Kashgar

Kashgar! What to say about a place as synonymous with the Silk Road as this? The name alone conjures up images of remote and exotic travel without need of further explanation. For those of you who are, unlike me, not a Silk Road nerd, let me expand.

Kashgar stands at a couple of very important boundaries, one modern and political and one age old and physical. Politics wise this is our last stop in China, when we head west from here our next encounter will be with the border and Kyrgyzstan. Physically it marks the end of so much desert travel, for now at least, and the start of the mountains, the Pamirs and Tian Shan to be precise. As a result of this, in times gone by Kashgar would have been the place where the ships of the desert (camels) would have been replaced by the more surefooted and cold hardy ponies. It may also have seen the switch between one merchant and another. Never would one trader have made the whole journey from west to east. Instead the commodity would have been passed through a succession of middlemen, each taking a cut of the final profit, ensuring that the mark up for silk sold in Rome would have been even more eye-watering than it is today.

What has and continues to make Kashgar so important in terms of trade is its prime location at the nexus of so many important roads. There is the Southern Silk Road from Hotan, on which we arrived, and the Northern Silk Road from Urumqi which most people follow, there are two separate routes into Kyrgyzstan, the Irkeshtam and Torugart Passes, the first of which is our intended route and lastly there is the legendary Karakoram Highway to the Khunjerab Pass and Pakistan, a route currently blocked to road traffic by the mother of all landslides. On the streets of Kashgar this translates into a buzzing cosmopolitan painters palette of Han Chinese, Uighur, Kyrgyz, Tajiks, Kazakhs, Uzbeks, Pakistanis and of course western backpackers, the first of which we have seen since Urumqi.

As a Brit Kashgar has other secrets to divulge. The Hotel we have decided to stay in has some interesting accommodation out the back in the shape of the old Russian Embassy, this would not be of all that much interest if it weren’t for the context though. At the end of the 19th and start of the 20th Centuries Russia and Britain tried to outmanoeuvre each other in a diplomatic and military quest to exert political power and influence in Central Asia. Britain, seeking to create a buffer zone between its imperial rival, Russia, and the jewel in its colonial crown, India, also held an embassy here. Funnily enough, also located behind yet another hotel.

And so remote Kashgar came to play host to the crux of what is endearingly if inaccurately referred to as “The Great Game”. The high stakes of this ‘game’ however were often traded in the blood of locals and protagonists alike, making it a more serious affair than most. If your still tuning into this blog when we reach Uzbekistan I’ll share some of the more grizzly stories with you. Nonetheless, life in Kashgar for the diplomats of Russia and Britain would have consisted of a very elaborate charade. In this dusty backwater the ambassadors would certainly have shared each others company in what would have been the smallest of expatriate communities. Over hors d’oeuvres and a G ‘n’ T or Vodka they would have swapped pleasantries and traded tales of consular life. Behind each others backs, and in the interests of their respective governments however, they would have plotted endlessly against each other. 

Our first day in Kashgar is a Friday so we go and see the impressive Id Gah Mosque at prayer time. Despite being able to hold several thousand of the faithful at any one time part of the large square outside is required to soak up the surplus of worshippers. Evident also is the police presence, a definite sign of the unease felt by the Chinese government towards the muslim population. We hang out in a tea shop down the road, order the most expensive tea on the menu, by accident, and enjoy its intense mulled wine flavour nonetheless. From our balcony vantage point above the old town we are able to indulge in some quality people watching.

In terms of hyped up must see, must do experiences along the Silk Road, Kashgar’s Sunday Market appears to be one of the most vaunted, even if it does come with disclaimers regarding how touristy it is becoming.

We arrive early to make best use of good light and hopefully catch a more authentic experience. As we enter the stall holders are beginning to set up although, by the entrance, many of these are of the tourist tack variety. A fur hat seller tries to replace my cap with a dead animal of some sort. I’m in no mood to be hassled this morning so I extend a firm left hand to intercept his furry gambit and stay my course with a pointed “no thanks”.

Leaving the not so interesting covered section behind we amble out into the surrounding alleys cut through with the sunlight of a new dawn. Vendors are busy spreading their wares out on sheets laid upon the ground. We find an old Uighur chap selling tea and spices, we try to identify the brew we had on Friday and come away with a small package wrapped up in a few pages from an old booklet. Next stop is a colourful street side eatery where a bald toothy hawker shouts “Kash ka kash ka” or something to that effect. He likes that Jude is wearing a head scarf, repeatedly pointing, miming and giving the thumbs up. Whether this is in appreciation of her cultural sensitivity or her taste in fashion we shall never know. We breakfast on steamed bread dumplings in a cabbage gravy and continue our discussion with the Uighur mime artist. He looks utterly crushed when he discovers that we have no children and tells us that he has four, although he might be talking about his grandchildren given how old he looks.

Finding nothing much else that takes our fancy on the vast but otherwise overhyped market we head for the Caravan Cafe for a much needed coffee. Both of us slept appallingly the night before as a result of me leaving the window with the broken mosquito net open. Three Navy Seals of the mosquito world plagued us with hit and run attacks all night long. By dawn two of these had been killed in minor blood explosions but a third remained mysteriously at large. Whist at the cafe we watched a showing of the previous days England vs USA match on CCTV 5, my expectations of mediocrity proved to be dazzlingly accurate.

Feeling human again we head to the Sunday Livestock Market and instantly realise we should have come here first, the place is heaving. A large central corral is packed with sheep, goats, cows and donkeys and is overrun with Uighur men buying and selling. Fat tailed sheep get their udders, testicles, bottoms, back and legs pinched and poked to ascertain their worth and large handfuls of notes are exchanged with exaggerated slapping handshakes before mud encrusted Bulls are lead away by their proud new owners. Around the corral are numerous eateries of the strictly carnivorous variety that dispense kebabs and mutton soup to a hungry clientele. The noise is incredible. “Boish, boish” shout drivers coming through with their animals in tow, trying to clear a path through the dense crowd. The baying, mooing, bleating, honking, shouting, clanging, revving and screeching mass is wonderful and the combination of smells, dust clouds and photo opportunities makes for an incredible hour or so before the heat of the day forces us to retire  to a darkened room to catch up on our sleep.