TravelStream™ news feed for member fearcuairt on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/fearcuairt en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Wed, 02 Sep 2009 20:33:42 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1249333011/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1249333011/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1249333011/tpod.html Wed, 02 Sep 2009 20:33:42 -0400 Our Epic Silk Road Adventure

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Kashgar, Xinjiang Uygur, China

In Austria, you can take a Sound of Music tour. In New Zealand, you can take a Lord of the Rings Tour. In Kashgar, you can take a Kite Runner tour. Yes, the motion picture version of Khalid Hosseini's The Kite Runner was filmed in Kashgar and its environs, and you can see many of the supposed Kabul neighbourhood scenes right in the old city of Kashgar. Walking through the narrow streets of the old town, we were referred to scenes in the movie at just about every bend. The Old Town will not be around for long. The Chinese government is systematically destroying its ancient homes and courtyards in the name of modernity, and this is tragic. Even several mosques have been destroyed – and I find this concerning. I am no expert here, but I believed that once a mosque has been built in the name of God, no one was to destroy it? I don’t doubt that the Central Government has little interest in the laws of Islam, but I like to believe that they will face their moment of reckoning one day. Anyway, as we wandered in its shady alleyways, we were greeted by families and the rare glimpse inside the courtyards of private homes. From the street, the homes look little more than clay walls with tin gates, but inside reveals a lush courtyard with trees and pools, and ornately carved wooden columns and balconies.

Kashgar is the first place in 12 days where we have seen other Westerners – and lots of them. Many come for the famed Sunday market, as we did. At the Kashgar market, farmers come from near and far to sell produce and livestock. We found ourselves lost amongst a sea of donkeys, large-bottomed sheep, goats, horses and camels. This is no place for a vegetarian – and at one minute I had to step outside myself and laugh. There I was – a blonde, vegetarian female - walking down a narrow aisle with cows on one side of me, sheep on the other, a hell of a lot of dung, dozens of Muslim men bargaining, a sheep being slaughtered nearby, and a small caravan of baby camels being led away on a rope. I felt like an alien jetisoned into another world. I think I looked like one, too, judging by the stares – even the cows were staring me down.

We took a long trip today out to Karakul lake, the largest alpine lake in the world. It is also featured in The Kite Runner – the mountains you see as the camera pans over the kite competition are in fact the mountains at Karakul. The lake itself is at 3600 metres, which is fairly high in altitude. Along the way, we stopped in remote mountain villages to admire the magnificent scenery of the Pamir mountain range – steep, jagged grey peaks and turbulent gray rivers crashing through barren valleys, lonely turquoise lakes and yurt villages. Karakul lake is breathtaking. The blue, glassy waters reflect snow covered mountains and downy white clouds, and there is little to be heard beyond the wind and our voices, and the occasional horse galloping by. After hiking around part of the lake, we continued our journey. Originally, the plan was to drive along the Chinese section of the Karakorum highway, to the Pakistan border. However, this area was sealed off by the Chinese – and this time I don’t blame them; a stone’s throw away, on the Pakistani side, the Taliban are etching their way into towns and villages, so I am all for China sealing off the road and border. Instead, we headed towards Tashkurgan Tajik Autonmous Prefecture near the border to Tajikstan. This is a tiny enclave of Tajik people – Shia Muslims - living on the westernmost edge of China. To get there, we had to go over a pass of 4300 metres, which brought back memories of Tibet and that wonderful feeling that someone is hacking through your head with a machete while stepping on your lungs at the same time. Even in Tashkurgan, the air was thin, making our walk through the ruins of an ancient fortress seem kind of dream-like. We descended into a stunning green valley with a river running through it, and yurt camps set up along its shores. Interestingly, this was also the site of a scene from the Kiterunner; just down from the fortress is where Amir-Jan and Hassan carved their names as "the Sultans of Kabul" into the pomegranate tree. Coming back from Tashkurgan was harder than coming in. That high pass reminded me of why I swore I would never go into altitude again. As my head pounded relentlessly, I spent the next hour and a half focusing on not throwing up. To complicate matters, the air conditioning had broken down, so until the darkness set in, we were all bouncing along the treacherous roads in a pool of collective sweat. But the views made up for it – the sun setting over the Pamirs seemed to turn everything to silver (or maybe that was the lack of oxygen playing tricks on my mind) and the sky was a brilliant orangey-pink until night brought relief in the form of a cool breeze.

We leave China tomorrow, and as fascinating as it has been, I am excited beyond belief. I have struggled internally with this place over the last 12 days, and I am not sure who has won – me or China. I have tried to understand the military presence – if two ethnic groups in Canada decided to go after eachother with shovels and metal bars and beat 170 to death, would our army come and patrol every street, point their guns in people’s faces, seal off our holy places, video tape our every move, keep us apart from one another? I guess I like to think that things would never come to that in the first place in Canada. I like to imagine that our government would never repress any group to such an extreme (a few trips up north to some reserves might challenge that naïve assumption pretty quickly). But I do know that the extreme measures to which China goes to create what it calls “ethnic harmony” is something I don’t like. I can isolate the army issue on its own and perhaps understand it in part, but I can’t accept the repression of religion, language and culture that occurs in the most insidious ways in this country, prompting the uprisings that have plagued China over the last decade. I am ready to leave it behind me and hope that this bizarre capitalist-communist empire might transform itself before all of the ethnic minorities it has tried to subsume have lost every trace of their culture and language. I am also prepared to be denied a visa in to China in the future; I've failed at censuring myself.

To close this segment on a positive note, Michael and I were out walking in Kashgar in the evening. The usual column of army vehicles and machine guns rumbled by, but this time Michael locked eyes with the soldier wielding his machine gun in our direction, and spontaneously waved at him. To our surprise, the soldier’s face melted into a smile – a real, genuine smile – and he nodded briefly but warmly at us before returning to his stoic position. It was a sweet moment that seemed to last longer than it did in reality, and I thought to myself, politics aside, we are, in the end, all humans in this world, aren’t we?
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1250766873/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1250766873/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1250766873/tpod.html Wed, 02 Sep 2009 20:27:00 -0400 Our Epic Silk Road Adventure

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Khiva, Uzbekistan

We left Tashkent after a long day of touring the city with Natasha. Natasha is a rolly-polly perky Russian lady who knows everything, and thus needed to tell us everything. And I mean everything. If you went to sit in the shade she'd have a story in her high-pitched voice to share "And zeese Trreeee vas lovingly planted from a seed in 1956 by zee Russian army, and in 1968, on eets twelfth birthday, zee Russians planted 12 more trrreees to commemorate zee original tttrrrree..." It was impossible to look at anything without getting a long history about it. "And zeese master is a-famous for his use of zee egg yolk in hees paint, and pay parrrrticulaarrrr attenCHUN to zee fine details that deepict epic Uzbek hero of 11th century..." She knew her stuff, that's for sure, but it wouldn't hurt to learn the art of precis.

The highlight of the tour was a visit to Tashkent's Islamic centre, where we saw a blood-stained 7th century Qu'ran that is purportedly the world's oldest. If I had not already tuned out Natasha's ever-shrill voice, I might be able to tell you why it is blood stained, but to be honest, I haven't a clue. We eventually ditched the group and spent the afternoon the way we always do - in a park, eating ginger cookies and people watching. This time we sat in Amir Temur square, beside of the statue of Timur (otherwise known as Tamerlane - the ruthless and savage ruler who used to throw people to their deaths from the top of the minaret in Samarkand - and is, strangely, Uzbekistan's national hero). Poor Timur's horse - some local vandals cut off his male bit, leaving only the gonads hanging. Of course, a horse without its male bits will always steal the show.

Our train trip to Khiva was supposed to be 17 hours, but stretched into 20. The first 6 hours were hideous - there was no air conditioning and I changed into my bathing suit, until i could no longer stand the lewd looks from passing men. But by night time, a cooler breeze came through the opened windows, and we turned over the beds and slept away at least 9 of the 20 hours. It was a rough journey over the Kizilkum desert, but nowhere near as horrid as our cross-Kazakhstan epic journey!

Khiva makes my list of magical places. Very few places we visit achieve this distinction in my books, and Khiva is one. Surrounded by 15 foot- deep clay walls, this ancient city is a tiny maze of narrow alleys, medrassahs, mosques and towering, ornate minarets. We ditched the group again in Khiva - it is impossible to play follow the leader when you are in the centre of a place so romantic and magical. It's not the place where "this way please" can cut it. I was just aching to be set free in this magnificent place, and really, rambling around its tiny streets and quiet squares without a map is the only way to experience Khiva.

We were very fortunate to meet a lovely french couple on the terrace of one of the many medrassahs who told us about a traditional Turkmen concert in the evening, in the courtyards of another medrassah. When we arrived, the man who greeted us sold us on the half hour show by saying "baby dancer very good". I don't know why, but when people say curious things like that, I am sold. So we sat down on a tapchan, with a pot of green tea and a platter of dried fruit and nuts, and watched the show. "Baby dancer very good" is an understatement! Baby dancer is more accurately described as toddler dancer, to be fair, but could this kid dance! Wearing a traditional Turkmen wool hat (picture a sheep and then imagine a human dressing up as a sheep - this is about as close as I can come to describing the Turkmen hats. Or, take a British beefeater hat and triple it in size, make the wool a little wilder, and there you have it). He sang and shook his head wildly, stomped his feet and moved every muscle in his body with the music being played by his father and mother. The two women in the show were also fantastic singers and dancers, but I am afraid baby dancer stole the show. I don't doubt that it was intentional - there was an element of tourist trap in it, but for the price of a Starbucks latte we got real Turkmen singing, dancing and music, and videos of baby dancer will be played to my future students for many years to come.

Our accomodations in Khiva were actually in one of it's largest medrassahs, converted into a hotel. In the shadows of the massive, blue tiled Kalta Minor minaret, our "study rooms" were nestled amidst deep stone walls with only an arched, carved window for light. Because of the thickness of the walls, there was no need for the air conditioning. Each room opened up to a wide courtyard surrounded by tiled archways. At night, the medrassah and minaret was lit up with the rest of the town, casting cool hues of blue, green and purple into the night sky. I don't know what it is about magical places that seem to draw out a substantial number of bats, but I am grateful for the phenomenon, because there is nothing more atmospheric than gazing skyward and watching their silvery wings catch the moonlight momentarily, as they swiftly swoop amongst the minarets and towers of the old town.

We are now in Bukhara, another ancient city on the Great Silk Road. It's hard to believe that 22 days have already slipped away, and in 7, we will be heading home. But enough about that for now - there is still so much more to explore, and Michael will soon return from his afternoon stroll among the carpet shops, so I will finish here for now.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1250429240/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1250429240/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1250429240/tpod.html Tue, 01 Sep 2009 03:13:19 -0400 Our Epic Silk Road Adventure

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Tashkent, Toshkent Shahri, Uzbekistan

Hello from the Uzbek capital of Tashkent. I am sitting in an internet cafe, surrounded by about 30 teenage boys playing World WarCraft. Outside is a beautiful tree lined city of about 2.5 million people (roughly the size of Toronto), dotted with green and leafy parks, theatres, squares and fountains.
Consider this a non-linear blog. I am still aching to tell you about our time in the Xinjiang Autonomous Region of China, but I need several hours to write out my notes, so I will do it later on, and back date the blog. There is so much to tell about travelling in what amounts to a police state, in a very communist country, and tightly controlled (okay, let's call it 'noosed' province) but for now, let me describe our last two days.

It was truly sad to leave Kyrgyzstan at the ungodly hour of 5:00 am yesterday - and not just because it was 5:00 am! Kyrgyzstan was a gem. It far surpassed my expectations - a must for any outdoors/trekking enthusiast. Bishkek is no metropolis by any stretch, but it was a quiet city of boulevards, parks and museums. We spent an entire afternoon sitting in its parks, beside cooling fountains, under the shade of aspen trees. We also had the good fortune to hike at the Ala Archa gorge, merely 30 km outside of Bishkek. The vistas were breathtaking - both because of the mountain and alpine scenery, and because of a steep 4 km ascent we took to a massive waterfall, and a turbulent turquoise river winding its way through a beautiful valley. The descent was equally breath taking - when you're tumbling and sliding down the steep path, you suddenly realize the sheer cliff faces and sharp drops that you never noticed on your climb up. I felt justified in eating as much creamy, 8% milk fat Russian-style yoghurt as I wanted after that hike.

Our drive through Kazakhstan was in sharp contrast. For the first 8 hours or so, we fell in and out of sleep, chatted and people watched as we passed through towns. Then things began to melt down as the air-conditioning also melted down, just in time for the crushing heat of the afternoon. We sang through the Sound of Music in its entirety - twice - and Les Miserables to pass the time, re-enacted the Do-A-Deer scene on the steps of a statue of an epic Kazakh hero that vaguely resembled that in the scene with Maria and the Von Trapp kids, and then one woman in our group began making finger puppets out of cashew nuts, as I was suddenly reminded of the youtube video "David Goes to the Dentist" (if you haven't seen it, you really must)- "is this gonna be forever??? Why is this happening to me???" Simply one of the most brutal drives of all time, over the most barren expanse of nothingness you can imagine.

When we at last reached the Uzbek border, the immigration guy decided that my passport photo was not me, and a minor interrogation ensued, as I tried to explain that my hair looked brown because it's a black and white photo, and that I got bangs after the photo was taken. All I could think was "please don't leave me stranded in Kazakhstan!!!" Apparently his job is very boring, so he needs to create some drama; he let me pass through eventually.

Anyway, we've enjoyed our first day in Tashkent a great deal. This morning, we took a mini-tour of the subway system. Throw out any image of Toronto's subway that might prompt you to wonder why we should do such a thing. Tashkent's metro was modelled on Moscow's, and as such, each station is a grandiose display of underground architecture. Ornate ceilings and domes, marble floors, chandeliers, columns and arch ways make the stations look more like palaces than urban, functional infrastructure. If I had to commute to work each day by subway, I would take Tashkent's over Toronto's any day!

We are now off with another couple to enjoy some Syrian food tonight. It might sound a little out of place for a former Soviet republic in Central Asia, but remember - we are on the Silk Road, and thus, all roads lead to Syria!
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1250214154/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1250214154/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1250214154/tpod.html Tue, 01 Sep 2009 03:10:20 -0400 Our Epic Silk Road Adventure

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Bishkek, Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan

We have been in the spectacularly beautiful (and mercifully calm and serene) country of Kyrgyzstan for 4 days now, and at last, access to internet. Kyrgyzstan is not known for its dazzling cities or historical relics, but rather its stunning scenery of snow capped mountains, green hills, turquoise alpine lakes and rich pastures. We crossed over four days ago from the Torugat pass, a border crossing technically not open to foreigners, but as always in Asia, there are ways around every rule. Driving through dusty, bumpy roads flanked by desolate mountains, we passed through checkpoint after checkpoint after checkpoint on the Chinese side. The Chinese customs and quarantine station was the real fascinating part. Taking almost 2 hours to pass though, we had every piece of luggage scrutinized, our passports checked page by page (to questions of "where is this stamp from? What is this visa for?) and then they told us to turn our cameras on for photo inspection. There was an immediate flurry of action as we all flipped through our images to delete any 'naughty' pictures. By naughty, I do not mean of the bedroom kind - in China, a naughty picture is one that does not show 'great and glorious China.' So in other words, pictures of soldiers, barbed wire and impoverished communities (which pretty much sums up our 13 days in Xinjiang) do not really show great and glorious China. After 2 hours there, we drove to the next checkpoint, then the next, then the next, then the next, then the next...do you get the point? There were a lot of check points. At each one, Chinese soldiers boarded the bus, barked at us, flipped through our passports over and over again, then sent us another 100 metres to repeat the whole process. At last, we began the labourious climb up 3200 metres to the Torugat pass border. At the top, we were in the clouds. The wind raced furiously through the peaks, and rain began to fall. The border was but an old tower, some barbed wire, with two unhappy Chinese soldiers on one side, and two unhappy looking Kygyz soldiers on the other side...they were indistinguishable from one another in their green army fatigues. After stepping through the barbed wire - voila - we were in Kyrgyzstan. Immediately, cell phones started buzzing with text messages pouring in from the last 14 days without any connection to the outside world. I have so much to tell you about our time in Xinjiang, but I will go back and do it in another blog, later. For now, I will tell you that although our 13 days there were fascinating, I cannot describe the elation I felt in stepping over the barbed wire and leaving China behind us.

We spent our first two days in the mountains of Kyrgyzstan. Both nights we were at yurt camps; the first night near the famed Tash Rabat caravansarai, and the second night at Song Kul lake. The weather is very cold at 3200 metres. In fact, the winter season begins in about 2 weeks. Both nights the temperature dropped below zero, but we were warm inside the yurts, with a wood stove burning. At Tash Rabat, we had the added bonus of a Russian sauna t 3200 metres. It was very makeshift, and looked like someone's haphazard garden shed from the outside, but on the inside it worked like a bonafide sauna, completely with birch branches.

Kyrgyzstan is beautiful. The cities are not spectacular. Built during the Soviet years, they are mostly a dilapidated collection of Soviet style housing blocks. In fact, in the cities you feel more as though you are in Eastern Europe than in Central Asia, as everything is unapologetically Russian. But the villages and 'jailoos' (mountain pastures) are breathtaking. The mountains are snow capped, and waterfalls and turbulent rivers cascade over cliffs faces, turquoise lakes sparkle in the sunshine, and wild horses run through the pastures. I am pretty sure the horses outnumber the people in Kyrgyzstan, at least 3 to 1. The Kyrgyz people - a mixture of about 80 different nationalities, are friendly and welcoming. I wish we had more time in this beautiful country, but tomorrow we begin what has been described as a 'hideous' 15 hour drive through the Kazakh steppe to Uzbekistan.

I will keep this short for now. It is breakfast time. Thanks to the Russians, breakfast is edible. In China, it consisted of congee, pickled cabbage, last night's concoctions and some other unidentifiable things. But here, it is bread, porridge and cheese - thank goodness!
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1249073701/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1249073701/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1249073701/tpod.html Sun, 30 Aug 2009 19:05:43 -0400 Our Epic Silk Road Adventure

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Korla, Xinjiang Uygur, China

"We are responsible for your safety and security" says a camouflaged soldier through a mean looking female translator, and I can't help but smirk. There is something so comical about these words, given that we’ve been surrounded by several soldiers aiming their machine guns at us for over an hour, the sheer boredom of it all being punctuated by the periodic appearance one stone-faced soldier or another, to stare at us for a while. It’s become commonplace and normal for us over the last few days; this, afterall, is a police state, in a province completely choked with the military. Welcome to the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region, site of somewhat of a bloodbath between ethnic Uyghur and Han Chinese merely a few weeks ago, prompting over a quarter of a million military to “seize” control of the region (I say 'seize’ in quotation marks because in reality, the military has always had control of Xinjiang, and the rest of China for that matter. Don’t let the Beijing Olympics fool you into thinking this is a free nation!) Everyone in Xinjiang is relatively cut off from the rest of the world, as the internet and international phone service is shut down until after the October 1st 60th anniversary of Communist China (*this is a 'retro-blog', based on written journal entries, given the lack of internet access). There is check point after check point, day after day. My passport is in the hands of impassive soldiers (who flip through its pages with feigned disinterest three or four times and scribble information in a big black book) more often than it is in my own. So much for the promise on its inset that supposedly entitles the holder to “move without let or hindrance”! Such rules do not apply in Great and Glorious China. Just when you think you are free, you realize you are being followed by cars with tinted windows (even to the public toilets) - to ensure our safety and security…of course! Having said that, we think it’s bad for us? You should see the way they treat the Uyghurs at the check points. It seems every citizen is viewed by them as ‘suspicious’

We’ve been driving through Xinxiang – or Uyghurstan, the “illegal and splittist” term for the region that is forbidden (but since I am writing this with a pen and paper, I can say whatever I want – I’ll be long out of China by the time it shows up on the travel blog!) After leaving Urumqi the other day – the only city in Xinjiang where the Han population outnumbers the Uyghur population – we entered Uyghur territory. Toss out your impressions of China, what you imagine it to be; they won’t help you here. This is Islamic China, and it has more in common with the Turkic and Arab world than the Chinese one at its doorstep. The cities along the way are at face value ‘Chinese’ – wide, noisy, unremarkable streets with non-descript post-cultural revolution architecture. But when you slip behind the commercial facades into the small alleys and narrow streets of the Uygher sectors, you are truly in another place. The markets are awash with smoke from spicy lamb kebabs and open tandoors. Busy shouting from vendor stalls is punctuated by Uyghur music (Turkic and decidedly Eastern in style), the call to prayer, and of course the occasional propaganda message from the Central Government piped over the speakers. I don’t know what it says, but I can guess that it probably says something about getting along, and how great and glorious China is, blah, blah, blah. The bounty of produce from Xinjiang is everywhere; grapes, melons, peaches, leeks, aubergines and peppers. Street side stalls bake Uyghur naan and bagels in deep clay ovens, tossing them – piping hot – onto tables to be snatched up while fresh.

This is a good opportunity to talk about food. Uyghur cuisin is fascinating because it is a direct reflection of the regions location on the Silk Road. It is a flavouful melange of spices, herbs and cuisines from so many of the ethnicities that have traversed the silk road over a millenia. Each dish borrows something from somwhere else, adding it to a disctincly local mixture of produce. Szechuan peppercorns, Indian chilis and Turkish paprika fire up dishes of capsicum, aubergine, potato and garlic. Thick handmade noodles (lagman) float in spicy lamb stews, while mantas (dumplings) stuffed with lamb, onion or pumpkin make fine appetizers, or meals in and of themselves. Hot sesame bagels – larger and denser than the Jewish variety, but equally delicious – and onion naan topped with garlic and cumin tastes best when fresh from the oven. Of course there are on option many less appealling options. For example, our intrepid tour coordinator, James, bought what he thought were some exceptionally soft and tender kidneys which actually turned out to be mutton gonads. Another traveller in the group makes it his mission to sweep the local supermarket for anything that is unidentifiable to our Western eye or stomach, and pass it around the bus – it’s been kind of a hit or miss experiment insofar, but definitely a great way to pass the time! Michael and I also witnessed (and video taped, for those of you who would like to see it later) a group of women devour the bits inside of a sheep’s head. Without going into great detail I’ll tell you that sheep’s brain is very stretchy – like an elastic – and must be pulled out in sections through the eye and ear cavity of the skull. It also appears to be very greasy. But that set aside, Uyghur food is more than palatable; it’s delicious (albeit a bit too oily for what I am used to) and is a very scrumptious reminder of the interaction of cultures that has gone on in this region probably long before the fine cuisines of Italy and France were honed.

Hotels have been odd. To begin with, I had forgotten that Chinese beds are hard – cement hard. They are more like sleeping on 20 year old box springs than actual mattresses. When you toss and turn in your sleep, it hurts. But after a few bruised hip bones, you learn that lying on your back all night is the only way. I should also tell you that I have experienced a little traveller’s right of passage, so to speak. Waking up in Korla, I got out of the shower and Michael’s alarming “what the hell is wrong with your back” sent me rushing to the mirror where it became rapidly apparent that we had both been devoured by bed bugs. I can now say that I have had bed bugs. Trouble is, this is supposed to happen when you are 18, travelling through Europe with a backpack, and staying in dodgy hostels – not on an epic adventure. But, this is a region of China that few tourists ever venture to. In fact, the Chinese government only allows Western tourists to stay in certain hotels with a minimum of three stars (keep in mind that three Chinese stars are a bit different from three North American stars) and in Xinjiang, there is usually only one hotel we are allowed to lodge at. Usually the toilets barely flush, the tiles are cracked and chipped, there are mice in the walls, and chunks of ceiling may or may not be falling while you sleep. One guy even had a large crop of mushrooms growing by the door of the washroom. Apparently they squeaked every time he closed the door! It all adds to the charm of travelling where few have gone before…and I have a few battle scars on my back (okay, more than a few) to harden me for the days ahead!

There are very few tourists to come to these places. When we walk through the markets, we are met with stares – which quickly dissolve into smiles when you offer out a heartfelt “assalam alaykum” and cover your heart with your right hand. We have seen no westerners since a small group of French tourists in a museum in Urumqi. Most tourists that even bother with Urumqi fly on to Kashgar, skipping all of the small cities and towns (as well as the not-so-small Taklamakan desert) along the way. In some ways I don’t blame them – the days of driving are at times hideous, and the checkpoints are getting really tedious (at least in the beginning, they were intimidating, which made the whole thing sort of exciting). But you’re missing the heart of Uyghurstan if you fly over this region, and I don’t see the point in coming otherwise!
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1251480479/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1251480479/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1251480479/tpod.html Sun, 30 Aug 2009 19:05:04 -0400 Our Epic Silk Road Adventure

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Seoul, Seoul, Korea Rep.

Stopping in Korea on the way home was a great idea - not just because it broke up a very long sequence of flights, but because it was a great transition point. We were pretty ignorant about what to expect of Seoul, but were completely blown away by an ultra-modern, efficient and clean city absolutely covered with Starbucks franchises. I had dreamt of milk, yoghurt and cappuccino upon arrival at home, but happily found them at my hotel doorstep in Seoul. We spent our 36 hours riding the super-modern subway system from palace to palace, and of course, doing what we do best: eating. Michael and I have not really been exposed to Korean food before - strange, considering we have so many Korean friends, and considering our diet generally encompasses a very diverse range of cuisines - but we were very thrilled with what we managed to cram in to our bellies. Spicy kimchi, healthy bibimbap, sizzling hot pots of spicy chicken (for me) and spicy octopus (for Michael), sweet potato and cucumber salads were rounded off with a bowl of chocolate banana ice cream from Baskin Robbins, and a Starbucks cappuccino with blueberry scone - aah, the best of both worlds!

And now we are home from our Epic Adventure. The first day back is always exciting; seeing family again, sleeping in our own bed, brushing our teeth in tap water and filling a shopping cart with the bounty of Ontario late-summer produce. But then, thoughts of the routine and normality lead to a deflated lethargy and I am left, once again, trying to determine what I have gained from seeing the world, and more importantly, what I should give back to it in return.

Six thousand overland kilometres and five very diverse countries later, the many roads we've travelled along unfurl before me like ribbons of silk, and I am not entirely sure how to weave them all together into something lucid. I've always maintained that I travel first and foremost to learn, but the more I travel it seems the more aware I become of how much I do not know. I always learn a little history, a little geography and a whole lot about my own limitations, but the questions and contradictions I find seem to linger longer. There's a lyric in a U2 song that comes to mind: the more you see, the less you know, the less you find out as you go. These words seem particularly salient to me these days as I try to reconcile the scenes of harsh cruelty, unspeakable beauty and vast potential that I have witnessed over the last 31 days, and figure out how to respond responsibly.

I suppose it's easy to know everything when you stay put - where life is predictable and routine. But when you cross borders - literally and figuratively - you are consumed at once by the wonderfully terrifying and exciting realization that there are things you do not know. These are moments to embrace - we adapt too quickly, to be honest.

All I know for certain is that the adrenaline, the thrill, the indescribable ecstasy I find in travelling comes straight from the moments where I am given a glimpse into the incredible possibility that exists still in this world; in sudden and spontaneous moments that remind us of our common humanity. An impromptu volleyball game played in the shadows of a dictator; the smile of a machine-gun wielding soldier, and his momentary lapse of suspicion; tearing up the dance floor at a Tajik birthday party and realizing that it's your smile they see, not your two left feet; baby dancers, soccer games and families flying kites, and the hundreds of ordinary people, greeting you everyday with an "assalamu alaikum" - peace be upon you. What a privilege it has been to witness such moments, and so in reply to those who shared them with us, wa alaikum assalam - and on you be peace. Extraordinary words for extraordinary times, really.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1251556710/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1251556710/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1251556710/tpod.html Sun, 30 Aug 2009 18:08:39 -0400 Our Epic Silk Road Adventure

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Hotan, Xinjiang, China

We drove across a small section of the Taklamakan desert – which translates into "enter and never return" or “desert of death” as locals call it. This is the desert that swallowed up many a caravan in the glory days of the Silk Road. Mummified remains can be found in many museums, attesting to the perils of getting lost in the world's second largest desert. Second largest it may be, but it is not nearly as beautiful as the Sahara. Nonetheless, it has its moments, and we stopped at each briefly to take pictures of sweeping white sand dunes. Horrifically hot in the afternoon, the heat of the sand burned right through the soles of our sandals, so running barefoot through the sand or rolling down the dunes was really not an option. It is amazing that China has been able to tame this place by building a highway right through it – I wonder if the ancient caravans could have ever imagined such a luxury!

At the end of the Taklamakan is Hotan, where we founnd ourselves for two days. Hotan is a city of bizarre juxtapositions. With a population of just under one million, it is predominantly Uyghur. It is in Hotan where we have begun to wonder at the fact that China even allowed us into Xinjiang…we seem to be making them all very nervous.

Every sizeable Chinese city has a Renmin Square – or People’s Square. They all look somewhat similar after a while. They are large cement squares with some grassy fringes. There’s always a large, billowing Chinese flag, and more often than not, a statue of Mao (world’s Number 3 worst dictator, as we have dubbed him), and then there’s always an abstract statue depicting the communist struggle in modern art terms – usually including a sphere or two, held up by twisted metal shapes. Hotan’s Renmin Square is no different, except that it’s large Mao statue is shaking hands with a prominent Uyghur activisit (who, now deceased, is much more acceptable to the Chinese in his present state of repose).

Yesterday, I decided I was museumed out, and left Michael with some others to walk to a local museum. I joined two other women and, novels in hand, we went in search of coffee (a very rare commodity) and a bench in the shade at Renmin Square, to do a bit of people watching and reading. We certainly got what we bargained for – and more. Not long into our reading/people-watching session, the army arrived. Now at this point, after passing through dozens of checkpoints, we were accustomed to the sight of them, so this alone was not remarkable. There are afterall over 200 000 extra troops stationed in Xinjiang. The problem here is that it felt as though they were all here in Hotan, because the trucks kept coming and coming and coming. Before we knew it, we were witnessing a massive demonstration of military might in the square as hundreds of stone faced soldiers in camouflage, fully decked out in riot gear, shouted in unison, marched, lunged, kicked their black shields in perfect – albeit frightening – choreography. Most people would take this as a cue to leave, but not us. Afterall, no one asked us to leave, and it seemed like the locals were still walking around and talking. So, perplexed, disturbed and excited all at once, we continued to gawk for at least 30 minutes. Our voyeurism was ended abruptly when several soldiers with beaten black shields, batons, and machine guns marched toward us, surrounded us, positioned themselves and then aimed cameras at us from four directions - which we at first mistook as guns (I have to say, in this Big Brother state, I’m not convinced that cameras are any better than machine guns when you’re the target).

We were frozen. We did not know what to do. In fact, one woman had gone in search of bottled water, so we couldn’t exactly flee with her missing. So we did what any normal person surrounded by Chinese combat soldiers would do; we pulled out our novels and started to read. After several minutes, when our friend returned, we looked up from our reading to see that the soldiers had not even blinked. The cameras were rolling, the guns still dangerously close. We jumped up and started walking – as fast as we could – back to the hotel, realizing that someone was probably following us in some capacity. Very little scares me when I travel – outside of crazy drivers – but this honestly terrified me. As the Lonely Planet so wisely states: “the biggest thing you have to fear when travelling in a police state is the police.” We locked ourselves in our rooms (as if that would stop the Chinese army!) and regrouped. The funny thing is that I had this brilliant idea that I would change my clothes, and this lightened the moment considerably, as the others broke into laughter. They’ll never find you now they insisted, not with the millions of tall blonde women walking around Hotan! (A shop keeper earlier in the day had told us that he had seen a Western man about 5 months earlier). We had a good laugh and headed back to the Mao statue to look for Michael and the others. But here is where it gets really strange…

After dinner, we decided to venture back out in the square. You would never believe that it was the same park. Thousands of Chinese soldiers gave way to kids, families, couples – everyone out to enjoy the gentle night air in Renmin Park. It was a truly festive air, and the square was full of groups of people bunting brightly coloured beach balls around. Within minutes, we were invited into a sort of “no rules” volleyball game, and as we attracted some attention, more and more people joined. Before we knew it, there were at least a dozen or more people including toddlers, teenagers, an entire family and two seniors playing, and a minimum of four balls flying between us. What a fantastic and bizarre experiencec. How can a frightening square, echoing with the strains of totalitarianism be transformed in mere hours into a mini-carnival ground, replete with bouncy-tents, splash pools and cotton candy vendors?

As our game wound down, we were approached by a young Uyghur girl of 13 years who spoke beautiful English. “I want to be your friend” she told us, and began to ask us many questions, revealing her incredibly articulate language skills as we conversed and drew imaginary maps in our palms to show where we live in relation to Hotan. Before long, we had attracted a crowd of people – none of whom spoke English, but all of them curious about the strangers who had descended upon their city. The group ballooned and I knew what would happen next. It was a matter of a minute or two before the police arrived and began barking and swinging their arms to disperse everyone. While calm in our presence, after we had departed they continued harassing the others, in particular our young friend and her father, and I was rapidly reminded that I am in a police state, not a democracy. After we had seen that they were safely on their way, we retreated to the top floor of a cake shop for some cheap Chinese beer with the others. As we sat there swapping stories about the day, I reflected on being terrified in the shadows of Mao, and how for us, at least, we could walk away with a story to tell, and the promise of a few beers, good company and uncensored conversation. To think that I, as a Westerner, allowed myself to succumb to fear for a brief time! The people who shared their evening with us do not have the luxury of knowing that 'this too shall pass.’ And yet for a while, on a beautiful Friday evening, Mao’s square was awash with light, and full of life and laughter. These are the moments I travel for – the epiphany moments where I am forced to deconstruct my own privilege, and am rewarded at the same time with a glimpse into the resilience of humanity. What a cruel, crazy, beautiful world – and I am a part of it, even in the shadows of Mao.

Today, we stopped in Yicheng to visit a Jameh mosque. It didn’t materialize. It was Friday, and as the entire town went to the mosque for afternoon prayers, several thousand soldiers sealed off the streets in riot gear. The faithful gathered for prayers nonetheless, and there we stood, in the square facing the Jameh mosque, surrounded by ranks and ranks of soldiers on one side, and men on prayer mats on the other, everything silent but for the muezzin leading the call to prayer.

As frustrating as things can be here, what a privilege it is to be in its epicentre, where so few others have been.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1249246526/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1249246526/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1249246526/tpod.html Sun, 30 Aug 2009 18:01:06 -0400 Our Epic Silk Road Adventure

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Aksu, Xinjiang Uygur, China

Something is going on in Aksu. The military presence can only be described as choking and repressive. Every check point is beefed up, and when we tried to get to a virgin forest on the border with Kazakhstan, we found ourselves on a wild goose chase from army to police, police to army – all of them giving the run around to our guide until someone finally (and apparently not very kindly) said NO. Still no reason why, but we have some theories. A concentration camp for Uyghur activists, or a secret build up of troops are two of them - they make the long drive more interesting and are plausible conspiracy theories – but the only certain thing is that they don't want anyone escaping over the border to Kazakhstan, so the roads have been sealed off. There is a flurry of angst and excitement in town today, as the authorities have just posted new "most wanted" posters featuring dozens of Uyghur activists and a message 'loosely’ translated as “turn yourselves in now to be dealt with less severely”. We’ve been told, as well, to refrain from taking pictures of ‘old places’ because we might sell them to journalists who will make China look bad. Again, I smirk. So there is amongst us, a curious debate over what constitutes an ‘old place’ because if historic mosques and markets count, then I think my ‘word pictures’ may end up substituting for photographs - we sure as hell aren’t taking pictures of kooky Chinese communist buildings. Whatever the case, I don’t like the feeling in Aksu. They’re hiding something – otherwise they would not be so paranoid and protective. And I shudder to think of what it could be.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1251479991/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1251479991/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1251479991/tpod.html Fri, 28 Aug 2009 13:36:28 -0400 Our Epic Silk Road Adventure

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Bukhara, Uzbekistan

Bukhara, another stop along the Silk Road, is famous for its many medrassahs and pools. The centre of old Bukhara is the Lyabi Hauz, roughly translated to 'round the pool' or ‘banks of the pool’. Although much more commercialized than I expected (it’s chock-full of vendors selling tourist trinkets, as well as some life-sized camel statues strategically located for tourist pictures in place of the old men who proportedly played chess and drank tea for centuries) it still invites the weary traveller to find some space on a tapchan, in the shade of a 500 year old mulberry tree, and sip green tea at one of it’s many chaikhanas (tea houses), as it probably has for centuries. I have to say, I had the most devine roasted aubergine salad I have ever eaten (and I supposedly hate aubergine) sitting at one such chaikhana at the Lyabi Hauz.

Bukhara was once covered with over 120 such pools, but many of them were destroyed in 1920, when the Red Army bombed the city. During the Soviet era, the vast majority of the pools were closed because they contained parasites and bacteria, including guinea worm. The Soviets covered them with sand and then cement. This, however, proved near fatal for Bukhara’s many historic sites, as unbeknownst to the Soviets the pools had served as a natural drainage system. Once covered over, the water from melting winter snows and spring rains had no where to go, so the foundations of many buildings have rotted or become dangerously corroded by salt, thus the government is perpetually restoring historical buildings.

One of our highlights in Bukhara was lurking around the Khalon Mosque and minaret complex, built in the 11th century, facing a functioning medrassah (which is a rarity, as most of the medrassahs we have visited have been converted into either vendor stalls or hotels). In the afternoon it is brimming with tourists, as well as a team of rather obnoxious teenage girls ‘befriending’ the tourists and then strong-arming them to come to their shops (one of them got extremely cheeky with us when we refused to fall for their rather familiar routine). But at sunset, which is around 7:15, most of the tourists are peculiarly absent – strange, given that the lighting is optimal for photography. And by optimal, I mean spectacular. As the sun slips below the city horizon, the entire façade and dome of the adjacent Mir-i-Arab medrassah is ablaze, it’s millions of tiny tiles sparkling in the warm glow of sundown. Children were flying kites that glistened above the Kalon minaret, and an impromptu game of soccer had started up in the courtyard.

We left Bukhara on Saturday, the first day of Ramadan. While it is a holiday in Uzbekistan (as is Hait – which is Uzbek for Eid), we were told that less than 5 percent of Uzbeks actually fast; most Uzbeks are so-called "secular Muslims". The cities are nonetheless gearing up for a celebration – not related to Ramadan, but rather to Independence Day. Everywhere, women are sweeping the streets, flowers and park greens are being watered, litter is being collected and windows are being polished, and the Uzbek colours – blue, white and green – are being draped from streetlights, balconies and bridges. You certainly get the feeling that something exciting is about to occur.

We drove across a vast expanse of cotton fields on route to our next accomodations in the Kizulkum desert. Cotton is one of Uzbekistan’s major exports, as well as silk. While it is the fourth largest producer of silk in the world, it is the number one exporter of silk – most of it going not to the fashion industry, but rather towards the production of parachutes! While mulberry trees line the fields (each farmer is required to grow mulberry, as its branches are used to feed the silk worms), the fields themselves are full of cotton crops. There is so much cotton to be harvested that all university and college students are expected to help in the harvest for 30 days each fall! This is actually something the students look forward to; they are expected to pick 15 kg a day, and if they meet this quota, their accomdation and three meals a day are provided free of charge. A good novice cotton picker can usually accomplish this by mid-morning, so the afternoons are full of students sleeping in the cotton fields, storing up their energy for a night of dancing and drinking vodka in the nearest dance clubs. As for the farmers, it is almost considered a burden, as they can usually harvest as much cotton, if not more, in the time that it takes them to properly instruct and oversee the students.

Our yurt camp in the desert was 7 km from a small town. To get there, we boarded what was referred to as “unique Soviet transportation” by our guide. It was a round white rusted mini-bus that looked like a bomb had exploded from it’s inside. It just screamed “Soviet” as its loud, rusted engine choked to life and we began a bumpy ride across the sand and scruff. I was surprised to learn that it had only been made in 1991! I asked Marat what had happened to it: “It’s had a hard life” he replied. It reminded me of the crumbling Soviet-era apartment blocks in Kyrgyzstan – one look at them and you would swear they were at least 60 years old and severly neglected, but most of them had dates of ‘1989’ or ‘1990’ inscribed on the facades; not long in the life of a building (or vehicle, if you care for it properly). At the camp, we all went on a short camel ride. I wasn’t going to initially – my last ride on a camel in Morocco was…painful. But Michael rightfully pointed out that we are, afterall, on the Silk Road, and these were, afterall, Bactrian camels as opposed to the Arabian camels we were on in the Sahara (for those of you who, like me, are rather unversed in camel classification, the Bactrian ones are the camels with two humps, the dromidores). Well, 20 minutes on the back of a rebellious, flatulent Bactrian was enough to convince me that I would not be cut out for the 10 year journey from Xian to Damascus.

A stop at Aydarkul lake (a 300 km wide person-made reservoir) en route to Samarkand seemed to trigger the ‘beginning of the end’ for me. At some point near the end of the journey, you accept that it is coming to an end, and you start to think of home. Your brain, to prepare for the sudden drop in adrenalin that occurs when a jetliner cruelly spits you out into an airport at home, starts to conjure up sweet thoughts of home, and fantasize about what your first meal at home will be (figs, yoghurt, and a Starbuck’s cappucino, if you must know). There is nothing wrong with Aydarkul lake and its clean blue waters, other than that to someone who comes from a province of 200 000 beautiful lakes, it’s pretty unremarkable. Alas, as we sat under a canvas shelter, swatting sand flies and eating watermelon, my thoughts began to wander through the watery mazes of sparkling granite and majestic white pine that make thoughts of home seem sweet. I am getting ready to return.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1249009968/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1249009968/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/fearcuairt/4/1249009968/tpod.html Fri, 28 Aug 2009 13:27:01 -0400 Our Epic Silk Road Adventure

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Beijing, China

Hello all - since we are headed into no-person's land tonight, I thought I would take advantage of our connection to the outside world here in Beijing to send a quick blog. And I mean quick, because we have a lot to fit in before we head back to the airport for our evening flight to Urumqi.

We arrived safely in Beijing yesterday, after a very smooth and gentle ride. If I may say one thing about the flight, the food was completely inedible - bordering on poisonous. Michael ordered a Halal meal, while I stuck to vege, and in the end, we both got the same thing. We have since made a pact that we the food is hereby on a list of 'unspeakable topics' because every time I think of it, my stomach lurches. Anyway, as we made our way through a smoggy, hot Beijing afternoon I noticed that many things had changed since our visit in 2006. For starters, the rows and rows of dilapidated migrant worker huts were all gone, and in their places were parks and baskets of flowers. Trees and grass seem to have been planted the entire stretch from the airport to downtown, no doubt a result of the Olympics. But I wont comment any further on that one, because as you know, I am practicing how to censure myself.

We met our travelling companions last night. There are 13 of us in total, all of them British except for us and a New Zealander who lives permanently in London. We are also younger than all of them by at least 20 years, except for the new Zealander. That's what happens when you go on an epic (=read expensive) journey. They are all quite nice. We went for dinner together a local restaurant and sampled a Beijing tradition - Peking duck. It wasn't bad, but I found it greasy, and my stomach was still in turmoil from the unspeakably wretched Air Canada food.

Today we went shopping for something really exciting. Deoderant. Michael forgot deoderant. We have been to at least 4 supermarkets so far, and found nothing, but we did find a bottle of snake bile foaming bath milk for men. We are packing up now to check out, and then we are heading to the Temple of Heaven for the afternoon - a place we did not visit last time, as it was all covered in scaffolding.

I can't say I love Beijing any more than last time. It is hot. Men hork and spit constantly. Everyone smokes. And car horns are a constant monotonous background noise. But I must say it is as clean as ever! There's a man who just lit up a cigarette beside me, something I am totally not used to at all, so I think that is my cue to head out. I'll be in touch the next time we find access to the outside worl.

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