Huangshan - Yellow Mountain

Travel Dates:  April 4-5, 2013

So here I am, still playing catch up on my travel blog six months later...  oh well.

Since C. could only take a few days off for our trip to Kashgar, I decided to continue my China adventure travel with my friend Cristina.  We just wanted a quick overnight trip to Huangshan, the beautiful mountain known for its cascading cliffs, shrouded in mist.

The most amazing feat of the entire trip was really all the planning that took part before we even left.  Cristina has been in China for a number of years, and through her experience has learned never to leave anything to chance.  We took full advantage of every resource available, including her teaching assistant Ms. Li.  After gathering the maps and train and bus schedules and creating our general itinerary, Ms. Li made the phone calls to bus terminals and train stations to find out exact departure times, ticket prices, and even gate numbers when possible.  Then she wrote everything in English and Chinese, for every step of the way.  Our final itinerary ended up looking something like this:

arrive by taxi at Shanghai Hongqiao Railway station by 5:45 am
depart train station at 6:20 am
arrive Hangzhou Railway Station at 7:05 am
take taxi to Hangzhou West Bus Terminal
depart bus terminal at 9:50 am
arrive Huangshan Tangkou Bust Station around 2:00 pm
*Here we found a nice lady that let us buy the next day's return bus ticket
take mountain shuttle bus to Yungu cable car at 3:00 pm
*Here Cristina took the cable car up and I departed up the footpath, starting around 3:30 pm

next day:
wake up at 4:30 am to hike to scenic spot for sunrise
meet at cable car station to buy tickets at 10:30 am
take mountain shuttle back to Tangkou Bust Station at 11:30
catch bus back to Hangzhou at 1:00
arrive at Hangzhou bus terminal around 5:30
take taxi to railway station
take train back to Shanghai at 8:30
catch taxi back home, arrive around 10:00

So, getting to and from the mountain was in and of itself an impressive undertaking, and it was worth every minute.  I won't dwell on the shockingly bad traffic in Hangzhou, the insanely long line to buy tickets for the bus, the horrifyingly smelly toilets at the bus station, or the obnoxious and borderline violent crowd at the cable car station on the mountain - those details just get in the way of the truly awe-inspiring experience of the mountain itself.

Small Village Outside of Shanghai

Perfectly Civilized Bus Station in Hanghzou

Travel Buddies at the Rest Stop

Getting Closer to the Mountains

Yun Gu Cable Car Station

After such a hectic morning spent traveling on nearly every possible kind of road transport, it was a relief to arrive at the base of the mountain well before sunset.  I planned to tough it out and climb all the stairs up to the summit, knowing that I'd enjoy the quick ride down via cable car the next day.  When I checked my watch as I entered the gate I calculated I would have just enough time to find the hotel lobby before dusk, as long as I kept up a decent pace up the "shorter" Eastern Steps.

The entrance is rather understated, but they certainly try to warn unprepared travelers that this journey is not for the feint of heart:  one should at least "think twice" before embarking on the challenging hike.

Entrance to Eastern Steps

Warning

As I climbed I was thankful for the ever-shifting clouds to dampen the heat from the early spring sun.  When I remembered to take a break and look around, I was rewarded with serene views of towering trees nestled into craggy cliffs.  Any time I heard other footsteps approaching I was brought back to the task at hand: climbing up, up, and up some more to reach the summit before dark.

The higher I climbed the more the temperature dropped, but the more my heart rate increased, so I didn't feel the need to bundle up.  Also, the longer I climbed the more nervous I became about reaching my goal.  The clouds were thickening and threatening to rain, which would have made nightfall ever more imminent. 

Although my thighs burned on the never-ending stairs, and my lungs heaved with each press upward, I was constantly rewarded and refreshed by stunning views of bizarre rock formations and elegant trees with poetic Chinese names.  The frequent distance markers and surprisingly helpful maps were another source of encouragement as I mentally marked my progress and calculated my estimated arrival.  I tried to be a good travel buddy and send SMS updates to both Cristina and C. to let them know all was good along the trail.

Finally I arrived at the hotel, realized my phone lost service, and hoped to run into Cristina in the lobby since I didn't know what room we had (and I wasn't going to try and figure it out at the check-in desk). Fortunately I had barely sat down to a hot tea when she found me, and we quickly dropped our things in the room, turned on the heat, and went back to the buffet for an over-priced and under-flavored dinner before crashing into our wonderfully soft and mildew-free beds.

Nothing But Stairs

Unique Rock Formations

Scenic Lookout

"Immortal Pointing the Way" Rock

Misty Mountains

Maps: helpful enough, though sometimes disorienting

Campsite on Concrete at the Summit

The main goal for the following day was to wake up early enough to catch the sunrise and to have a chance at capturing the ethereal view of looking down upon mountain peaks seeming to float among the clouds.  It was a goal.

The reality was a strong urge to stay in the cozy bed, only overcome by the thought that this could be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity not to be missed due to sheer laziness.  We through the essentials in small bags, grabbed our cameras, donned our ponchos, and headed up the trail to one of the popular sunrise outlooks.  The lower ones were of course already crowded, and we soon realized that the other few thousand Chinese tourist were also keenly aware of the must-see sunrise opportunity.  We climbed a little higher to the "Refreshing Terrace" outlook, which already had several dedicated tourists, but we were able to squeeze about halfway to the front, along the rail overlooking the valley below.

I passed the time trying to snap the perfect photo of the perfect dewdrop, and Cristina kept an eye out for the first real glimpse of the sun.  We were finally rewarded with a brightening sky, and the shouts of Chinese onlookers: "The sun! The sun!  There it is!"  Now, I'm certainly one to appreciate the awe and wonder of nature, but come on, we all know the sun is always there.  I think the shouting and carrying on just wrecked the serenity of an otherwise peaceful scene.

Once the sun was indeed breaking through the clouds it was a mad rush to the front of the lookout for the perfect photo op.  This is when I'm glad to be a "tall Texan" so I could get a decent shot by simply reaching over everyone's head and releasing the shutter without bothering with the viewfinder.  I eventually decided that after all that climbing I too deserved a better vantage point, so I shoved my way through the crowd, doing my best to convince them in broken Mandarin "I just want one minute, I'll come right back" - something like Wo yao yi feng jong, ma shan hue lai!  It was not pretty by any means, so I got a photo and got the hell out.

Dewdrops from the pines

Just Before Sunrise at "Refreshing Terrace"

Anxious Crowds

Cristina's Patience Pays Off

Cristina was much more patient and continued waiting at the lookout, and was eventually rewarded with even more amazing views.  I was already onto my next goal:  get to the Grand Canyon to find those stairs jutting straight out from the mountain.  Away I went.

The real beauty of getting up at sunrise is that you beat all the other lazy bums to the hiking trails.  By 6:30 I was on my way past the other hotels, toward the Cloud-Dispelling Pavilion, which was the starting point of the massive loop around the Grand Canyon.  I knew it'd be impossible to get all the way around, so I hope to move quickly enough to get at least halfway.  It was easy going on the trail with so few other hikers, and I could stop as often and as long as I wished to compose the perfect photo of each breath-taking view.  I knew that the floating mountains of Avatar were inspired by these mountains, but I had no idea how truly other-wordly they would be.  I could have easily stayed in one place for half an hour, just gazing at the clouds swarming in and out of the canyon, but I knew that I had to keep moving to eventually find those engineering marvels, those seemingly impossible stairs.

Fuzzy Monkey at Cloud-Dispersing Pavilion

Perched on the Lookout

Peering Down into Grand Canyon

Inspiration for Avatar

As I came upon the first ring trail I debated momentarily about the best route.  Looking each direction it was choice between sheer drops of stairs one way, and sheer drops of stairs the other way.  I went left.  I honestly thought I might sit down and cry, after getting to the bottom and knowing I'd have to climb back out again.  Fortunately, the scenery was enough motivation to keep going; I just had to find those damn crazy stairs.  

Winding Path Down into the Canyon

I can't remember if it was between the two ring trails, or just after the second one, but I finally saw the magically suspended stairs emerge from the mist.   My heart skipped a beat before falling into my stomach, and I couldn't decide whether to scoot on my bottom or just hug the mountain.  After watching a small group of unexpectedly brave Chinese hikers scamper right down I decided I would just face in to the mountain and focus on my feet.  That strategy worked well enough, but it still scared the bejeezus out of me to look back and see what I had just done.  Who on earth decided that humans really needed to walk that path anyway?   And why did they put a rail that only came up to my thigh??Well, I'm glad someone did because it was an absolutely exhilarating experience.

Stairway into the Mist

Feeling relieved that I encountered those ridiculous stairs I had renewed energy to get back up both ring trails, all the while marveling at the path I had just covered.  I also found relief and enjoyment in the fact that now the trails were getting packed with cable car riders and it would be nearly impossible to get a photo without a few dozen other people in it.  

Crowds at Cloud-Dispersing Pavilion

The crowds got worse and worse as I returned to the central summit area.  It seemed I had enough time so I ventured a different direction that would allow me to pass by "Bright Summit," another famous must-see lookout.  By this time in the morning thicker clouds had settled in, and you couldn't even make out the signs for scenic lookouts until you bumped into them.  And then, the scene beyond the sign was just a wall of fog with a few dozen tourists crowded up to the railing to look at it.  My frustration rose with the increasing number of tourists, especially the large groups with matching hats being lead along by loud guides screeching into their crackling megaphones.  

My disgust with this new scene reached a new high as I tried to get back to the cable car meeting point.  I was the one and only person leaving the summit, while a few thousand were eagerly climbing up into the clouds.  I finally decided the only way to keep from getting shoved off the side of the trail was to stick out my elbows and push back.  I also shouted "Right side, right side, go to the right side!" in my broken Mandarin, which was received with a mixture of disbelief and amusement.   I became relentless in my attempt to forge a path, not caring if grandma, baby, or uncle was in the way.  I had a destination and I planned to make it on time.  Too bad that the last few hours of peaceful bliss were quickly becoming undone by this mayhem.

Massive Crowds Looking at the Fog

I was so relieved to reunite with Cristina, and we were able to get onto the return cable car with a few minutes to spare.  The ride down lasted about half and hour, and it was the perfect end to our mountain escapade.  Seeing the path far below and the trees swaying in the breeze created an ideal image for our sendoff back to civilization.  Part of me was trying to rationalize how "close" Huangshan is to Shanghai so I could make another visit, conquering different trails.  Meanwhile, another part of me realized you can never recreate an exceptional experience like this, and the best you can do is just let it become part of you so that you can always carry the memories with you.

I did it!!

More photos on Flickr:  Day 1 & Day 2

Spring Break Visitors

Travel Dates:  March 8-10, 2013

One has to take advantage of the rare times when schedules coincide for friends to combine business travel with an extended visit, which is exactly what we did with our friends AB and N. who live in Memphis.  N. had a conference in Guangzhou and AB had a break from her university teaching schedule, so they made the long trip to China more worthwhile by taking time to hang out with the Millers.  AB studied abroad years ago on the same program as C. in Nanjing, so it was a bit of a homecoming for her, and it was N.'s first visit to China, so we had lots of exploring to do in a little time.

Standard procedure for visiting the Millers includes dinner at our favorite "local" noodle shop and a stroll through the Jing'an Sculpture Park, right near downtown Shanghai.  We trusted AB and N. to do some exploring on their own, which they enjoyed by setting out some destinations and covering a bit of the city while their hosts were at work.

Our Favorite Local Restaurant in Shanghai

Jing'an Sculpture Park

When the weekend arrived we were able to hit the road.  Again, with just a few days we decided to stay relatively close and make a trip to Chengdu.  I knew they would love the pandas, and we had a fun time discovering the quirks and charms of the city of Chengdu.  Fortunately everyone loved spicy food, so we took advantage of every opportunity to get tongue-tingling Sichuan cuisine.  AB had fond memories of the "old-fashioned" crunchy rice in broth dish called "guo ba" from her study abroad days, so we also made a point to get some of that too.  Imagine a savory Rice Krispie treat soaked in chicken broth - it was really tasty!

Mapo Dofu, Spicy Green Beans, Fresh Cucumbers

Old-Fashioned "Guo Ba"

Chengdu is China's fifth largest city (with about 13 million people), but it retains some of its "old" charm amidst the hustle and bustle of a growing megacity.  We chose to escape the mayhem by wandering through the sprawling River Viewing Pavilion Park.  It is dedicated to a famous (and of course hundreds of years old) female poet, and is known for having over 150 varieties of bamboo.  We were able to appreciate the calm meandering paths and the tall pavilion nestled among flowering trees.

Garden Bridge in River Viewing Pavilion Park

We also made a day trip out to Chingchengshan: yep, that's one of my favorite landmark names because it sounds like you're making fun of Chinese language, but that's the real name!  It's a small mountain with hiking trails and a little town, so we enjoyed getting some fresh (cough, cough) air and seeing the early buds of spring dotting the hillsides.  I'll always love visiting "rural" areas because the people and products you encounter are just outrageous.  It was a little concerning that four educated people, two of whom are biologists, could not identify one of the split animal carcasses strung up to dry.  Ah well, some mysteries of Chinese culture continue to elude us.

Entrance Gate to Chingchengshan

   

Bizarre Dried Carcasses

Our visit finished with a morning visit to the Buddhist Weihu Temple, a massive collection of gardens and temples and museums.  Although I could see the appeal of the place, by that point I just reached my threshold of wandering and nature-watching, so I was done in about an hour.  I'd still recommend it to anyone visiting Chengdu; it just wasn't my cup of tea that morning.  You can see my waning enthusiasm in the lack of photos I took.

We love having visitors, and we've got the standard Shanghai package pretty well figured out.  We're also experts at planning and leading "tours" all over China, so come on over and let us wow you with the unexpected surprises this place has to offer!  Or, stay put in the comfort of your clean city with full access to social media, and enjoy more of my photos for a virtual visit:

Jing'an Sculpture Park           Chengdu        Chingchengshan         Weihu Temple

Panda Video    

Kashgar: A Different World from a Different Time

Travel Dates:  March 30 - April 2, 2013

The Decision
Since C. first visited China in 1993 he has seen nearly every historic city, natural wonder, and tourist trap listed in any guide book.  The only place on his list that he had yet to experience was the famed Sunday Bazaar in Kashgar.  It's no wonder C. had not taken an opportunity to go all the way out there before: as the western-most city in the western-most province Kashgar is a destination all on it's own, requiring five and a half hours of flight time from Shanghai.  Since I had a week off from school, he could squeeze a few vacation days into his schedule, and this is a pleasant time of year out in the desert, we decided this was the perfect chance to explore the last stop in China along the Silk Road.

The Place  
Kashgar (known as Kashi in Chinese) is a bit of a step-child kind of city.  It is officially in an area called the Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region, in the northwest reaches of Xinjiang Province.  It is extremely close to Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Afghanistan, and Pakistan, and it is so far away from Beijing that most of the locals operate on "local time" - two hours behind the official Beijing time (all of China is conveniently in the same time zone).  Our hotel breakfast that was offered between 9:00 and 11:00 Beijing time coincided nicely with our 8:00 local time meet-up with the guide.

When you see Kashgar on a map you'll notice that it's not close to anything.  It's in the desert plains just east of the Karakoram Range, home of the second tallest peak in the world, K2.  Everything is dusty, it's often windy, nearly always sunny, and the locals claim it is a great environment in which to grow old.  The city has been around for over 2000 years, and was most notably a major trade stop along the Silk Road.  The Old Town shows clear evidence of the city's ancient past, but unfortunately it is systematically being torn down and replaced with newly constructed homes and shops.  The new city is filled with disappointing high-rises and the wide city roads are filled with sedans and motorbikes.  C. regrets not having seen the city before all the demolition began, but we are both glad to have seen at least the remnants of what the Old Town was.

The People
The reason Kashgar is in a special region is that the people in the area are all Uygur, an ethnic minority that has been in the region for thousands of years.  They still speak their own language; very few people speak any Mandarin, though it is taught in the schools.  Their language is more of an Arabic script, though all the signs also have Chinese characters too.  Because of their minority status the people of Kashgar are not allowed to obtain Chinese passports.  We encountered two people who had dreams that hinged on getting a passport.  First, we met a friendly young woman at a kebab restaurant who began chatting with us because she had recently graduated from the Kashgar Teaching University, and is now an English teacher.  She told us her dream is to visit any English-speaking country, but that is unlikely because "it's hard to get a passport since [she is] not Chinese."  In the little village we met Eli, who also joined us at a table, insisting we try the meat pies and noodles.  He studied English for a year in Urumqi, and lamented the fact that he could no longer practice the language in his village because no one else speaks it.  He was so excited to talk with us and told us enthusiastically, "If I had a passport and a million dollars I will go to Washington (DC) and open a Uygur restaurant!"

A remarkable characteristic that we found in all of our encounters was the immense generosity and curiosity of the people.  At the mutton shop two men began arguing over who would pay for our meal: the owner who invited us in, and another man who wanted to treat us.  At the markets when we stopped to take photos people would put themselves in front of our camera, and then tap our shoulder to have a peek at the image on the playback screen.  When we showed any interest in their activity, they eagerly invited us to try it out.  We felt like celebrities because it seemed like everyone wanted to talk to us, to ask questions, to tell us about themselves, and there was never a sense of owing them anything in return.

Naturally, the little girl I met at the teahouse was very curious and wanted to learn all about my big digital camera.  At first she just wanted to strike a pose and then see for herself how she looked.  Then she realized she could capture images herself, and she caught on quickly after I guided her grimy finger to the shutter release a few times.  She squealed with delight when she saw her mother, then the old men, and all the other random snapshots on the camera's screen.  She got so excited pressing the buttons that before I knew it she was whizzing through all the photos on the camera, and she just kept scrolling and scrolling.  I wished I had a polaroid so I could let her enjoy the instant gratification and have a keepsake too.  I'm sure she doesn't even have a family photo, something so basic and yet so essential to one's identity.

I was particularly taken by the old Uygur men: their long white beards, their hunched but strong shoulders, their wrinkled necks and callused hands.  I couldn't stop staring at the hats too; I learned that the taller dome-shaped fur hat was a winter hat, and the smaller green cap was a summer hat.  We discovered that most men kept shaved heads, and if they had particularly long beards they may have been an imam at their mosque.  I really could have just stood on a corner and watched the men walk by all day.

Speaking of men, they always seemed to group together, and we saw many more men than women.  I surmised that the women were at home taking care of the children and household chores.  We saw a few groups of women at the bazaar, trading fabric and patterns for making the green hats.  On Sunday night there were more women out with their families walking around, but it was noticeable rare to see men and women mingling together.

The hero of our trip was Elvis, a local tour guide mentioned in the Lonely Planet as a carpet connoisseur and traditional music aficionado.  He approached us as we strolled up to the large mosque our first evening there, and in less than a minute we had his phone number and a plan to meet the next morning for a full day around town.  His English was quite good, and like the other people he was incredibly friendly and so upbeat.  After a successful day in Kashgar we asked what else there was to do.  He suggested we take a little drive out to the village market, so he arranged that too.  He shared his skepticism of the taxi driver he hired when his regular guy was busy.  His instinct proved correct: the driver didn't get gas ahead of time, stopped at the wrong filling station, then didn't respond to his phone when it was time to go back to the city.  Fortunately Elvis flagged down another driver heading back to Kashgar, who turned out to be a traditional medicine man (and a much better driver than the taxi).  To complete the incredibly generous tour, he gave us several CDs of local music, wall posters, and a large sack of local tea to take home, and all he asked for was a kind mention on the Lonely Planet forum.

There are a few Han Chinese in Kashgar, basically sent there by the government to represent the capitol.  The hotel receptionists and airport personnel were all Han, and I'm sure many teachers in the local schools are also Han.  It can't be easy for them to move out there; they become an expat in their own country.  I just wonder if they're forced to stay out there and build a family, or if it's more like a fixed assignment that is then rewarded with a promotion when they return to their hometown in eastern China.

The Markets
How can I possibly describe the feel of the markets, the boisterous energy, the pungent and fragrant smells, the exotic goods?  We started at the Sunday Bazaar, a market that is actually open every day of the week, but busiest on Sunday.  Elvis was somewhat apologetic that it was actually very quiet while we were there, with hardly any shoppers wondering the maze of stalls.  We were still overwhelmed with the sheer magnitude of the bazaar, and then endless rows of scarves, knives, carpets, teas, jewelry, teapots, and any other goods you could imagine.  Perhaps it was a bit early in the day, and Elvis informed us that tourism had steadily declined in recent years, with the busy months of June and July bringing only a few visitors.

Outside the covered bazaar (the roof was only recently built about five years ago) we encountered even more interesting sights, sounds, and smells.  The prevalence of sheep carcasses hung under dirty umbrellas or canopies was at first disturbing, but eventually mundane.  I didn't care to take a close inspection of the meat, but there was a surprising absence of flies or maggots, which I took as a good sign.  We had to scurry out of the way when a donkey cart came barreling through, the driver yelling "Boish! Boish!" to clear the road.  C. got to try his hand at turning the wielding stone for a knife-sharpener, and I enjoyed a fresh slice of cantaloupe.  We learned how the master corn cake maker trained younger men that made cakes at the night market, and we saw how effective a straight blade is when it comes to getting a close shave.  Again, it seemed like mostly men at the market, but no shouting or loud haggling - just hordes of people trying to accomplish their shopping and get on with their day.

Then we drove beyond the outskirts of the city to the weekly Livestock Market, which only takes place on Sundays.  What a completely different world.  Cars were replaced with motorized rickshaws and horse-drawn carts.  The dust formed a tangible grit in the air, which helped the primal stench of animals permeate our nostrils, hair, and clothes.  We moved into the crowd amid curious glances and incredulous stares.  The busy traders generally ignored us, carrying on with their subtle negotiations and careful inspections of prospective livestock purchases.  This was the place to be if you needed a cow, sheep, donkey, horse, or camel.  I was grateful the Muslim Uygurs have no need for pigs - that may have just put me over the top.  Fortunately all the trading was for live animals, so there was minimal carnage at this market.  Regardless, several of the cows seemed to be fully aware that they were not in a happy place.  The randy donkeys and ignorant sheep seemed much less bothered by the whole affair.

On Monday the one-hour drive out to the village market took us past small farms with simple dirt houses, some of which had brick facades built with money provided by the government.  Tall poplar trees lined the road and softened the harsh sunny sky.  As we got further from the city we saw more and more men, pairs of fathers and sons, and families heading toward the market on their wagons and carts.  If the city livestock market was a blast from the past, this place was a complete time warp into another era.

Just inside the gate to the market was a row of restaurants and food stalls selling noodles, mutton and rice, and meat pies.  The massive ovens were ablaze with red-hot wood, and steam rose up in dense clouds from huge steamer baskets and massive woks.  Who am I to pass up a culinary experience, so we went into the first place with the mutton and rice.  Honestly, the rice and vegetable bit was quite tasty and very filling, and the mutton was mutton.  I felt bad for not finishing the entire dish after Elvis pointed out that this meal would keep a person warm and full all day long.

As we continued on we stopped to take a closer look at some meat pies being made, and before we knew it we were being escorted inside with the promise of a tasty sample.  That's when Eli joined us and began chatting about anything he could find the words for in English.  He generously offered to let me try and make a meat pie (thank goodness I already went to a dumpling cooking class in Shanghai!), which I did as his brother deftly assemble five in the same time it took me to do one.  I think C. really wanted a turn at throwing and twisting the tangle of noodles, but I'm sure those were too precious to let some foreigner destroy.

Going further into the market we came across old women selling fresh cream and boiled eggs, a man pressing fresh pomegranate juice, and some smaller livestock like chicks, pigeons, and geese.  In the middle of the market were the "housewares" and various manufactured goods like tea kettles, spades, shovels, lengths of rope and chain, shoes, clothes, and scarves.  Then we passed by two very loud tents that housed a TV inside each one, blaring the news or show to a few scraggly boys licking ice cream cones.  Naturally we passed by even more sheep carcasses in various stages of butchering, the most disturbing part of which was the presentation of the head atop all four hooves, with blood-stained necks and lifeless empty eyes.  Towards the back of the market we discovered the farm-fresh vegetables stacked high on carts pulled by cantankerous donkeys.

Just as I felt we had seen quite a glimpse into the local market life, we entered the sheep trading grounds.  I really couldn't get over all the shorn sheep with their wooly rumps lined up row after row for inspection.  The bleating was really intense; I didn't realize the four-legged fur balls could sound so much like children in distress.  The mood in the sheep pen felt a bit more serious, with men gathering together for negotiations, large amounts of money coming out of threadbare pockets.  We wondered around inspecting the sheep in our own way, at a safe distance through the zoom lens of our cameras.  I wish we had asked Elvis more questions to learn more about the business, but I was too enraptured with the scene to take a break from capturing as many details as possible.  We noticed that it was harder to take a step without bumping into a sheep or farmer, and it was apparent that more and more animals were arriving.  Elvis discovered that many farmers stayed in the fields to plant cotton, and were just now coming in to the market.  We decided it was best to get out of the way to let everyone carry on about their business.

Even though I wished it weren't so, I couldn't ignore the reality that my bladder needed some relieving, especially before another hour in the car.  I would have been perfect fine just ducking behind a shed, but I had a feeling even in this dirty and dusty place that would be frowned upon.  I asked Elvis what the options were, and at first he looked stumped.  Then he asked one of the butchers and apparently got clear instructions for where to go.  We followed Elvis all the way through the rest of the market, past large woven mats (presumable the Flooring aisle), stacks of metal doors, bushels of tree branches, and a few haphazard pieces of cheap furniture (the village's answer to IKEA).  We turned under a thatched awning, where a few cows and a donkey were hitched and making their own kind of stink (presumably the market parking lot).  Elvis motioned to a primitive corner wall of mud bricks, with two dark doorways, and then promptly walked back to the main pathway to wait.

Oh boy.  I figured I'd rather see the filth than get into any nasty surprises, so I went around the side that was sunlit.  Whoa, BIG mistake: that was the pit dug into the ground beneath the "bathrooms."  I did a 180 and then went into the first dark doorway, not really caring if there was a men's and women's side. It was empty so I scampered to the far "stall" and peered into the squatter hole.  Again, BIG mistake.  Not more than a meter below was someone else's very fresh dump of the morning's mutton rice.  Before I could try make an alternative plan I just dropped trou and went for it, hoping to God that no airborne disease was coming my way.  Then, wouldn't you know, C. yelled in, "Hey, you're in the men's!" to which I responded, "So what?! Tell them to wait or don't look!" and two seconds later I was out, walking as quickly as possible back to Elvis and "fresh" air.  During the whole episode I could only think of the scene from Slumdog Millionaire involving an open-air squatter.  Ewwww.

We meandered back through the rows of dried goods and more barbers with their very trusting clients, and determined we were satisfied with our experience.  Elvis had one last treat for us: a ride on a horse-drawn cart.  C. was happy to stay behind and be the photographer, so I hopped on with a charismatic old man.  The horse's harness jingled and jangled as he cantered along the road, passing other carts and getting passed by huge buses and even some SUVs.  After about 10 minutes we finally turned around, and I think C. was relieved that he wouldn't have to figure out how to arrange a search party in rural Xinjiang Province for me.

Next Time
Our two-day adventure was an awe-inspiring glimpse into a truly foreign culture and way of life.  I only wish we had more time to travel down the Korakoram Highway to see alpine lakes and (call me crazy) even the last border checkpoint before Pakistan.  There are always more sites to see, more experiences to cherish, and more people to intrigue us.  I just hope we can make another opportunity to venture out there again.  Until then, please enjoy the moments we managed to capture in our photos:
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