Kashgaria

Here I am after 26 hours on a bus with a fire "exting wisher box", a teenage boy who kept feeding me grapes and a few rest stops that involved balancing on two planks, squatting and trying not to fall into the pit of poo below. I think it was Aisha who tried to tell me to make this my intuition tour but at this point it should be renamed my 'riding on a motorcycle' or 'meeting teenage boys' tour. Either one works. This guy was sitting behind me until the man next to me left and then he bunked up next to me on the sleeper across the aisle. Abdel Hakim. That was his name.

Kashgar is a fascinating place. It's hard to really pinpoint one single culture here and sometimes I am totally awestruck by how many similarities to India, Pakistan and Afghanistan I encounter in a single day. The chai hannas (teahouses) are straight out of Kandahar and so are the curtains hanging behind every doorway leading into a courtyard, the women covered in colourful scarves remind me of Turkey, the Bollywood music blaring from some of the food stalls conjurs up images of my time in the subcontinent, girls in punjabee suits remind me of walking through markets in Pakistan and so on.

Kashgar has two distinct areas: the old town and the new town. The new town, as you may have guessed, is paved with wide boulevards, a huge statue of Mao, apartment blocks and strip malls. In short, it looks like any other Chinese city. Nothing special and unfortunately much of Kashgar is disappearing into this Communistisation. The old town is being torn down one neighbourhood at a time in an effort to modernize. I imagine in a few years the only old town district left will be the 'protected' neighbourhood that charges admission. For now though, it makes no sense to pay to meander through the narrow alleys in the labyrinth of the old Uighur town. It's as if time stood still. This is where the Sunday bazaar is held every week. The bazaar is huge and you can find anything from carpets, to hats, to shoes, to fabric, to dried fruits, to produce to pigeons for sale. The city balloons as 50,000 people from the outlying region come into town to peddle their wares.



Being solo pays off here. I get approached by locals on a regular basis. Everyone is generally confused by my appearance. Most people smile and point at my face, then their own face and take both their index fingers bringing them together to sign that I look like them. I often get waved over by men at teahouses or women in their doorways for a closer look and to share some tea.



This morning I tried to extend my visa. After waiting and being stared at for fifteen minutes by the other people in the room I was asked to hand over my passport. The entire room fell silent and the woman who took the passport announced to the room "Chanada". That lifted the hush and people started pointing at me and nodding. Minutes later I stopped off in front of the Id Kah Mosque square to listen to two local men playing traditional instruments. The square was pretty empty at this hour (in the a.m.) and before I knew it there was a crowd of men standing around me. I pulled out my guidebook and started showing them pictures and the next time I looked up the circle around me had grown. It is going to be difficult not being the center of attention after I leave here.