Picture from Medeu

I meant to post this picture with the last message, but hit the publish button too soon. So, for your amusement, here is a picture from Medeu last Friday. As my friend Hilary pointed out, the big sparkly blue earrings are also further proof of cultural assimilation. At least you can't see the jeans under my coat.....

Universities and Yurts

It has been a while since I’ve sat down to write. The last weeks have been rather busy, not to mention stressful, and by the time evening arrives I have not felt like sitting in front of the computer for any purpose other than checking email.

The main drama this past month has revolved around Ablai Khan University. At one time, this university was one of the top language centers in the Soviet Union. Today…well, the situation is far different. The rector, a very imposing woman, has caused the vast majority of professors to leave the university in search of better situations. The jobs of the remaining professors can be jeopardized if they do not pass all of their fee-paying students. After all, they are paying for their classes and should expect a decent grade! The university is also falling apart structurally. Holes in the floor are covered with metal sheeting that is nailed down, the heat often does not work, blackboards that are so old that they cannot be written upon anymore—even if you could find chalk. Those working at the university (with the exception of the rector) know that the once-high standards have all but disappeared, and they need assistance from universities and experts outside of Kazakhstan if they want to improve their programs.

Unfortunately, while outside assistance is desperately needed, university staff members do not know how to get the aid that they desire. Fulbright fellows doing research in Almaty are one way to bring foreign scholars into the university. The difficulty is ensuring that the university understands that while we are often willing to help, we also have research demands that must first be met. I was left with no option but to end any affiliation with Ablai Khan after repeated conflict over the nature of my role as a volunteer at the university. The breaking point came after several weeks of pressure to work full-time for the university, when they expected me to write a paper on ‘distance learning’ (on-line education) for a conference; another faculty member would translate this paper into Russian and be my co-author. Of course, the conference was in English so this translation would not be necessary. I was also expected to report my progress/display my research on several occasions before the conference. After declining to attend one such meeting (at which time my ‘co-author’ began using some extremely derogatory language in Russian, thinking I could not understand what she said. Of course I understood what she said! Those were some of the first words I learned over here!), it was clear that the situation would not improve and would only get worse instead. So, I ended my affiliation with the university.

I have to admit, I am rather sad to have ended the university affiliation. Most people at Ablai Khan were extremely kind to me, and did their best to welcome me into their university. I will definitely miss the students from my American Studies class, too. They were delightful to work with, and always made me smile. I will miss them, but have sent an email message to the students letting them know that, while I will not be returning, I hope that they will keep in touch.

Of course, not everything in Almaty has been stressful this past month. I have a new second home here in the city, at the 4-A coffee shop. They have REAL brownies. And cheesecake. And GOOD coffee. Sheer bliss. Strangely enough, the owner is from Massachusetts. Make that Dracut, Massachusetts. Yes, the same town where my mother grew up. He even went to high school with some Mattes (Mom’s maiden name was Matte), and lived on the same street (but the other end) as Uncle Bob. Now he and his wife run a wonderful coffee shop that I can walk to in less than ten minutes. Yes, it is a small world!

As I sit here writing, it occurs to me that I have definitely become accustomed to living in Kazakhstan. There are not many things that surprise me anymore, although I am finding that some of the things my friends and I now do surprise those back at home. A few months back, I wrote about buying a pair of jeans at the bazaar. Those first jeans were Levi’s—a quality American brand, even if purchased at the bazaar. Well, I bought another pair of jeans this week—also at the bazaar. Except these are much more Kazakh in style—with decorative beading and designs on the pockets. Of course, they are the equivalent of a US-size 8, which is considered a “large size” over here, so there is not as much of a selection. I thought they looked pretty nice, as did my friends in Almaty. If anything, they are rather subdued—too bad I don’t have a bedazzler!! The reaction of friends back home? “You’re actually going to wear those??”.

I have also begun to think of fur as a necessity, not a luxury. Temperatures have not risen above freezing since Christmas, and my fur hat is currently one of the most essential items in my wardrobe. I often find myself wishing that I had brought the fur coat that was belonged to my grandmother with me. Fur is for everyday use over here, and when the high temperature is 10F, you begin to have thoughts like “if I were to buy a fur coat over here, it would really look GREAT when I’m heading across campus next winter”.

Becoming acclimated is not just restricted to clothing. On the bus to China, my friends and I discovered a new and fascinating element of Kazakh culture. At 10am, someone took a bottle of vodka out and started passing it around. Once enough vodka had been consumed, another person took a whole roasted chicken out of a bag and everyone had a snack. This procedure was repeated at regular intervals throughout the bus ride. Was this just an isolated phenomenon? Clearly it was not, as we have seen other people do the same thing at other times. There was only one thing to do, then. We took a chicken and a bottle of vodka up to Medeu on Friday to experience part of Kazakh culture. My recommendation? Spend more than $3 on a bottle of vodka! Of course, we bought the “Manly Strength” vodka simply because of its name (and the fact that the bottle says “We wish that kings and wise men could talk about the properties of our vodka, but they can’t. Let your wife be the judge of its properties”). At least the chicken was good! After spending the afternoon in the mountains, we ended the day with another popular local activity and went to the banya.

It is going to be hard to top the experience of eating chicken up on the mountain, but we’re going to try. Just about everything shuts down during the month of August, and it won’t be possible to get much research done during that time. My friend Sarah and I have a plan, though. We’re working on the logistics of living with a nomadic family for the month of August. Yes, that would mean living in a yurt. And probably doing many other rather crazy things that we would normally never be able to experience (plus, it would provide some fascinating insights for the dissertation, and help with Kazakh language skills). Planning is still in the early stages, so we’ll see what happens. At least we will never be able to say that life is dull in Kazakhstan!

Friday Night in Kazakhstan

Well, it is nearly 11pm here in Kazakhstan—by now I would normally be in bed trying to get some sleep before the usual 3am alarm of car horns outside. Tonight is something of an exception, though. My neighbors downstairs have just begun working on ‘ремонт’ (re’mont)—or renovations. Over here, you don’t hire a construction company to take care of renovations—you do them yourself, along with any friends you can convince to help out. Of course, that means that re’mont is done after work, on weekends, and late at night. It will probably be another late night here in Almaty—a good opportunity to sit down and catch up on some writing about events here in the city, rather than the adventures in China. Re’mont is just a fact of life over here—not worth getting upset over—you just have to accept that it will occur at inconvenient times and move on with things.

It is hard to believe that I am already in my sixth month of living in Kazakhstan. In some ways, it feels as if I have just arrived—but in other ways, it seems as if I have been here an eternity. Things that would have seemed so unusual just a few months ago now just seem to be part of everyday life. At a club last weekend, a friend and I met someone here on business for three weeks. Our new acquaintance kept looking around and pointing out things that he thought were incredibly strange. But…to Amelia and me, everything just seemed normal. We didn’t know what he was talking about. Yes, we have definitely settled into life in Almaty.

The adaptation is readily apparent in how we dress. January has been pretty cold—if temperatures are above 10F, it is a warm day. Fur has become a necessity of life over here—I bought a fur hat that I wear just about everyday, and REALLY wish that I had brought the fur coat that belonged to Memere (my grandmother). I could wear it just about everyday over here—because when temperatures are this cold, everyone wears fur just about all of the time.

Strangely enough, although it is so cold outside, my apartment is lacking in cold water. There is an abundance of hot water, though. Make that scalding hot water! The lack of cold water is even more of a problem than not having hot water. At least it is possible to boil water—but it takes much longer to cool water down. I have taken to putting a bucket of water on the balcony at night, so that I can add a huge ice cube to a bathtub of scalding water in order to be able to wash my hair in the morning. Today was the 10th day without cold water—we now have a trickle of cold water, but the water pressure on the 4th floor is nearly non-existent.

Not having cold water makes it difficult to do laundry in my agitator. I have to drain the agitator several times to wash one load of laundry—usually, I have to reach into the machine to remove an article of clothing from the drain. It is rather difficult when the water is scalding hot, though. If we still have cold water in the morning, I anticipate a rather long day of laundry.

At least there has been sufficient heat in my apartment during this cold weather. In fact, my apartment is too warm—by my standards, at least. I have to leave my balcony door open a few inches at night—or it is too hot for me to sleep. But…I keep being told that I am not taking proper care of myself. Among the “facts” I have been told—sitting on a seat without putting a scarf down first is bad for your liver; sitting in a draft will freeze your ovaries (but men also aren’t supposed to sit in drafts, so I don’t know what the problem is); drinking cold milk is bad for your lungs. My incredibly warm German wool coat is also considered to be insufficient—I really should buy a new, warmer coat (my coat is incredibly warm, even though it looks lightweight). I love learning all of these “facts”! All you can do is to appear to pay attention and say ‘thank you’ for the information. People are just genuinely concerned—they are brought up to believe that cold weather is bad for your health. Considering the lack of control over heat in just about every building, it really isn’t surprising—once you have spent time in a building where there is no heat, it becomes incredibly difficult to get warm (as is the case at the university—where there has been no heat in the office all winter).

I am still doing some teaching at Ablai Khan University. However, I have finished teaching geopolitics and am focusing on American Studies. Fulbright likes us to be involved in the community and do some volunteer work—for me, this is teaching. The university wanted to hire me officially once the language grant ended at the end of December. However, to do so would require officially translated copies of my diplomas, passport, curriculum vitae or resume, and a few dozen other things. Just so I could be paid $200 to teach for 4 months. I convinced the department that I would stay for the semester and teach 2 sections of the class (essentially giving the same lecture twice, to classes that meet consecutively) on a volunteer basis. Of course, they responded by giving me a list of documents that they needed—for me to volunteer! The list was identical to the first one they gave me (which would have been problematic, anyway—since my diplomas are somewhere in a box in Kansas. University transcripts aren’t sufficient). We eventually agreed that I would host an “English club” once a week. No paperwork, and the flexibility to leave to do my own research (the reason I am in Kazakhstan!). It is incredibly difficult at times—the universities need so much help, and I have to balance their needs/requests against Russian lessons, my own research, and having time for myself.

I have recently been introduced to a new coffeeshop here in Almaty—which makes the ‘time for myself’ aspect MUCH easier. The cafe is owned by an American who is married to a Kazakh woman—and they sell REAL brownies!!! And chocolate pie, real muffins, lemon meringue pie, and GOOD coffee. All at affordable prices—and the shop is less than ½ mile from my apartment. It is my new favorite place. I have been meeting one of my friends there for coffee just about every day—I can’t believe that I didn’t know about it before now! For those of you back in Lawrence—it is incredibly similar to Prima Tazza. I love experiencing Kazakh culture—but there is absolutely nothing like a good coffee shop!

Well, there has been silence from my neighbors for the last 30 minutes or so—I’m hoping that they are done with re’mont for the night. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day—and I’m supposed to meet some friends at a club in the evening—so I’m going to try to head off to bed now. It is only midnight, though—so who knows what will happen for the rest of the night!

China--Train Rides, Border Crossings, and Crazy Drivers

Return to Urumqi

The train ride from Kashgar to Urumqi was not quite as eventful as the trip to Kashgar. We were somewhat familiar with the train system by this point, so the most complicated part was merely a matter of telling the cab driver to bring us to the train station. This was accomplished by the relatively simple task of showing the cab driver a train ticket and smiling. Not difficult at all!

The three of us shared a coupe on the trip back to Urumqi, which made it easier to relax and enjoy the ride. We didn’t have to sit in the hallway to converse—instead, we could sit in the coupe and read, talk, or take a nap. Several hours into the ride, a police officer came into the coupe. It was an interesting conversation, if you could call it that. We spoke no Chinese, and he spoke no English. He kept pointing to my camera—we had been taking pictures out the window—and my initial thought was that we had taken pictures of something that we should not have. But how can that be the case when you are traveling through the desert? It turned out that he was simply trying to warn us that someone might try to take the camera. He motioned to see our passports and visas, and then left with a smile. All things considered, a much better experience than my encounter with the police in Kazakhstan (after my apartment was robbed).

The scenery we saw on the return trip was very different than on the trip to Kashgar. It had been dark when we had traveled through the southern reaches of the Taklamakan Desert earlier. This time, we were able to see amazing scenery—the bands of vivid colors in the Flaming Mountains, irrigated cotton fields in the desert, unusual rock formations, small villages in the middle of nowhere—with satellite dishes on some of the roofs.

As before, the lights on the train were turned out at 10:30pm. At least this time we were expecting this to happen! The following morning, I was able to see a remarkable sight—sunrise over the edge of the Turpan Depression (one of the few areas with relatively fertile lands in Xinjiang). Soon afterwards, we passed through China’s largest windfarm. It was the first, and only, sign of environmental consciousness that I noted in Xinjiang.

Arriving in Urumqi, we took a bus back to the same hotel where we had stayed before. It was surprisingly easy to arrange for a room—we just showed our receipts from before. After a quick shower, we left to arrange for our return to Almaty. We called Jackson (our guide from before) to find out where the bus station was. When we initially arrived in Urumqi, the bus stopped at a hotel rather than the bus station, so we did not know where the actual station was located. Jackson told us to hail a cab, and then he would tell the cab driver via cellphone where we needed to go. This being accomplished, we waited to see where we would end up. Imagine our surprise when we were brought back to the train station! We called Jackson again, and he told us that we were in the correct location. Yes, it was another instance of Jackson not listening to our questions. We hailed another cab, and called Amelia’s sister this time. She told our driver that we needed to go to the international bus station—which turned out to be a block away from our hotel.

We ran into a problem at the bus station, though. Apparently, the border was closed for several days due to holidays. The man with whom we spoke was not sure when it would be possible to take a bus back to Kazakhstan. Train tickets were also sold out (the train only runs twice a week).

We needed some time to discuss our options—so decided to go to the bazaar to do some final shopping while we thought about what to do. Train tickets were not an option, we didn’t know when the bus would run (and the bus station was closed for the night), and we weren’t sure about hiring a driver since we would have to hire someone from Urumqi to Khorgos, and then another person from Khorgos to Almaty. Eventually, we decided to figure out what to do in the morning—and go back to the restaurant we had gone to the first night in Urumqi to have more “Beijing Roast Duck”.

Much of the next day was spent trying to arrange for transportation back to Almaty. We had to go across the city several times to different transit offices. Everyone with whom we spoke had a different answer when we asked about when the border would reopen. Would it be the next day? Perhaps the day after? Or was it sometime after Christmas? We really needed to get back to Almaty, though—Sarah’s visa expired on the 28th, and it would take about a week to renew. We eventually agreed to spend a little extra money and hire a car to bring us to the border. It would be about $35 each, and the car would pick us up at our hotel in the morning.

By the time transportation arrangements were settled, it was late afternoon. We decided to spend the last few hours in the city at one of the many banyas. And this time, we were determined that it would be a legitimate one! The banya we found was remarkable. For the exorbitant (?) sum of $42, we spent five hours relaxing in hot baths, getting facials and body wraps, enjoying the sauna—after the dinner that was included—having a Thai-style massage, where the masseuse literally walks on your back. Wow! What a difference from our first “massage” in Urumqi!

The following morning, our driver picked us up at our hotel for the drive to Khorgos. The drive was relatively uneventful—it was dark when we left, and I slept for much of the ride. Most of the drive was on a fairly decent highway. When we approached the Kazakh border, though, the situation changed. The ‘highway’ was essentially a two lane semi-paved road that went through a mountain pass. Along the way, we passed Lake Sayran in the Tien Shan Mountains—our driver stopped to allow us to take pictures. While we did so, several groups of herders came through the area, with a flock of sheep and a large group of horses. It was amazing sight, particularly on a ‘highway’.

When we arrived in Khorgos, our driver helped us to find a relatively inexpensive hotel. We had a few hours, so we explored what we could of the city. We stopped off at a Uyghur restaurant for an early dinner (where we had the ubiquitous langhman), then found our way to Starbucks. Yes, there IS a Starbucks in Khorghos. It just isn’t a real Starbucks—the only similarity is the ridiculously high price for a cup of coffee. We had “cappuccino”—which was essentially instant coffee with a whipped topping that has a slight resemblance to Redi-Whip.

We knew that there would be a line at the border the next day, so we decided to leave as early as possible. The border had been closed Monday and Tuesday due to Independence Day in Kazakhstan—and it would be closed again on Thursday and Friday for one of the Muslim holidays. When we left the hotel, there were several vehicles out in front—each driver offered to bring us to the border for what seemed rather high prices. We declined, and went to the main road to hail a cab. Unfortunately, the only cabs that stopped were too small to handle our luggage. We would up taking a rickshaw to the border—for the ridiculously high price of $4.50! It was by far the most expensive ride we had taken in China—most cab rides cost no more than $1.50, and lasted longer than ¾ mile. But how often do you get to take a rickshaw?

The border itself was packed—hundreds of people crowded around the gates to the customs building. Several men were taking money to expedite the process—but we didn’t think paying someone in full sight of embassy guards in China would be particularly smart. When the border eventually opened, it was a mad dash to the gateway. People were pressing in on all sides, and the men who had been taking money were lifting people (and all of their vast amounts of luggage) over the gates. One man apparently thought that Sarah had paid for this service—so we had the visual of seeing her lifted and thrown over the gate. Amelia and I were right next to the entryway, so were able to squeeze through without too much problem.

We had no problems clearing Chinese customs—but then had to wait for the shuttles between the Chinese and Kazakh sides of the border. It would have been no problem, but it took about 30 minutes for the shuttles to arrive from the Kazakh side. By that time, the number of people waiting for the shuttles had swelled from a few dozen to a few hundred. But…the experience of driving in Boston combined with several months of living in Almaty definitely helped. As we say over here—“elbows out, side to side”. I was successfully able to block the door to the second shuttle, so that the three of us could board. The meek might inherit the earth in most places—but in Kazakhstan they would be trampled underfoot. It is going to be hard to move back to Kansas—where everyone is so polite—after a year and a half in Kazakhstan!

After clearing customs on the Kazakh side of the border, we next had to arrange for a cab to take us back to Almaty. Prices were higher than usual, due to the border closure. We negotiated with a driver to take us back to Almaty—only to find out that he was not our actual driver. He took us to another location, where we met our actual driver. After loading our luggage into the car and beginning what should be about a six hour drive, our driver told us that he was going to stop to pick up one other person. That wasn’t in the agreement! It was only after Sarah told him that we would just get out of the car and hire someone else that he agreed not to stop for anyone else.

Initially, the drive was uneventful. We had hired a typical driver from Kazakhstan—which meant that he drove fairly fast and did not pay attention to the rules of the road. Not always comfortable, but not unexpected. His Russian was absolutely atrocious—but he was convinced that we could not speak the language and just didn’t understand his eloquence. After about 2 hours of driving, our driver went a little (a lot?) too fast over a bump in the road—and broke the exhaust pipe. But…he was prepared to fix the problem. Pulling off to the side of the road, he jacked the car up to check out the problem. Of course, the road was covered in ice and he failed to block the tires. Our job—to direct traffic around the car. We were no where ANY sort of assistance—you can see this ‘road to nowhere’ in one of the earlier postings. Sarah offered the driver some duct tape—and he wrapped this around the exhaust pipe. The tape held for about 10km, then melted. It was time to watch the car be jacked up once again. This time, several other cars stopped and we were treated to the fascinating site of a group of Kazakh men standing around discussing the problem. Eventually, they ran the tow rope under the bottom of the car to prevent the pipe from dragging (it had broken near the front axle).

The next few hours were spent trying to find a place to have the car repaired. Apparently, the problem had happened four or five months previously—and the driver never had it properly taken care of (you can see the ‘garage’ in one of the earlier postings, too). In between trying to find a garage, our driver was determined to make an impression Sarah. Amelia and I were all but ignored, as he attempted to convince Sarah to convert to Islam (seriously!) and give him her phone number. There are times when I am incredibly thankful that men here really don’t bother me—because I am clearly too old to have nine or ten children (although I’m still told not to sit in a draft, since it will freeze your ovaries)!

Eventually, the car was repaired and it was time to head back to Almaty. Except I wasn’t sure if we would make it—since our driver was hurtling down the road at about 100 mph. Every time he passed a car, he would wave at the other driver. Periodically, he would pray—and would pass his hands over his face in a traditional prayer. The problem was that he was still driving when he did this. There is NOTHING like driving 100 mph down what would be considered a secondary road back home, with no one steering and the driver covering his eyes. Did I mention that seat belts don’t exist over here?

It was pretty clear that our driver really didn’t have any actual driving skills. At least we didn’t realize how lacking his skills were until we arrived in Almaty. It was about 10 degrees F outside, but he kept opening the car windows. When we asked why he kept doing so, since it was pretty darned cold, we found out that the reason was to “hear where the other cars were”. Mirrors apparently weren’t adequate for the job—or he just didn’t know how to use them. I suspect that it was the latter.

I was the first to be dropped off, and gladly stumbled up to my apartment to take a shower and a nap. Apparently, though, the adventure was not over for Sarah and Amelia. The driver stopped to use the restroom en route to their building—but left the car running with the keys in the ignition. From what I understand, there was serious temptation to drive off and leave the driver behind. I can’t say that I would have blamed them!

All in all, it was an eventful trip! We traveled by just about every method of transportation available—bus, train, taxi, camel, and rickshaw (too bad we didn’t get to ride a donkey cart, though!). We ate strange and exotic foods, experienced an entirely different culture, saw amazing scenery, and had a wonderful time. It was an adventure in discovering exactly what we could do, and how adaptable we could be to unusual circumstances. What is next? Well, if all goes well—hiking to Kyrgyzstan, and then going to Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan. Who knows what will happen on those trips? But…it just won’t be the same as Xinjiang, since we all speak Russian and won’t have the same communication barrier in other parts of Central Asia.

China-Camel Riding and the World's Freshest Chicken

It is a frigid night here in Almaty, with temperatures well below zero. Definitely a good night to stay inside and drink tea—and perhaps catch up on some of the writing I have been intending to do.

The trip to go camel riding started well before dawn, at 10am Beijing time. It is rather strange to think that 10am is before sunrise, but it was only 8am local time—and during winter in these latitudes, sunrise is rather late. Before we left, we had breakfast in the hotel. I am usually willing to try different things, but the Chinese-style breakfasts are a bit beyond me. Pickled vegetables first thing in the morning can be a little hard to stomach—even for someone who likes rather non-traditional breakfasts.

Our guide met us in the hotel lobby—it would be an interesting trip, since she spoke no English and we only had a few phrases in Chinese. We had agreed (through Amelia’s sister, who interpreted via cellphone) to pay a grand total of 600 quai ($80) to drive us to our destination and bring us back. The camel ride would be an additional 100 quai ($13) each. So, for around $40 each, we would have a day of camel riding and exploring the Taklamakan Desert.

It was a drive of about 150km from Kashgar to the camel reserve. In Kazakhstan, the drive would last no longer than 70 minutes. After the kamikaze drivers in Almaty, it was something of a surprise to have a driver who obeyed speed limits. Within towns/villages, the speed limit was 40km per hour and outside of towns/villages speeds increased to 80km per hour. I actually found myself wishing that our guide would speed up! The drive was fascinating, though. We had left early enough to be able to see children on their way to local schools. In each village that we drove through, we first encountered what appeared to be the wealthier children riding bicycles. They were usually several hundred meters ahead of the remaining students—who had to walk to the village school.

The region we drove through was clearly dominated by Uyghur families—we saw small mosques, signs written in Arabic script (Uyghur is written in the Arabic alphabet), and even a Muslim cemetery. Our guide stopped to allow us to take pictures of this cemetery, which was fascinating (there is a picture in a previous blog). It was just after sunrise and the morning fog had yet to burn off, which made it seem rather unreal. I am not familiar with Uyghur burial customs, but the cemetery appeared to consist of numerous above-ground crypts.

Traffic on the highway was fairly heavy. However, cars were not the only means of transportation—or even the most popular means of transportation. That honor would have to belong to the donkey cart. At one point, our guide stopped to ask one man driving a donkey cart (with his wife sitting in the back of the cart) if we could take his picture. He appeared to be amused, and agreed. I am sure that he had no idea why we thought the image was so fascinating, since donkey carts were part of his everyday landscape.

Before arriving at the camel reserve, we had one more stop to make. Our guide showed us a willow tree that was over 1000 years old. As you might expect, it is absolutely massive. Many of branches have fallen due to their weight, and lay in a twisted mass on the ground. To reach the tree, we had to walk along a narrow path that falls between an irrigation canal and a school. We attracted the attention of the students, who gathered by the school windows and repeatedly called to us—in English. It was rather charming.

Eventually, we reached the camel reserve. By this time, it was nearly 1pm. We were to ride camels for two hours, and then have lunch before returning to Kashgar. The camel ride itself was incredible. Since I’m sure that people are going to ask what type of camels we rode, I should note that they were Bactrian camels, not Dromedaries. Bactrian camels have 2 humps, and are much better adapted to extreme cold and heat than Dromedaries. I should also note that the aroma of camels leaves something to be desired. Although I would imagine that they smell even worse during the hot summer months.

Camels are rather ungainly animals. They don’t appear to be particularly coordinated, and riding a camel can be rather like being on a boat in rough water (they are called the ‘ships of the desert’, after all!). We rode in a convoy, with a guide walking alongside us. It was an incredible way to see the desert—the swirls of sand, the sharp peaks of some of the dunes, a man herding his sheep in the scrubland at the edge of the desert. The Taklamakan is the 2nd largest shifting sand desert in the world—although Xinjiang is the largest province in China (1/6 of the country’s total territory) and has a relatively small population, population densities are as high as those in Eastern China because so much of the region is encompassed by the desert. Traders along the Silk Road would have had to skirt the southern borders of the desert to reach Kashgar. This was the same portion of the desert where we were able to ride camels. Before leaving for Kazakhstan, I commented that one of the things that I wanted to do before returning home was to ride a camel in the desert. To have done so along the ancient Silk Road was truly a phenomenal experience. There will be some great stories to tell the next time I teach about Central Asia!

I don’t know what our guide thought of us, though. Especially when we decided to start singing. It was a little hard to decide on what song to sing—since we couldn’t seem to find a song that all three of us knew the words to. Eventually we found a song we could agree on—I leave it to you to imagine three women riding camels, singing “Goodbye Earl”.

By the time our camel ride was over, the three of us were hungry and, once we were away from the warmth of the camels, freezing cold. Since we had made arrangements for lunch to be served, we thought that it would be ready upon our return. That did not turn out to be the case. Using a combination of hand signals and pictures, our guide asked us what we wanted for lunch. Eventually, we settled on the appropriate menu and then we were shown into a small room heated by a coal brazier. Initially there was a problem with the chimney and the room was filled with smoke. So…we were outside for the next stage of the lunch preparations. When we had been deciding what we wanted for lunch, our guide had indicated a cage filled with chickens. Initially, we thought that she was pointing to the chickens so we knew what sort of meat was available. As it turned out, that was NOT the case. We were being asked if we wanted one of the chickens in the cage. Before we quite realized what was happening, one of the men working at the reserve was inside the cage and having a debate with our guide about which chicken to serve us for lunch. In the past, I have been able to pick which lobster or fish I’d like for dinner—but never which chicken.

When lunch was finally served (at around 4 pm, by which time we were all glad to have eaten breakfast at the hotel), we were a little uncertain as to what we were eating. There was clearly chicken in the dish, but there was also another meat. Given the freshness of the chicken, and the fact that the only other animal we had seen was a dog, we weren’t quite sure what we were eating. But the dog was still sitting outside, and we eventually figured out that it was goat. Thank goodness! It would have been difficult if it had been dog, especially since it was pretty tasty.

Eventually, it was time to head back to Kashgar. It had been an exhausting day, and I was more than ready for a shower and to take a nap. But the day was not over yet. Our guide had one more stop for us on the way back. We were able to visit with a Uyghur family in their farmhouse. It was like walking into a living museum. The house only had two rooms—a living area and a kitchen. Carpet-covered pallets lined one side of the living area, and a dombra (traditional stringed instrument) hung on the wall. It was clearly the gathering place in the house, and also served as a bedroom at night. The only other room was the kitchen, which was significantly warmer. There was a cradle on the floor in the room, but it bore little resemblance to cradles in the US. This cradle had no sides and would be considered an antique by western standards. The farmer’s wife went over to the cradle and pulled back several layers of blankets. After she did so, we realized that her infant son was sleeping in the cradle. She untied a band of cloth that prevented him from falling out of the cradle, and proudly showed him off to us. His father came into the kitchen and played with the baby while we were there. It was clear that they were a happy family. It is a difficult life, though—with no running water, no electricity, none of the amenities that we are accustomed to in the west.

By this time, we thought that the adventures were over. But then we started hearing noises from the back of the car. Eventually, the noise became loud enough for our guide to pull over and open up the trunk—so she could quiet the three live chickens she had bought back at the camel reserve. Apparently, city prices for live chickens were rather high and these chickens were less expensive. The truly strange thing about the situation, though, was that it did not seem to be strange at all. It was just another day in Central Asia.

China--The Magic of Kashgar

Kashgar is by far one of the most magical cities I have ever seen. It is a very old city, located at the juncture of the north and south routes of the Silk Road (The Silk Road was actually a series of trade routes. The southern routes went through what is now Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan [areas such as Bukhara, Samarkand, and Merv], while the northern routes went through current-day Kyrgyzstan and the southernmost portion of Kazakhstan. These routes joined in Kashgar and then extended eastward. When Islam was introduced into Central Asia, it first took hold in cities, and today there are still a large number of Muslims (mostly Uyghurs) in Kashgar. The Id Kah mosque in the heart of the old city is considered to be one of the most sacred sites by Muslims in China.

The downtown area of the city is divided into two distinct sections. The southern half is clearly non-Uyghur (and probably mostly Han Chinese). There are stores that sell alcohol, restaurants, and shops that follow a more western style. It is even possible to order pork in restaurants (We had one dish that actually had bacon. Sheer bliss! It was the first bacon I’d had since August, since it is not readily available in Almaty). The northern half of downtown Kashgar is the original city center. Everything is centered around the Id Kah mosque (pictured in a previous blog). There is a large square in front of the mosque, with a covered bazaar opposite. Small stores and vendors line the streets, and it is not uncommon to see a man leading a donkey cart laden with goods down the street. There is a large square in front of the mosque that can accommodate upwards of 100,000 men for services on holy days. Men in green uniforms patrol the entire area, ensuring that people adhere to the strict code of behavior. No smoking or drinking alcohol, no gambling, no spitting, no littering. Even animals are affected by these rules. There are several places along the side of the square for tourists to pose with a camel, a donkey, or a pony. All of these animals stand on some sort of carpeting to keep any effluents from falling directly on the square. The poor pony even had a bucket tied around its girth to catch any urine.

When we first arrived at the mosque, it was shortly before the muezzin (call to prayer). Within minutes of hearing the call, the square was full of men dressed in black. I don’t think there was any religious reason for the prevalence of black clothing, though. It is a common choice for clothes in this region, where washing machines are scarce and dust is plentiful. Sarah, Amelia, and I definitely stood out in our brightly colored, western-style winter coats.

We spent a fair amount of time exploring the narrow alleys and warrens behind the mosque. It was absolutely fascinating. Many of the buildings have complex geometric patterns, and some of the buildings were clearly once mosques. Vendors sell all sorts of ‘street food’. My favorite? A bar made of walnuts and some sort of honey/sugar coating. Absolutely delicious-but expensive. It cost all of 30 cents for the walnut bar! The ones made of cashews or assorted nuts were only 15 cents.

Walking around for a while, we came across a street full of artisans creating their wares. Metalsmiths making copper ornaments, woodworkers carving dishes, other artisans making/playing traditional Uyghur musical instruments. It was possible to stop at stalls along the street and buy loose tea, nan (bread), just-picked tangerines, and many other items. Restaurants dotted the street—recognizable by the mutton hanging outside the door, as well as by steaming trays of manti and braziers with grilling meat out front.

English is not a very common language in Kashgar, and the city also appears to be divided by language. Uyghur is spoken in the Muslim area, and Chinese (probably Mandarin) is spoken in the remainder of the city. Unfortunately, we did not speak any Uyghur—but that did not prevent us from trying to communicate with store owners and waiters in restaurants. One restaurant we went into had a food that we couldn’t wait to try—pumpkin manti. Usually, manti is meat (m’yasa) without vegetables. To order our meal, I had to take the waiter out to the street and point to the manti, then show him 3 fingers (one order for each of us). They were nearly out of pumpkin manti, so we augmented our order with regular manti. The cost for this delicious lunch? 7.2 quai—just under $1 for three meals.

Shopping in the stores was definitely a unique experience! Bargaining is expected—but how do you bargain when you don’t speak the language?? Our technique was quite simple. We knew three phrases in Chinese (‘hello’, ‘thank you’, and ‘how much does it cost’), so we would ask the cost and then give the shopkeeper a piece of paper and pen. They would either write the price down for us, or would punch the numbers into a calculator (or cell phone) and show it to us. We would counter by writing a lower number down—if they shook their head to indicate no, we would start to walk away. Usually, the shopkeeper would follow us and agree to the lower price. It didn’t always work, but often had the desired result.

There was one store where we all agreed not to bargain. There are about five or six stores selling traditional musical instruments on this particular street. In the first store we went into, we were surprised to be greeted in English by a young man tuning an instrument. Amelia was interested in several of the different instruments, and I wanted to find something for my nephews. The young man (Kurbanjan Ablimat) spent substantial time explaining the different instruments to us, and ensuring that quality of the gifts for Ryan and Campbell (he wasn’t happy with one of the instruments, and found a better one to replace it). He also gave us directions to a store where we could buy CDs of traditional music.

We went into some of the other music stores afterwards, but the prices were all higher, the instruments weren’t as nice, and the storekeepers were not particularly friendly. We really had no intention of buying anything in the other stores, though—our plan was to go back to the original store for any other purchases. Before doing so, we went back to the hotel to drop off our bags and to make arrangements for a camel ride in the Taklamakan Desert the following day. [Thanks to Amelia’s sister, Sybil, who lives in China and speaks the language, we were able to communicate with the front desk at the hotel. Amelia called her sister, told her what we wanted, and than gave the phone to the receptionist. It took a little while, but it worked!].

By the time we returned to downtown Kashgar, it was getting late—about 5:30pm Beijing time. We weren’t sure how late the stores would be open, and needed to finish shopping for gifts that afternoon. There wouldn’t be time after camel riding, and we were returning to Urumqi the following day. Fortunately, the first music store we went into was still open. Kurbanjan greeted us and immediately began telling us more about the instruments. Amelia wanted to look at a qushtar (a stringed instrument played with a bow), and Sarah was interested in a rawab (another stringed instrument, but which is more similar to a banjo). The qushtar that Amelia selected did not have a bridge, so Kurbanjan constructed the bridge while he told us more about the store and his interest in the instruments. His family has handmade traditional Uyghur instruments for five generations. Each instrument is carefully inlaid with different types of wood, and elaborately decorated. Even the small models of these instruments are handmade. He spent time showing us how each instrument is played, and demonstrated several traditional Uyghur songs and also played some Mozart for us. It was truly a fantastic experience. We were in the store for nearly two hours, listening to music and learning about each instrument. When it eventually came time to pay for our purchases (and I am not saying what I bought, since they include several gifts), none of us even thought of bargaining. It wasn’t just a shopping trip, but an amazing cultural experience—by spending the time to explain the instruments and music to us, Kurbanjan gave us a gift that won’t soon be forgotten. Before we left, he also presented me with a CD of traditional music—which is simply beautiful.

Our day in Kashgar ended at a Chinese restaurant. It was my turn to order dinner from the menu—ordering consisted of turning several pages and pointing to items in a different range of prices. And, yes, I did manage to order hot and spicy intestines (a picture of which is in a previous post). Fortunately, the prices were very reasonable—if we didn’t like a dish, we looked around the restaurant and indicated to the waitress that we would like what another table had ordered (this is considered normal behavior in China). The total bill for the five dinner entrees? 97 quai—or about $13. When we returned to the hotel, we calculated how much we had spent on food for the entire day—the total for each of us was about $5.25, including that pricy dinner.

As enjoyable as Kashgar was, we were all excited about the next day and camel riding. We had no idea just what an adventure it would be!

China-Taxi Ride from Hell-Pictures

1. Road to nowhere

2. "Fixing" the car--we put the blocks on the tires, not our taxi driver

3. Directing traffic around the car

4. Waiting for the car to be fixed

5. Area right by the 'garage'--note the repairs made to the broken telephone pole. Just stick two concrete posts into the ground, and tie the pole to them. Yikes!