China revisited, The Karakoram Highway

8.2 - 8.16

So I arrived back in Kashgar, nearly 2 months after my first visit and what a noticeable change in atmosphere. The riots in Urumqi, followed by an aftershock of unrest in Kashgar, were only about 3 weeks before my arrival and the town was now dominated by an overwhelming military presence ensuring order and communist compliance. Seriously, there were masses of heavily armed military trucks just driving in circles around the city waiting for a problem (or excuse) to kick some Uyghur ass. I'd seen this previously in the Tibetan town of Ganze where the military presence was outnumbering the Tibetan population 10:1 and we were told that monks and foreigners weren't allowed to use the internet. The town of Kashgar had turned into the same story, except this time the Chinese government had basically blacked out the entire Xinjiang province from communicating with the outside world. No internet, no international calls or faxes, nothing....it was an interesting time to be in Kashgar, but we took it in stride nonetheless. There were hardly any tourists in Kashgar (most had canceled their plans after the riots) but there were tons of cyclists! We spent our nights not being slaves to spacebook, but rather eating weird Chinese dishes (like donkey meat pies), drinking cheap beer, sharing stories from the road and somewhat enjoying our detachment from the rest of the world. We did tourist things during the day, visited markets, explored old town Kashgar, sat in the park and read books, wondered through the Sunday animal market. I found a Merida bike shop with a new Shimano rear hub and just like that I was back in the bicycle game.

Military convoys dominated the streets

Relaxing with other cyclists in Kashgar

Sunday animal market

This is where I met Michal (aka Konup), a Czech cyclist who had cycled all the way from Czech Republic to Kashgar (across Russia and Kazakstan). Here is his website: http://konup.nastole.cz/wp/

We met in the western restaurant in Kashgar and this is how the friendship was born:
'My english not so good and I a little drunkie but the road is very good road!' - referring to the amazing views from the not so amazing quality of road connecting China to Kyrgyzstan.

I initially thought he'd been cycling alone for too long and he'd gone mad (kind of like those people who just start talking to themselves out of nowhere) but turns out the owner of the restaurant was desperate for business and kept feeding him shots of cobra whiskey (literally there was a cobra soaking in the whiskey). I said goodnight to the crazy Czech cyclists and returned to my dorm room, 30 minutes later he came stumbling in and crashed on the bed next to mine. The next morning he explained the owners generosity with the cobra serum (with a hand on his forehead), he didn't speak the best English and my Russian was a bit rusty but we instantly became friends. He also had a nice camera so props goto him for most of the awesome pictures on this blog.

Konup

So I was heading to the Ninth Wonder of the World, the Karakoram Highway, which connects western China to Pakistan, at this point I was heading alone which was a little unnerving regardless of the positive report from the rest of Team 7. Konup and I were heading in the same direction (once I convinced him to bag his Tibet trip and head to Pakistan) so we decided to cycle together from Kashgar. The Chinese government had set up additional checkpoints for Uyghur and foreign people on the road, which had reportedly given some cyclist problems, so Konup and I cycled along a backroad for the first 10 kilometers until the first major checkpoint was dodged. From there it was a beautiful stretch of flat, deserty, dry, somewhat remote road all the way to Karakul Lake (my third Karakul Lake on this trip...one in Kyrgyzstan, one in Tajikistan, and one in China). I forgot to put on ample sunscreen from Kashgar and the Donkey Meat Pies were wreaking havoc on both of our stomachs, so we ended up spending a day recovering in a Kyrgyz yurt at Karakul Lake, which was one of the most beautiful places in the world to recover.

Our humble abode at Karakul Lake

After some 15 hours of sleep and a well needed break from the sun, we started cycling towards the Chinese border town of Tashkurgan. The road from Kashgar to Tashkurgan was absolutely beautiful. It only took us 2.5 days of cycling to reach Tashkurgan from Kashgar and from there the Chinese government requires all independent travelers to take a bus up and over the Khunjerab Pass (the official Chinese Pakistan border) to the Pakistan border town of Sost. After one night in Tashkurgan (yet another disgusting Chinese border town) a bus ticket was bought and I was finally stamped out of China for the second and final time.

I had spent a total of 70 days in China on this trip. I had a quick flash back, kind of a mental slideshow of memories along my Chinese journey (my entry into southern China alone, being offered maggots wrapped in a banana leaf, the beautiful hike through Tiger Leaping Gorge, teaching english in a Tibetan classroom, my tazmanian devil Giradia experience, the wind/sand/snow storm that almost took my rainfly straight off my tent, cycling 10 days on the remote Tibetan plateau, saying goodbye to the rest of Team 7, the whorehouse hotel in Urumqi, beginning my solo adventure from Kashgar). China has been a large part of my trip and I did some serious growing in this wonderful country.

This all came as I was on the bus, riding to the Pakistan border with a bus of Pakistanie men completely decked out in Salwar Kameez. I was pulled out of my reminiscent daze by a Pakistanie man tapping me on the shoulder. I turned around, he was an older man, one of the more serious looking bald men with a huge white beard, he struck me as extremely religious.

"I hope I'm not bothering you but I wanted to ask you a question" - Pakistanie man
"Sure, go ahead" - I just knew he wanted to ask me which country I was from, I had already decided I would tell everyone I was from Canada
"I wanted to ask you how many women you poked in China" - Pakistanie man with a grin on his face
"Uhh, none" - I did not see that one coming
The Pakistanie man points to his friend sitting in the front (another ultra religious looking elder) and says "Three"

We all laughed hysterically and that served as my introduction to Pakistanie people. We had great conversation with the men on the bus, everyone spoke extremely good english served with a thick layer of wit and a hint of playfulness that had me feeling much more at ease about the uncertainty for the days that lie ahead.

As we approached the top of Khunjerab pass, we started to ask the driver if we could cycle the remaining 80 km to the Pakistan border town of Sost. After some resistance and consistent debate, we were allowed to get off the bus and finish the remaining 80 km by bicycle. This was an absolutely beautiful stretch of road, I still didn't have a visa for Pakistan and I was already stamped out of China, so technically I was illegally in Pakistan (yup...an American illegally in Pakistan). The views were so breathtaking that the idea of racing the 80 km to immigration/customs just seemed like a crime. So we decided to take our sweet time, stopping every 5 minutes to take a picture and soak in the beautiful, remote, jagged mountains that surrounded this astonishing road. The simple fact that this road was successfully built and still somewhat maintained was nothing short of amazing, it definitely wasn't an easy task building it. Something like 2 workers died for every kilometer of the KKH, something I didn't like to think about too much. However there were tons of Pakistanie and Chinese people working on the road, each working in their separate ethnic groups; each time we'd pass a Pakistanie group, work would stop and cheers and eruptions of positive energy would come from the workers, the Chinese would just stop and stare with a cigarette in their mouths. We also realized that we'd somehow timed our visit during Ramadan, the month of sun-up to sun-down fasting observed by the muslim world. No food, no water, no bacon, nothing while the sun is up, this is going to be interesting.

The road zigzagged through an amazing valley, dwarfed by 7 and 8 thousand meter peaks. My jaw was dropped and my eyes were stuck in a buy-eyed fashion. We spent the night in 'no man's land', legally out of China and illegally in Pakistan. The next morning we awoke and completed the remaining kilometers through a beautiful stretch of road and arrived in Sost at customs/immigration. I still didn't have a visa and could easily be turned back to China if they were in a sour mood, so I entered the building with a polite demeanor, knowing that I was at the mercy of the officer on duty.

I was immediately greeted by an officer who looked as tough as Stalone with a stern face
"Who told you it was ok to get off the bus?" - Tough guy
[Pause] [Pause] [Pause] "the driver" - I'll never get the visa now
"IT IS NOT ALLOWED!" - Tough guy in an even tougher voice

I'm definitely not getting the visa now, he looked at me smoking his cigarette through a cupped hand, on a rating of 1-10 on manliness, this guy was at 100. He made me want to grab an axe and start chopping wood, eat a steak for breakfast and possibly chase it with a glass of bourbon. He took my passport and hesitantly started filling out my visa. 5 minutes and $150 later (yeah, American visas cost $150, Czech Republic was free), my visa was glued into my passport and everything was filled in save the signature. I sat in a hallway with Konup for 30 minutes, waiting for them to hand me back my passport, wondering what was taking them so long. Then opened the main door and entered a man dressed in what resembled blue pajamas, accompanied by 4 tough looking body guards. This guy was the boss of something, did he just get out of bed?. The boss and his cronies walked into an office and 2 minutes later I was summoned inside. We asked if they wanted both of us but they only wanted to see me. So I walked into this office with the pajama boss siting behind a desk and his cronies occupying the remaining chairs,
"So you are from America?" - Pajama Boss "Where do you want to go in Pakistan?"
I replied with Islamabad (the capital) to which he quickly responded "Not allowed". "I mean Gilgit?" - this is only as far as I wanted to cycle, some 200 km away, to which he again replied "Not allowed", "Ok, so where can I go in Pakistan?" - a little confused at the question, "Hunza" - he replied. Hunza! This was only some 100 km away from here, and why was he not telling this to the Czech guy? The pajama boss then began an explanation of how the Taliban were gaining ground and how it was not safe for me past Hunza. Wow, this took that comfort gained from the playful Pakistanie guys on the bus directly away from me. I agreed to everything he said, kind of like saying 'yes sir' to everything the principal says, just to get him to sign the visa form and make me a legal tourist in Pakistan.

So I left the customs office a little disturbed. Sost, my first Pakistanie town, was like something out of a horror movie. There were only men walking around this town, men all dressed in the same clothing (Kameez dresses). What a drastic change from China! Even the places which you could typically find at least one women were replaced with only men. The markets had only men buying and selling vegetables, the tailors were all men, all restaurants were only men eating, cooking, preparing, serving food, all men in the same dresses.

So Konup and I ate a meal (prepared and served by only men) then grabbed a hotel room. The words from the pajama boss were still ringing in my head bringing my American pride to an alltime low. When we checked into a hotel and were asked to fill in the registration form, I just copied Konup's information into my space, altering a few numbers and letters here and there, basically saying that we were neighbors in Czech.

Later that night we grabbed diner at the hotel (prepared and served by one man this time). Mind you Konup has a thick Russian sounding accent and a limited English vocabulary, he uses his hands in illustration most of the time, so when we carry on a conversation, it's rather obvious that we're not from the same country and especially not hometown neighbors (we're speaking English for crying out loud!). So as we carried on a broken conversation at diner, the owner brought tea to our table and politely inquired "What is your countries language?" We both opened our mouths simultaneously saying two different things. I replied with English while Konup replied with Czech. The owner gave a satisfied response of "ok", kind of like saying "that's what I thought". I felt terrible, the owner didn't seem to care and that turned out to be the first and last time I lied about my nationality in Pakistan.

More Pakistan to come....Pictures (props to Konup for the good ones!)