Cycling in Xinjiang: Mountains, Checkpoints, and Kebabs!

A little background

Xinjiang, China's largest and most northwestern province, is home to Central Asian minority's groups such as Kazakh, Tajik, ‎Kyrgyz, and, most common, Uighur (China's largest Muslim ethnic minority). Xinjiang was once a crucial part of the Silk Road trade route for hundreds of years, linking passages from China all the way to Tibet, India and beyond, to Europe. These days, Xinjiang has been in the news for other reasons, namely "terrorism." In the last few years, some deadly protests have occurred in this region, said to be led by the Uighur separatists.  Late last year, the Chinese government decided to do something more extreme to combat these attacks. They appointed a new chairman to take over control of Xinjiang. Chen Quanguo, previously the chairman of Tibet, is known for his conservative and oppressive tactics to suppress any sort of anti-Party thinking. Chen Quanguo had cracked down on the local Uighurs using similar tactics to his work in Tibet, installing police stations every 500 meters in towns and adding hundreds checkpoints. Talk about degrading a group of people. The extent of Chinese imperialism here is fierce. Recently, the Chinese government tried to pass a law forcing Uighur men to shave their beards and change their Muslim sounding names. There is even a Chinese flag on top of the oldest and most important mosque in Kashgar.

When Jenna and I arrived in Kashgar to begin our 10 day bicycle trip with Bike Asia, we discovered firsthand what these new laws meant, not just for Uighurs but for foreigners. Western Xinjiang, a world away from Beijing, is a land decorated with colorful central Asian fabrics, teeming with herds of sheep, traditional hats, busy bazaars, and languages so unfamiliar to me. But it is a land also inundated with police stations, boys turned armed guards wasting the day away on street corners playing with loaded weapons, checkpoints sprinkling the highways, and an unease lingering high above the cumin scented smoke from the thousands of grilled kebabs. This post will, of course, share fun anecdotes from my trip, but will also try to express my experiences traveling as a foreigner in a quasi-police state, knowing I was still in China, but not the China I've come to know and appreciate for the past two years. 

Example of tight security: metal detectors to enter our hotel, restaurants, even the fancy massage spa.

Our first ride- heading towards Tashkurgan via the Kharakoram Highway (one of the highest paved roads in the world)

Poplar trees line the highway and we drive towards the towering glacial mountain range. I gulp. ‘How high are we going?’ I ask our guide, Musa. ‘Oh, you know… maybe 4000 m?’ I whisper to Jenna. ‘Is that high?’ She gives me the are you serious look. Oh boy, well first time for everything. The landscape expands as civilization dwindles. A glacier stream, small yet powerful follows the path of the highway. We pass a lone camel lapping at the stream.  Mountain after mountain, rocks, rubble, red mountains, snowy mountains, so many mountains. These are the Kongars: mountains that stem out from the same range as Everest. We take a break at Sand Mountain Lake, called this well, because… take a look. Crystal clear water, reflection of sand dunes and glaciers sharper than a mirror. 

Then we come to my first checkpoint. I feel like I’m crossing a border into another country. The van slows down, our driver speaks quickly to one of the (many) armed policemen guarding the road. He shows some papers, they check the trunk, and we are on our way. This time, it felt cruel and strange and repressive. (Side note: Fast forward to the end of the trip and it was just another daily routine, like stopping to eat or pee.) 

(I snapped an illegal photo at one of the checkpoints- even the donkey cart has to get checked)

But onwards: We stop for lunch at Karakul Lake, a popular tourist destination due to its view of the highest glacier in the range, Muztagh Ata (7,546 m). Stunning. 

 We enter a yurt to eat some rice. Shoes off, following the example of the old men already inside. I climb onto the sitting area and there is shouting- What ???? what????  I have stepped on the ‘table’ (an extra rug) by accident. Ok well, day 1, I'm learning. One by one men continue to enter, the echo of 'As-Salaam-Alaikum', shaking of hands, smiling at the foreign girls, slurping of rice and sipping of black tea.  I feel out of place, but also, like I belong, since the hospitality is so endearing.

Our guide, Musa, is a sweet young man, born about 50 km outside of kashgar. After only one year of English in university, he took it upon himself to enroll in night classes for 6 months and after that is mostly self-taught by people he takes on tours. He told us about our difficult day we will have, biking 90 Km at a high altitude with lots of climbing. And so, inside the lunch yurt, I taught him what carb loading is. And then we ate more rice. Cultural exchange is fun!

Me Jenna and Musa!

I encounter one of the most difficult cycling days of my life. 70 km uphill, climbing over 1250 meters at 4000 meters altitude. For a while, I couldn't understand why the climbs felt so damn hard. But I just couldn’t breathe. Or catch my breathe. Or make my heart stop pounding. But (very) slowly, I kept going, following Jenna as we went up and up. Around 65 km, I thought, ok, this is it, I’m done. But somehow, I kept going About 20 km away from the Tajikistan border, I stop for a soda. Musa told us this is the spot where locals speak at least 3 languages. I struggle in broken Chinese to buy a soda from a Tajik man also struggling in broken Chinese. Priceless.

Finally, I’ve made it to the crest and it’s 20 km downhill. Jenna promises it’ll be easier. Ok then, let’s do it! At least I have glaciers and camels to stare at!  It was an incredible fast downhill with a view of majestic mountains. No cars. No people. Just incredible beauty. I screamed the whole time.

At some point, we had watermelon. The best watermelon I’ve ever had at 4000 meters. No joke But no one is allowed to carry a knife through the checkpoints, so we needed to stop a sheep herder to borrow a knife.  Jenna asks me ‘how many sheep have been slaughtered with this knife?” Cringe. But i ate it anyway.

We encounter a hiccup in our itinerary

 After biking the rest of the way (90 km total), we stop to register at the lake police station. On our itinerary, we had been told we would be sleeping overnight in a yurt at Karakul Lake, so we would get up with the sunrise and continue biking back towards Kashgar. In the police station, the guard on duty, waving his automatic rifle in the air, told our guide that there was a new law, as of yesterday. And foreigners weren't allowed to stay at the lake. Ummmm, excuse me? Mister “I just want to show my power and I have no authority’- what did you just say? Maybe if my guide wasn't Uighur... But for now, we can't stay in the yurt, something I had been looking forward to for this trip. The most awful part was that there is nothing around the lake. No town, no hotel, nowhere to go. And I’m cold and dirty and sweaty and hungry and covered in salt and sand. We have to drive all the way back to Kashgar. So this is what the new chairman has created.

Our revised day 2:

Instead of sleeping in the yurt, we drive from Kasghar to another mountain range about an hour outside the city. We start our day not with a bike but with a hike, 45 minutes up to a rock formation called Shipton’s Arch. In fact, it was a pretty difficult hike, especially when you know you are still biking 90 km after. But a gorgeous view and I got to see soooo many sheep!!!

Trying to be one with the sheep.

 The arch!

 Then we had a glorious bike ride downhill for 15 km, with a view of what I would call the Grand Canyon on steroids. No cars, no distractions. No police telling me what to do. It was amazing. After a lunch with giant kebabs, we biked back to Kashgar, passing sleepy towns, checkpoints, and more incredible views. 

so. much. lamb.

Day 3- Visit to the Kashgar Sunday Livestock Market

That’s right. They still have a market where men sell their sheep, cows, goats, horses, donkeys, and camels. It was loud, smelly, dirty and soooo much fun!!

Cow butts!

Sheep butts!

Which should I buy? The adorable old man? or the cow?

Day 4-end We cycle south, following the Silk Road towards the Taklakaman Desert and Hotan City- our final destination.

As these days started to blur together with long mornings of 100 km rides followed by lunch, nap, dinner, sleep, I will share just a few experiences I had. On day 6?, we are en route to Guma, a small town on the southern Silk Road route. We pass by Karghalik: the former vibrant and hectic oasis town where the roads to Tibet, Pakistan and Kashmir, India once met. It is now like the other towns in southern Xinjiang, torn down, rebuilt, full of empty high rises, police stations on each street, helmeted guards at each corner. As we coast down the boulevard to enter Guma, Musa points out the walnut trees lining the side of the road. Walnuts and pomegranates. That's what this region is known for. Men being pulled in carts by donkeys grace one side of the street, Armored police trucks line the other.  Cars are slowing and windows roll down. So many stares- this sleepy town probably gets only a handful of foreigners a year. Two American girls on mountain bikes? They'll be talking about it for days. A bubbly man towing his wife on his motor bike slows down and says something to Musa. Musa and answers and he speeds off. ‘What did he want?’ ‘He invited us to his home for tea.’ ‘Can we go?’ ‘No. No foreigners are allowed to visit a local’s house in this region. The police would come.’ ‘But why?’ I press. ‘Because we are Muslim. And not Han Chinese.’ Got it.

Some photos from the road

Our last biking day took place in the desert. The sandy, dune filled, chock full of camels, desert! If my butt didn’t hurt so much, it would have been glorious! I mean it still was amazing. Once again, I found myself alone, no cars, minus a few tractors, and some camels but no people, just beauty- what an incredible part of the country. 

As we coasted towards the city of Hotan, we passed through a small village on the outskirts of town. School had just gotten out, children were laughing, playing around on motorbikes, bread was baking on outdoor ovens, kebabs were being prepped on the side of the street, babies were running around with ice cream. Everyone seemed,well, happy. We stop at the van for a quick break. Our driver, an adorable chain-smoking Uighur man, greets us with open bottles of water and chocolate. He laughs as we pant to catch our breath. I go over to a shop and buy him a Redbull. His face lights up and he grunts in approval. 

Knowing what these people are going through on a daily basis, knowing their culture and even their rights are being taken away from them, I am in awe of how they can carry on and continue living their lives in the face of such challenging times. Only time will tell what will happen to the minority groups in Xinjiang, but this trip has done more than just make my thighs stronger; it has opened up my eyes and my heart to this energetic, determined, and loving people.

References:

Besides the information from my guide, and my own eyes, information from this post was taken from Tom Phillips ,  Alan Taylor  BBC and the Tibetan Review