes, I took a stroll around the quiet, poplar-lined back-alleys through the old neighbourhoods. Women wearing burkas and covered from head to toe,
men in white with skullcaps on, and the odd donkey-cart amble along the narrow dirt lane. A couple of kids jump out from behind a mud-wall to say “Yachshemsis” and stare. They break into smiles and laughter when I return their greeting. Past several ornate little mosques, I arrive into the colourful chaos of the market area.
The Uyghur people here dress in bright colours, and the area looks positively floral compared with what I have some to expect from China. I am drawn toward the wafting smells of BBQ-ing meat and fresh naan bread. A glance and point at the oven is all it takes to have a fresh naan flicked my way, straight from the oven!
Silk, carpets, ornately decorated knives and robes; this could easily be the Middle East. I give way at a donkey cart traffic jam, step around a large pile of watermelons and head down a side alley. I am met by some with a smile and a nod, others eye me with a hint of disapproval, but from most come looks of bewilderment! Fortunately, in this part of China, smiles are contagious, and are usually returned with a greeting, or a
Meal time...
at a local street vendor blush…
The air in this part of ‘China’ is laid-back and nobody is in a rush. ‘If I don’t sell all five of my wallnuts today, then I will take them home to eat and maybe try with some more tomorrow…’ is a good analogy for the relaxed nature of the locals. People are more interested in having a laugh over tea, naan bread and goat’s head than rushing about doing stuff… an easy place to spend some pleasant time, chatting with locals and enjoying the atmosphere and music.
On leaving Hotan, the spell that it has cast on me just continues! Lush, wet rice-paddies line the road edge; in the backdrop, golden sand dunes that expend for miles! Now I miss my camera!! Then the lush vegetation comes to an abrupt end and desert starts. Dry stony desert and flat ‘forever’… until a river has washed out part of the road and we detour over a make-shift bridge. All along this southern silk road, rivers running from the mountains feed water to delta areas that, with a bit of clever irrigation, are able to support large areas of productive oases (Hotan is the biggest of these).
About 10km out of town, and still 12km from the next I see a donkey cart travelling in the opposite direction, through the desert with just some wood on board, nobody to be seen... As it passes I notice a man fast asleep, curled up underneath the logs.
Soon the road became congested with donkeys and the small flat-bed catrs they draw. It was market day in the small village of Charbagh, and people from the surrounding county-side come to show their wares, and pick up a new sheep. Those with the plumpest bums are considered to be the most valuable! For close to 30 minutes the bus crawled through the chaos, affording an array of exotically fascinating sights.
Abdullah, as I named the driver, didn’t seem to mind. Most drivers I have seen in China become easily frustrated… not he. In a pair of large aviators and sporting a large ‘Saddam’ moustache, he was the ultimate arab looking “dude”. I was a fan! He was into Uyghur music, which kept me happy as he kept the crackly live recordings of various musicians blaring from the small speakers at the front. He would frequently spend a minute or
yum yum
the markets are always full of good things so battling with his tape recorder while barreling along the desert highway. Other times he would hang his head out of the window, looking around and just enjoying himself like a dog. When these weren’t enough for him, there was a woman in the third row back, who he obviously thought was ‘a bit of alright’, and he would spend a good amount of time staring back at her.
It is not all pleasant and easy-going. In some places, like Yarkand, things are not to be found in the romantic 'silk-road' fashion anymore. Chinese urban development has taken over the joint and left it looking like any other chinese city. And as part of this change, controls from authorities has made it very difficult or impossible to find a place to stay.
Travel involves long stretches in smelly and dusty buses, which bump along roads that would be condemned at home. Kashgar is the capital of the Uyghur people, and despite recent Chinese development, retains much of it’s feel from the centuries, if not appearance.
But, for me, the best way to sum up the experience of the silk-road came right at the end when I returned to Turpan. I was a little apprehensive, as the last time I came here, I had one of the most special experiences of my life, and I didn’t want my impression of it to change... But arriving back felt great! The sweet date juice and ice creams while taking shelter from the brutal desert sun, the best yoghurt anywhere, mud-walled lanes, melons, and friendly faces were all still there. But I was blown away when people still knew my name after a full month away! People would recognise me and, grinnning, invite me to sit with them and share a melon, offer me food, or just smile, "yachshemsis". One guy, who I had never met before, even offered me his hat! It was the same again this time, humbled by generosity.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.39s; Tpl: 0.012s; cc: 25; qc: 126; dbt: 0.1529s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.4mb