I know you’re waiting to hear about my “hiking” in Kyrgyzstan but while I’m working on that click here for the much-requested write up about my trip to the Gobi Desert in Mongolia. As always, you can also click on the “Mongolia” category in the sidebar to get to those entries.

My embassy outing yesterday did not go well. When I arrived my interpreter, Nargiza, talked to the guards who didn’t know if the consulate was coming to work or not. After some phone calls it was determined that he was at a conference and wouldn’t be in. We helped two other travelers, a Japanese guy and a British girl who was flying out the next morning at 7am. The appropriate word is “was” because she had no visa and no hope of getting on for days.

Nargiza called the embassy from the guards phone and made an appointment for me to come in on the 31st, two days later. We thought this was strange because the 31st is a Kyrgyz holiday so, although we will try, we’re not hopeful things will work out. Everything’s up in the air until then.

In brighter news, this morning I got the first two rolls out of the bread man’s oven and it was still steaming inside when I put chocolate and bananas on it for breakfast. Two newly arrived travelers from my guesthouse went to get an Uzbek visa. I actually asked them on the street (I was waiting for the bread) if they needed help because they were standing around looking at a guidebook. They dismissed me so I left them alone. I could have told them it was pointless to go to the embassy (because it’s closed) and to go to the embassy without a translator. But they were pretty firm in refusing my help so I’ll let them figure it out themselves.

I’ve been walking around town for the past few days looking for thermal underwear, a disposable camera and a sketchbook. I have given up on the sketchbook and bought blank paper. Finding something without lines or a grid was a feat in itself. I bought thread yesterday to repair my pants and will use that to bind a book myself. I saw some guys with papercutters in the “mall” in the underpass so they may come in useful. Today I found a fancy mall on the far South side of the city with a movie theater, food court and disposable cameras. I have been keeping my eye out for one since China and was starting to give up. All of the stores in Bishkek are having their summer sales so thermals aren’t quite in season, even in the outdoor shops. I have looking in at least five outdoor shops with no luck.

Tomorrow’s the big holiday and I will probably miss the national games in the hippodrome because I will be standing hopefully in front of the Uzbek embassy when they start. I’ve heard about a parade and the town has been decked out in flags and banners so there’s sure to be something worth seeing near the former Lenin Square. I’m always up for a few soldiers marching in unison.

I’ve spoiled you.

When I was in China and updating every few days I feared that you would get used to it! After a week sleeping in yurts on Song Kul Lake and hiking around Karakol I’ve come back to an inbox full of worried notes from friends, family and strangers. You guys had my sister worked up enough to start inquiring around to see if anyone had heard from me! You see, it has taken me years to train my family not to worry about me and now you’ve worked them up into a frenzy.

I am fine, in Bishkek dealing with a lot of red tape at the moment. My Uzbek LOI (letter of invitation) hadn’t come through the first time I was in Bishkek so I left for the lakes to give it some time to process. I arrived yesterday from Kochkor (where I bought a bright felt carpet) and my LOI was waiting in my inbox. I’ve had people who speak Russian call the Uzbek Embassy twice now to make an apointment for me to apply for my visa but each time I am told to call back the next day. Today it’s closed and I was told that it’s also closed tomorrow for some reason. The Kyrgyz Idependence Day is on the 31st and Uzbek Independence Day is on the 1st so I’m sure to run into some problems if it’s clsoed tomorrow.

The application process for Uzbekistan is really a pain. First you need to obtain a LOI from a travel agency ($37). The you need to call and be put on the waiting list to get into the embassy. When you go to apply you need a Russian interpreter with you to even hand in the application. I haven’t found an interpreter yet but I hope to get someone to help me, because the owner of my guesthouse has turned me down. I have met more than one American who has been denied an Uzbek visa, but no Americans who have even tried applying in Bishkek so I’m not sure what to expect. I also have no idea how much the visa will cost because costs are different for each nationality. I am expecting $100, a Swiss girl I know paid $72 last week.

Once I obtain an Uzbek visa I can pay for and confirm the flights I reserved from Bishkek to Tashkent and then from Tashkent to Nukkus. I don’t want to pay before I get a visa, but I have to pay before the 31st to keep my booking, so you see there’s a tight window this week with all of these holidays. After that I can run over to the Tajik embasy on the South side of town and apply for a visa there. I have been told that they ask for a LOI but if you don’t have one you can bluff your way through it. That visa was $50 for 4 working days processing or $100 for same day for an English guy in my guesthouse—I’m not sure what it will be for an American.

Everything hinges on geting the Uzbek visa tomorrow (or at last resort on Wednesday) for things to fall into place. I’m already spending a great deal of time in Bishkek for no real reason other than to deal with visas. However, Bishkek is the cheapest place in the region for me to stop for a while and my guesthosue is really nice and peaceful. I’ve found a small Chinese supermarket around the corner that sells cold Diet Coke (Diet Coke is hard to find when traveling) and every morning I walk out to Soviet Street to get a coke and a fresh bread roll for breakfast. I’ll keep you updated on the visa situation this week. My Kyrgyz visa lasts until the 7th, but my flight is planned to leave the 6th. I’ll be in Bishkek for a while so no reason to be worrying about me for the next week.

My headache persisted for more than a week, although I gradually regained movement of my neck. I didn’t want to go to the doctor down in Osh and figured my best bet was to see someone in the capital, Bishkek. Sema put me on a night minibus to Bishkek and we said our goodbyes, but I’m sure to see her again sometime, somewhere. Being Turkish, Sema could communicate (the Kyrgyz language is similar to Turkish) and made sure I got a good seat. She must have said something to the driver because he wouldn’t let me take the bus to my hostel alone. A poor guy from Azerbaijan was stuck escorting me to the hostel and wouldn’t leave my side until he spoke to the hostel owners. As soon as I had my bearings I had begged off, but he had persisted, and ended up becoming my Bishkek stalker—showing up at the hostel over the next month asking the owners if I would date him.

My head was getting better but I had no Tylenol left and didn’t want to chance buying a blood-thinning aspirin at the Russian-speaking pharmacies around town. My first day was spent visiting the Uzbek and Tajik embassies to learn their visa policies. But the Tajik embassy had moved and had been replaced with a Doctors Without Borders office. A doctor was leaving at that very moment and he suggested that even if I was feeling better I should see a doctor.

So I had finally found a reason to use an U.S. Embassy’s services abroad and logged on to their web site for recommended English-speaking doctors in town. The first on the list was easiest to find and within walking distance so I headed to the “VIP Clinic” which turned out to be a typically dilapidated hospital. Before I could see the doctor I was given a bill in triplicate and waited to see the doctor. Instead of an English-speaking doctor I was presented with a teenage interpreter who spoke English as well as I speak Chinese—not well. From her follow-up questions I could tell that she had no idea what I was saying. I didn’t want to spend too much time in the building, which had missing windows and hallways full of nurses in tall paper hats and cloth masks right of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest . They held up x-rays to show that I needed them and I nodded my understanding. Back downstairs in the administration office I was told that x-rays would cost an astronomical price. When I protested (I had learned the Russian word for “no” by now) I was promised that the English-speaking doctor would be back in the afternoon.

There was no English-speaking doctor in the afternoon and when I started to talk myself into getting the x-rays anyway I was told that the doctor I saw in the morning wasn’t around so I would have to see a new doctor and pay another doctor’s fee. That was it. I left in a huff, dismayed that the U.S. Government would recommend such a shoddy practice. On the way back to my hostel I sent an email to the embassy to expect me in the morning. The U.S. has a large military base in Kyrgystan and I figured they would have any facilities I needed.

The next morning, armed with the address and “American Embassy” translated to Russian, I hopped onto a local bus heading to the outskirts of town. The closest bus only came within a mile of the embassy so I walked down the long tree-lined street until I came upon a large gated community straight out of the Southwest USA. Beside it was the embassy and after two searches and an x-ray of all of my belongings I was allowed in. The first woman behind the glass wall asked me to wait and I was soon talking to a typical American man in a business suit. He looked at me and asked if I had contacted my family, because he noticed that my last blog post was from Kashgar. He didn’t want to field worried calls from my mom. I was a little shocked to have been investigated after sending an email the day before. He told me that there were English-speaking doctors in Bishkek, despite my experience, and that the U.S. government’s facilities were not open to U.S. citizens—they couldn’t help me. When I protested he leaned into the glass and whispered “well, this is Kyrgyzstan!”

All the stress and desperation poured out of me and I couldn’t hold back my tears. I had finally reached someone who could help and they wouldn’t. The officer must have felt bad and went back to talk to one of their nurses. She told him that there was one public cat-scan machine in Kyrgyzstan but if I was alive after seven days I was probably going to be okay. So, in the end, my diagnosis was “you’re not dead, so you’re probably okay.” I left the embassy with my permanent amnesia and throbbing head and continued walking all the way into town, lost in my thoughts and feeling let down by the very people I was taught to trust.

There are two passes through the mountains separating Western China and Kyrgyzstan. After a lot of research I decided to take the Southern route from Kashgar, China to Sary Tash (and eventually Osh), Kyrgyzstan. This route gave me the opportunity to see the Southern, less Russian, part of Kyrgyzstan. It’s also a lot cheaper and less complicated, the Northern pass requires permits and expensive pre-arranged transport.

After looking around Kashgar for travel partners I finally found two German girls who had already paid for a ride to the Chinese border. Despite the horrible deal they had negotiated I decided to join them because no one else was heading that was any time soon. With my negotiating skills I could have arranged an entire cab to myself for less than I was paying to join them but I figured it was safer to travel through this remote area with two other people. They agreed to share transport all the way to Sary Tash, a small town at the junction of the only roads leading between China, Tajikistan and Osh.

We left Kashgar before sunrise and stopped along the way to take pictures of the beautiful glowing canyons. When we arrived the Chinese border post was deserted. I popped my head in three rooms before finding an official to help us—apparently they don’t get too much foot traffic coming through. We weren’t allowed to walk to the Kyrgyz border, quiet a far distance. Instead, a border guard stopped the next truck passing through and made him give us a ride. The young Kyrgyz driver didn’t seem overly excited about sharing his cab with us and sat behind the wheel staring vacantly ahead. We crept along the winding mountain road behind a long line of trucks. Once we got to the first Kyrgyz checkpoint the guards informed us they were shutting down for lunch. One of the German girls spoke fluent Russian and managed to persuade him to let us through. We grabbed our bags and jumped into another truck which took us to the immigration and customs checkpoint and border post.

Despite the remote location, the Chinese buildings we left were typically sterile and covered in tile. The Kyrgyz buildings, on the other hand, were small trailers and brick halls covered with rusting tin roofs. Beyond the complex’s chain link fence was a group of thirty dilapidated trailers, spare tires and colorful washing lines. Where the Chinese side had been lifeless and sterile the Kyrgyz side had grown a small village around the border. A man waited just beyond the customs doors with his minivan ready for us. There weren’t many people crossing that day and he wanted to get going. Because of the remoteness and lack of passengers we agreed on $50 to Osh. The other two had a ride meeting them in Sary Tash to take them into Tajikistan so they would only go half way with me. At first the girls wanted me to pay more to make up for them, because they weren’t going as far, but I was having none of that. Whenever I try to travel with people like this I always end up in frustrating situations.

We set off and didn’t make it more than five minutes before the minivan broke down. The owner and male passengers stood around looking at the engine while I enjoyed the beautiful mountain scenery. Someone even shared their assertive little girl followed me around, showing me interesting things and gathering people for me to photograph. Her sidekick was a small girl with a plastic bag over her head who was bashful but curious. I asked her to take a photo of me and, despite her size, she wielded me heavy camera with ease. She asked to take more pictures so I placed the strap around her neck and smiled. We walked through the dark alleyways formed by the trailers until we reached a small courtyard. The girl motioned for me to follow her inside up the stack of old tires that formed her house’s front steps. It was dark inside but I could make out two women sitting on the floor with bright headscarves covering the tops of their heads. My new friend cried out “mama!” and snapped the shutter. I was invited in for tea but declined, worried that the car might leave without me. Tea can take a long time when you have to first gather something to burn and then wait for the water to boil. I shouldn’t have worried because the car wasn’t fixed but we did manage to leave before dusk. The five hours I spent at that border post were a surprisingly good introduction to the hospitality of the Kyrgyz people. When I traveled back through the pass two months later I brought prints of the photos for those kids—a small gesture that probably meant more than I can imagine to them.

After an hour of driving we came upon another military checkpoint where we all got out and presented our passports to a soldier inside of a small shack. It was already getting quite cold and I was dismayed when the soldier looked at me and then picked up a heavy black phone right out of WWII to talk to his supervisors. We were eventually waved on and headed back out. It wasn’t much longer before the van slowed and we all got out again. The van was broken again. The owner and his friend were already upset about losing the two Germans earlier in the day and the other paying customers quickly found rides with infrequently passing trucks.

By now it was dark, cold and we couldn’t hope for much traffic to pass by. My attempts to pantomime myself into another ride weren’t working out and the others decided to start pushing the van. At first I rode in my seat next to the open door but we weren’t getting far with only one man pushing while the owner drove. I got out to help and we made some progress, but pushing a minivan up a mountain in the freezing night air without a coat wasn’t easy. Once we got to the top of a hill we would run alongside the van and jump in for the ride down. It was fun to try to catch up and jump in, especially negotiating among the seats which weren’t actually bolted down to the floor. Sometimes the van would go too fast and we would give up and walk quietly toward the van breathing the crisp air and taking in the incredibly bright stars illuminating the mountains.

That’s the last thing I remember.

I woke up the next morning inside the cab of a Chinese truck. It was a bright morning and I lifted my head to see that I was surrounded by snowy peaks. I felt tired and my neck was sore—I could barely move it—but my only thought was “this must be Sary Tash. I should take a picture.” My bags and camera were beside me and I took a few photos. Checking he exposure in the LCD I came upon a photo I didn’t recognize—a crashed minivan. Putting two and two together I realized that was my minivan and I must have been in that crash. I couldn’t remember much of the previous day at all after leaving the border and trying to connect the dots made my head hurt.

Looking around I noticed a man sleeping in the back of the cab. It wasn’t long before he woke up and showed me an outhouse and a small home where I could eat breakfast. I was still confused and my head was throbbing to the point that I could barely concentrate on walking in a straight line. The rest of my body was fine apart from a few scrapes on my hands and legs. The blood on my jacket wasn’t my own. I passed on breakfast because I only had Chinese and American currency. Someone in the middle of rural Kyrgyzstan wouldn’t have change for a twenty dollar bill.

My savior turned out to be a Uighur from Urumqi, China so we were able to communicate with my bare bones Chinese vocabulary. He showed me the long trail of China Aid trucks we were a part of and I watched while he talked to other truckers and motioned toward me, telling a story I would soon become familiar with. During the story he made a rolling motion with his hands and said something about a “machina”—the Russian word for car. Once the caravan was ready we climbed into the cab, he handed me half of his traditional bread smuggled from China and we started toward Osh.

The ride was slow through the mountains but I had great views of the countryside from the cab. We passed green valleys dotted with white yurts and men in traditional white felt hats riding tiny donkeys beside the road. When we passed through small towns the locals ran out to watch the procession. Some even threw flowers down in front of the trucks full of shinning red tractors. Most farmers in this part of the world till the land by hand or with small animals so tractors are a great luxury.

At lunch the driver refused to let me pay and made sure I got enough to eat. He even commiserated with me on how bad Kyrgyz food is through a combination of basic Chinese and facial expressions. When we started to get close to Osh we stopped and I saw him talking to another driver, making the “machina rolling” gestures and pointing at me. He was stopping for the night and put my bags into this other truck, which was going closer to town. The driver had taken care of me, fed me and found me further transportation but he wouldn’t take any money, not even Chinese Yuan, which he certainly could have used back home.

My new truck driver immediately grabbed two large white balls of fermented cheese off his dashboard and offered me one. I tried a few small bites so he wouldn’t think I was rude. Fortunately I had already experienced the interesting flavor and texture of fermented cheese balls in Mongolia and didn’t throw up on the spot. We got closer to town as the sun dimmed when the driver found a local minivan bus to take me to the neighborhood I wanted to stay in. He shooed my money away and put my bags into the standing room-only van. The van stopped on a busy four lane street and the driver got out to talk to a cab driver. These buses barely stop to let passengers jump out but the driver parked the bus full of passengers to make sure I was taken care of. Finally, the cab driver looked down at the small slip of paper with my hostel’s address and took me to a phone kiosk. He paid for the phone call to get directions and carried my bags through the alleyway full of garbage and up three flights of stairs. I left two US dollars in his car and followed him up, only to find the hostel full. Although I was invited to stay on the living room floor I decided to get a real hotel room where I could look for any more injuries to myself and my electronics. Through the enormous generosity and caring of the local people I managed to travel across the width of Kyrgyzstan speaking no Russian or Kyrgyz and with a concussion for only two dollars. Sometimes it takes experiences like these to remind you of the inherent good in people.

The next morning I returned to the hostel and sat in the living room deciding what to do with myself. Someone walked into the room and I felt them standing over me. Then I heard a voice say “Megan?” It was Sema, who I had met in Chengdu during Phase I! We had kept in touch over the past year and she was the one who had first planted the idea of visiting Central Asia in my head. It was truly fate that we had ran into each other at that moment and she spent the next three days taking care of me and introducing me to Kyrgyz culture.

Continued in Is There a Doctor in the House>…

Kashgar is an interesting place, but like most interesting places in China I have stayed far too long. I have been in town for five days (at least two days too long) and am ready to move on to Central Asia. The Monday bus to Osh, Kyrgyzstan was sold out and I have gotten no bites from my postings for a taxi share around town. I ended up paying far too much to join two German women tomorrow morning. Because they booked the taxi through a cafe here it is about three times the price it should be. But I paid it and am no longer complaining.

Tomorrow at 5am we leave to cross the border to the Kyrgyz Republic. The two women are only going as far as Sary Tash (about 3 hours from teh border) where they will meet a truck taking them to Tajikistan. So, after we arrive, I have to either find a place to stay for the night or a ride on to Osh. Hey, maybe I’ll be lucky and find a big group sharig a ride to Osh at the border… but I’m not counting on it.

Luckily, I met a German man to hang out with at the Sunday Bazaar and spent part of the last two days bumming around with a Canadian woman and her son. We took the bus out to an intersting Uiger graveyard and met the nice of a friend of hers for shopping today. I did’t buy any of the hats I wanted because I should be coming back through here in October if things go to plan.

As I sit here and type we are getting our first rain storm. Of course, I did laundry a few hours ago and all of my clothes are outside getting soaked right now. Lets all hope I have better luck in the next country!

I’ve added a Kashgar gallery so take a look when you can in the usual place.

Today is my third day in Kashgar and it’s gotten pretty hot. The old town is amazing with winding streets with mud houses and interesting residents. An old man invited me into his house for tea and I sat there for an hour with his wife and mother drinking tea and showing them my family photos. The insides of the houses are very interesting with a tiny courtyard. The wife even let me roam around the upstairs and showed me the front room where all of the family heirlooms are kept.

I also made friends with some local kids in front of the mosque and compared drawings with a little girl who was carrying a sketch board. I will never get used to Chinese tourists standing two inches behind me, breathing on my neck while I’m drawing.

Today was the Sunday market and I really hate to say I was underwhelmed. I went to the animal and main markets and it wasn’t very busy and there were very few nationalities. I’ve spent a few days trying to get a bus ticket to Osh (sold out) or a share taxi (no one’s interested) so it’s been pretty frustrating. Let’s hope I get to Kyrgyzstan soon!

I had a hard time figuring out where the consulate to The Kyrgyz Republic (Kyrgyzstan) was located in Urumqi since no maps or guides include it. Here’s some information to consider if you’re looking for it’s new location at The Central Asia Hotel (no longer next to the Kazak consulate).

Because I had such a hard time, based on information from message boards, I took a taxi from the railway station to the Hua Ling Binguan, which most drivers should know, for 13 yuan. It’s a fancy, large hotel Northwest of Hongshan Park. I went inside and asked at the front desk where the Kyrgyz Consulate was and the woman took me outside and pointed me in the right direction. It’s located in The Central Asian hotel, a 6- ish story mustard yellow building at the crossroads of the two large highways. Because it’s basically on the highway frontage roads it seems hard to get to but you can follow the main road South from the hotel, keeping on the hotel-side of the street, and follow the frontage road that wraps around until it reaches the hotel. The road is small and filled with welders and shops selling tubing and sheet metal.

Alternately, you could take the 109 bus. I can not advise on any of the other buses, because I didn’t ride them and the routes aren’t evident on maps. From the train station I took the #2 until it’s running North and the stops match up with the #109. I switched and the bus heads North and turns quite a bit before getting on the expressway. When it turns East to head onto the expressway you can see the consulate behind you. The bus turns back and exits the roundabout onto the frontage road right in front of The Central Asian Hotel. There is no bus stop here and I’m not sure if buses will stop if you ask. The bus turns into a small bus depot where it ends and you can get off. From here you need to go out, turn left and hike 5-10 minutes back to reach the consulate.

I was told that the consulate is open Monday through Friday from 11:30–1:30 (Beijing time) for applications with pickup at 1pm. A 3-day turnaround costs $112 and 5-day turnaround costs $56. Weekend days don’t count, however, when I applied on a Thursday he told me he would give me the visa on Friday if I paid the higher fee. Because I only paid $56 (in RMB) I had to wait the whole weekend and the full 5 business days.

Please note any changes or information you might have that would help in the comments.

Most people pass through Urumqi (pronounced wOO-loo-moo-chee), the capital of Xinjiang, as quickly as possible. I suspect this is because most guide books describe it as an awful place with nothing to see. Although it isn’t teeming with tourist sites, besides it’s excellent museum, the town is an interesting mix of Chinese and Uigur personalities and customs. Even so, I probably wouldn’t have spent more than a few days here if it wasn’t for my need to apply for a visa to The Kyrgyz Republic (sometimes referred to as Kyrgyzstan).

After arriving by bus in the early afternoon from Turpan it took me nearly four hours to find a hotel that would take me. At the time I was still traveling with Angela, a woman from Taiwan I had met in Jiayuguan, which made it easy to take the public bus to our preferred hotel. They told us they were all full (which later was almost confirmed as a lie to keep foreigners out) so Angela talked to the travel agent near the entrance. She booked a tour to the far north and checked with two German travelers who confirmed that 650 yuan for four days was the cheapest price in town. I waited while the negotiations took place because each hotel she called seemed to be full or not take foreigners. Because the Chinese view her, a Taiwan native, as a foreigner she was in the same boat as me. We finally set out on a bus to the train station where the two Germans were staying. They claimed it was cheap and clean and with a phone call they confirmed they would take us.

The hotel turned out too good to be true. When we arrived and called for more directions we were told that we would be met by a “military-looking man” to take us to the hotel. Each time Angela called she was asked where she was from and she said “here” not wanting to get ripped off. Soon a man in military uniform arrived and told us that the hotel was not sanctioned to take foreigners and that everyone staying there were being kicked out. Apparently the owner had been getting tourists from the train station even though the hotel was not licensed for foreigners. The military was tipped off when he saw four Americans walking out that morning. I have heard of the government run hotels in the 1970’s and the limited hotels open to foreigners in the past but I have never run into this problem before, not even two years ago traveling during Phase 1.

We gave in and stayed next to the train station because it was of the few places left that would accept foreigners. We were told the dorms had no access to showers so Angela and I shared a double room. She was told that 120 yuan was the absolute lowest price but I managed to get them down to 100 somehow, everyone else seemed to be paying 120–180. I think that her Chinese actually makes bargaining harder for her. I usually just shrug and smile because I have no idea what they’re saying to me.

By the time the hotel situation was sorted out it was too late to visit the Kyrgyz consulate (open M–F, 1:30–1:30 Beijing time) and I still had no idea where it was. Angela and I went on errands and had KFC for dinner before I found an internet cafe to look up directions to the consulate. All of the guidebooks say there isn’t one but I had been told by many people that there is one and was able to find vague directions on a message board.

By day two Angela had left on her tour and I was desperately trying to figure out where the Kyrgyz Consulate was on my Chinese language map. The girls at the hotel’s front desk had no idea, and didn’t even know where one of the largest hotels in town was. The travel agent was also no help and shooed me away. I gave in and took a taxi to the Hua Ling Binguan (hotel) for 13 yuan and asked at the front desk. The great thing about expensive hotels is that the staff usually speaks English and is extremely helpful. A woman took me outside herself and pointed out the building and the path I should take. Inside were only a few applicants and English-speaking agents who offered me the choice of getting the visa in 3 days for $112 or 5 days for $56. Either way I would be stuck over the weekend (three days turns into five and five into seven) so he offered to process the 3-day visa overnight for $112. I was tempted, but looking on the calendar, if I got the visa on a Friday afternoon I would miss the day’s train to Kashgar which would have me arriving on Sunday, a little late for me to really take in the famous Sunday market. The bus to Kyrgyzstan is on Monday so I would be pushing myself to make it. I decided to stay a week, having time to relax, get over my cold and coordinate my time in Kashgar a bit better.

With so much time in Kashgar I thought about taking a two day trip to the mountains but decided that I would be seeing that sort of thing (sans Chinese tour groups) in Kyrgyzstan. Instead I rationed out the tourist sites in Urumqi at no more than one a day. The museum covering local ethnic groups was excellent, with a large amount of costumes and objects that I always enjoy seeing. This wasn’t written about in any guides, but I found it the highlight of the museum. Artifacts from caves and tombs in Xinjiang were also represented as well as the famous Loulan Beauty and her other mummy friends. The descriptions of a “fair haired beauty” are exaggerated—the woman had dark brown hair and a Western (ie “big”) nose and looked of Middle Eastern descent. I thought the other mummies were more interesting, especially their clothes and painted faces.

One of the days I had decided would be a “computer day” got turned around completely. I was sitting outside my hotel eating a popsicle and waiting for the maid to clean when I met two students from Harbin who spoke surprisingly good English. Toddy and Vivi (their assumed English names) were traveling on break and wouldn’t spend more than 10 yuan each for a room and were talking to me while they took offers from the train station touts. I haven’t seen anything less than 40 so it must be so much cheaper to travel as Chinese (or at least mainland Chinese). Vivi hadn’t told her parents she was traveling during break and they certainly didn’t know she was traveling with her boyfriend because she hadn’t told them she had one. They were both very scared to be traveling in Xinjiang and thought that everyone would rob them.

The couple invited me to go to The International Bazaar with them after they got a hotel and I decided it was best to change my plans and take advantage of the free interpreters. Vivi told me her major in college is Dutch, to which my reaction was “why?” It took me a few hours to figure out she was saying Deutche, as in German. Her rationale was that not as many people learn German as English so she would have a better shot at the German companies in China. She had lots of questions about German people’s “character” and sadly noted that her German teacher was “a gay” and that made her sad. She wanted to know if this was normal and I tried to explain that the majority of people are not gay but that some people are and it’s pretty widely accepted these days, especially in Europe. She acted very young for a 21-year old and pouted a little and repeated that she didn’t want him to be a gay because he is alone and the rest of the school’s teachers are women. I decided that she was mostly upset that he didn’t have enough dating prospects and had some sort of romantic idea about life in general. Still, she didn’t understand the concept of “being gay” which was pretty funny. I tried to explain that some people just like different people and she just couldn’t grasp the idea. Toddy was a bit more reserved and usually had a little smirk on his face when conversations like this one came up.

I mentioned Tibet when I was talking about my trip plans and they laughed when I said many people think of it as a different country. Their reply was that it was a different country a few thousand years ago. When I mentioned the 1950’s they had no idea and replied that I probably think that Taiwan is a separate country too. I replied “of course it is!” They laughed really hard at that. I didn’t push the conversation at all, they were openly talking about it, but with the expected Chinese opinions. Besides the serious discussions we also talked about pop stars (the only Chinese band I know is S.H.E. which disappointed Vivi) and I watched them eat a lot of fruit—mainly watermelon. We ate at a noodle shop where the staff gladly posed for photos and the promised “not spicy” dish had chilies in it. They told me many times that this bazaar was very famous and I had to see it. They even made me pose for a picture in front of it. It looked brand new to me and they agreed that it had only been built a few years ago—which explains why it’s so famous in China I suppose. They love to see touristy things but not real things. In my experience most Chinese prefer to see a replica of something rather than the original.

The rest of my time in Urumqi was taken figuring out the train schedule, getting two massages and spending an afternoon at Hongshan Park. The park is on a large hill in the center of the city with lots of trees for shady picnics and good views from the top across the city. I found a young Chinese tourist with a professional-looking camera to take my cartwheel photo at the top of the hill while an Uigur couple looked on in amazement. A man was selling photos with a monkey dressed in a costume for 5 yuan but I didn’t go through with it. Although I love trained animals dressed in clothes I still felt like it was mean to the poor monkey and didn’t want to support his abuse.

I wrote a wonderfully long post about The Gobi (finally!) but somehow forgot to put it on my thumb drive to upload today. In any case I can give you backdated entried about Naadam here and Lanzhou here. You’ll find some more photos from Urumqi in the gallery and a few more food and design photos. There’s also a new poll in the sidebar.

This morning I woke up around 11am Beijing time and got things together to pick up my passport at the Kyrgyz consulate. Before I left I remembered that I had been given a reciept but hadn’t seen it since. When I was standing at the counter a week ago I specifically remember getting the reciept, thinking “this is important” and then putting it either in my wallet or with my envelope of money. I remember this because I almost put in my passport and then realized that would be stupid because I had to turn in my passport to get a visa. Anyway, I searched everywhere, even in my books and the reciept was nowhere. So I rushed out of the hotel with a photocopy of my passport in hand and hoped they wouldn’t be too hard on me.

When I got off the bus and hightailed it to the big yellow hotel where the consulate is located I held my breath. I was about 7 minutes late and the man behind the counter was waiting for me. He looked at me and said “where is your reciept?” Before I could finish “I lost it but I have this…” he handed my passport over to me. So, there you go. I have my passport and even stopped to make photocopies of my new visa on the way back. It doesn’t start until August 7th (there’s no buses to Osh before then anyway) so don’t expect to see any beautiful mountain photos until well after then.

Although I have been using the same internet place this whole week today I was confronted with a slip of paper asking for my passport. I said “no.” Then she asked me my name. I asked why. She went onto the computer, using her translator and came up with the word “passport.” My answer to that was a shake of my head and the word “yuan.” I took my money and found another place. Although I am a little paranoid I refuse to give my passport to use the internet. That’s ridiculous. At least my last city in China, Kashgar, should be more interesting.