We had seats eight and nine on an Isuzu bus from Lhasa to Golmud for Yuan 59 (10 USD) each. It was more comfortable than the standard Chinese buses and it had heating. Unluckily, seat nine had a metal box at the feet and Glenn braved the two day journey with his knees up to his chest. Lhasa to Golmud is over 1,200km on the highest highway in the world, averaging over 4,000 metres of elevation. Once we left the Lhasa valley, we were up on an expansive plateau, surrounded by mountains and thousands of grazing yaks and many brown tents. The back of our bus was filled with Tibetan pilgrims who played a tape of a monk chanting, but that was drowned out by the bus's sound system playing Chinese music. We stopped for lunch in the middle of nowhere. The Chinese aboard fought to get their orders in, while the Tibetans ate their tsampa. We should have brought our own food.

We passed through the Nyenchen Tanglha Mountains which parallel the Himalayas into Qinhai province. Snow began to fall and we drove until 11:30pm and stopped at a rundown roadhouse that offered dorms with wall-to-wall iron frame cots, blessed with two thick blankets each. It was -5C inside and out. We shared a 12 bed dorm with eight butter smelling Tibetans. It was a cold night and we were back on the bus in the darkness of 6:00am. We were dehydrated and ate fruit that we had purchased in Lhasa. We later crossed a pass through the Kunlun range and dropped down into the Qaidam Basin, a flat desert area and by 5:00pm, we reached our destination of Golmud, at 2800m, our home for the night. I went down to the bus station to purchase "mingtian" (tomorrow) tickets but they were sold out, so I bought passage for "hotian" (day after tomorrow). So, a full day in Golmud it was.

We had dorm beds for 4 Yuan ($1) , a good meal and proper night's sleep. We spent the rest of the next day doing "nothing" as there is little to do in Golmud. The architecture was classic modern Chinese with grey monolithic buildings facing wide streets, most of which lead to nowhere. The thriving market did have a surprising array of vegetables and fruits, providing the local restaurants with excellent ingredients. The freshly baked bread tasted like Montreal bagels. We spent most of the day, lazing around the hotel eating melons, honey and chocolate.I bought a box of ten glass vials of Ginseng Gecko Extraction for Sheila's cold. It didn't seem to do much for the cold, but it was a novelty.

The bus to Dunhuang left at 7:00am sharp and broke down, spurting oil at 7:30am. The driver located a faulty hose within the engine, replaced it and we we were moving again by 8:00 am. Later, we passed by yurts and camels, then and a town in the middle of nowhere, but the journey was largely through desert alternating with small rocky ranges. As we approached Dunhuang, long ridges of sand appeared that grew in apparent size and the road weaved its way through them. Somewhere along the way, we left Quinhai province for Gansu province. As we reached the Dunhuang district, trees suddenly appeared and we reached the lively oasis town after 11 hours on the bus. Dunhuang was established as a frontier garrison on the edge of the Chinese empire, on the ancient Silk Road.

On the following day, we figured out the local bus schedule and we reached the Magao Caves by 9:00am. There are apparently over 700 caves (sources indicate a range of 500-1,000) carved out of a mile long rock wall that represent a 1,000 years of history. There were no English tours available, so we opted for a half day, 50 fen (15 cents) tour with 30 Chinese people. We bumbled around in the unlit caves, looking at wall paintings with flashlights. The caves had numerous Buddha statues, often with disciples, but the paintings were the wonders of the caves. They were often in green and orange dyes but one of the ten rooms we visited had blue paintings. The style was Chinese, but it seemed to incorporate elements of India and Greece with some Burmese similarities. We enjoyed the visit and ten caves was plenty.

Later in the afternoon, we climbed impressive sand dunes, some reaching over 200 metres. As dusk approached, we haggled with a camel owner for a 4 Yuan each camel ride and we joined a group of high ranking Chinese officials. Two large generals sat on a camel that was unable to stand-up with their combined weight. A different camel shat on a general who was standing behind it. It was hysterical.

We took an early bus from Dunhuang to a Luiyuan (2 1/2 hours) to catch a train further west. We purchased soft sleeper tickets and killed the better part of the day waiting for the 4:00pm train. The 16 hour train trip skirted the Gobi desert with less than inspiring scenery (stone desert) and we disembarked at Daheyon. From there, we caught a ride on a rickety, old bus crammed with people for the one hour ride into Turfan. Nowadays, Turfan is written Turpan, but at the time it was considered Turfan, so I'll stick with Turfan.

The Turfan depression is near about sea level, so summers get fairly warm, but we found it comfortable in the second half of October. Annual rainfall is 15mm (less than an inch). Water flows south from the Tian Shan mountains and it is brought to the surface by an incredible network of wells, tunnels and canals called the Karez. There are 5,000km of the Karez, mostly underground, well-maintained. It was completely man-made, constructed thousands of years ago. The population of Turfan is primarily Uyghurs.

Most of the female Uyghurs, young and old, glittered and sparkled with silver and gold coloured leotards with shimmering red and green skirts, scarves on their heads and loads of costume jewelry. The older men often sported pill-box caps, long coats and high leather boots. Middle eastern music echoed down the Turfan main street and donkey carts trotted by. The market had a number of stalls selling melons, grapes, pears, vegetables, dried apricots, raisins, walnuts and so on. The market also had a place to buy live sheep and goats and a butcher section displaying slaughtered carcasses hanging from hooks. Bakers stood over their mud brick ovens, pulling out fresh unleavened bread. Lamb kebab vendors, sitting behind iron troughs filled with hot coals, hollered to passerby to sample their meat.

In the evening, a night market appeared in front of the movie house. Under a string of lights, were a collection of short wooden benches and tables, occupied by mostly men eating their food. On our first night, we started with a serving of lamb kebabs with bread and then we moved onto the next set of benches for a bowl of egg soup in a chicken broth. We must have been hungry, because we then slurped down a plate of fresh noodles and washed it all down with a few slices of melon.

We and seven other tourists hired a vehicle for the day to see the ancient sites on the outskirts of Turfan. Jiaohe was overrun by the Mongols, led by Genghis Khan back in the 13th century. The ruins of the city resembled giant sandcastles eroded by the tide and it was interesting to wander the once busy streets. We visited the "Great 5th Century Cemetery of Astana" and went down a flight of stairs to a small underground burial chamber and two deflated mummies that were laid out on a table. The famous Bezeklik Monastery had been pillaged before we arrived. Some of the best preserved murals had been carted off by over-zealous European explorer/archeologists (Stein & Le Coq) in the early 1900's. What remained were holes in the walls and scratched out faces, merely suggesting the former glory of the site. Apparently large important pieces went to the Berlin Museum of Ethnology, only to be destroyed by WWII bombing.

We quite enjoyed the Turfan market and lazing in the guest house gardens with Beijing beer, under the grape vines, resting for our next journey to Kashgar.

In the early 1900's, it took a month to travel by camel from Turfan to Kashgar, skirting the Taklamakan desert. It had been said that the Taklamakan was one of the most dangerous deserts to cross. Le Coq described a dust storm as "moments later the storm bursts with appalling violence upon our caravan. Enormous masses of sand, mixed with pebbles are forcibly lifted up, whirled around and dashed on man and beast." Rather than travel by camel, we took the bus (four days). A rail link from China to Kashgar was completed in 1999 , so now the rail journey from Turpan to Kashgar can be done in less than a day.

Our journey from Turfan to Kashgar was colored by several false starts. On our first attempt, we had been informed that we could connect with the Kashgar bus that originated from Daheyon, however, when we arrived at Daheyon, the bus had long gone. While Sheila spent a long day in Daheyon waiting for the ticket office to reopen, I returned to Turfan to procure an extension to our 3 month tourist visas. and that turned out to be a wild goose chase. The foreigners branch of the PSB (Public Security Bureau) was closed, so I searched out the main PSB office on the outskirts of town. They were unable to extend our visas but before I knew it, I was in the sidecar of a police motorcycle for a brilliant tour of town and we found the responsible official who issued the extension without fuss. The next day, we were further delayed by a severe gastroenteritis incident, but by mid-day Glenn was able to keep watermelon down and by evening, he was declared fit for travel.

We had the prize seats (one and two), behind the glassed driver's compartment with "Atila" (our nickname), behind the wheel. No one messed with our 65 year old Uyghur driver who stood over six feet tall. By contrast, the Chinese conductress seemed to despise her life station and she did little other than read magazines. We nicknamed her "the lump". Issuing tickets was too much bother for her, so most of the passengers traveled for free. We had paid 35 Yuan ($10) for the 1500 km journey. We boarded the bus at 7:00am each day or later, if "the lump" was delayed. Each day, we traveled till about 4:00pm in the afternoon, breaking our journey at desolate towns on the edge of the Taklamakan desert. The hotel rooms were reasonable but basic. The road was mostly paved and it allowed us to read books during the day.

On the afternoon of the fourth day of our bus journey, we left the desert behind and entered the Kashgar oasis. We were glad to get off the bus and then we we faced with a bumpy horse cart ride from the bus station to the hotel. Flat, open carts pulled by horses or mules were the primary transportation in town. There were also bicycles but few cars or trucks. The larger avenues seemed deserted because only motor vehicles were permitted to travel on them.

We arrived on a Monday which meant that we would stay a week so that we could see the famous Sunday market, but Kashgar was a fascinating place to spend time. We adjusted to Kashgar time which is unofficially two hours behind Beijing time and had leisurely breakfasts. Glenn was elected to go out for fresh bread first thing. Grapes, melon and instant coffee made from the room's hot water thermos rounded out breakfast. We would then take a horse cart to the daily market. The market included hat alley, grape alley, clothes section, leather section, boot alley, buttons & bows and a live animal section. We would often sit in a bench and sample a few skewers of shish kebab and then move over to the ice cream makers for a glass of the cool treat, always watching the people go by. The locals were friendly, wanting to know our nationality and proudly announcing they were Uygur, not Chinese.

Wandering about the old town was like stepping back in time. It surrounded the daily market with a maze of block houses made from dried mud. Many of the homes had extensions over the lanes, creating a tunnel effect. The old town roads were of dirt and fine dust was always in the air making it one of the dustiest places on the planet. There was a void of greenery but each house had its own enclosed courtyard. People smiled. Kids yelled "bye bye". It was really laid back.

Beyond the market were various workshops with men beating out metal with hammers to make pot belly stoves, woodworkers working hand-powered lathes to make cooking utensils while blacksmiths pounded away on red hot iron. there were knife sharpeners using leg powered rotating grinding stones and potters glazing their pottery. The farriers (horse-shoers) made a steady trade; unsuspecting horses were led to stand between two wooden posts while ropes were tied around the width of its body. Then ropes from an overhead beam went around its belly allowing them to lift the animal slightly off the ground. Back and front legs were also tied to the posts as required and then when the horse was in full bondage, the farrier went to work on replacing the shoes. The going rate was 1 Yuan (25 cents) per shoe.

The melon men were some of our favorite characters. Alongside the road were huge heaps of melons. There were three types of melons available; watermelon, hami melon (like a sweet cantaloupe) and a variation of the honey dew melon, all for 10 fen per slice. I really enjoyed the way the vendors selected the melons, then slicing them open usually with great approval, yes another good melon.

We returned to the hotel each day for some clothes washing, reading, etc. before our evening stroll across the street to our favorite kebab man. After an appetizer of ten skewers, we moved over to the local Chinese restaurant that served good food (unlike in the rest of China at the time). Then it was back across the street for a melon slice and sometimes over to a Russian run bar for a beer, then it was off to bed.

By early Sunday morning, the road to the two hectare market was crowded with horse & donkey carts, sheep goats and people. We heard the chorus of "push, push" as people made their way through the congestion. It seemed like every Uygur from the region was there to do business.

There were long aisles of produce including greens, yellow carrots, tomatoes, mounds of peppers, long strings of garlic, potatoes, onions, fruits, grapes, melons, apples, pomegranates, and sacks of dried fruits. A row of butchers displayed their freshly slaughtered meats from hooks with a collection of sheep heads resting with hoofs staring up from the ground below.

The live animal section was in a walled-off yard where hundreds of sheep stood in nervous groups while prospective buyers groped them. A few of the sheep were getting sheared with scissors. Cows and bulls were pegged to the ground. There were also donkeys, mules and horses on display. Buyers made close inspections of the animals including test riding the horses and donkeys. The two dozen camels that lined the back wall of the compound did not generate much commercial interest. The average price for a camel was 500 Yuan ($125 US).

Further along another wall were the food stalls serving up steaming pots of sheep heads, hoofs and other sheep bits. Outside of the animal marketplace, stalls offered all kinds of hand-made animal tack, animal feed. We pushed on to the food stalls area where cooks performed an elaborate dance with dough, kneading pasta by flinging it up into the air and then stretching and twisting them before pulling smaller amounts of dough into long strands of noodles and dropping them into pots of boiling water. I couldn't help but think of Marco Polo each time we watched the process in amazement. I wonder if he brought back a noodle maker back with him to Europe to open a Marco Polo spaghetti restaurant.

The hardware area was immense. There were rows of new wooden carts, cart parts, tires, window and door frames, pigeons and chickens were somehow in the mix, straw mats by the piece or by the roll, colorful felt mats, cooking utensils, knives, pot belly stoves, herbal medicines, wooden poles as high as 60 feet, metal odds & ends, firewood, new and used bicycles, new and used clothes, boots, leather hides, metre goods, fur hats, raw cotton and so on. There were about 25 barbers shaving the scalps and faces of the local men. There was a row of some thirty cobblers for on-the-spot shoe and boot repair.

On reflection, we tourists scratched our heads in disbelief that it was merely a weekly market. There were so many people and so much was going on. It was certainly one of the most impressive markets anywhere.

At 6:00am, Tuesday, we traveled on almost deserted streets except for the morning sweepers who were creating huge dust clouds on our last Kashgar horse cart ride to the bus station. Our bus to Pakistan was scheduled to leave at 6:30am but the loading of the Pakistani traders' baggage and continual bickering with the Chinese delayed the departure by 5 hours. The Khunjerab Pass had been opened to international trade and traffic that year (1986) and it allowed Pakistani traders to bring truckloads of cheap Chinese goods home. It took hours for all their luggage to be weighted and then a decision was finally made to transport some of the goods by truck. The officials took some of the packages off the bus but the luggage was returned by way of open windows, then a couple of Pakistanis fought over seats, and so on, and so on. The driver did not conceal his dislike for the Pakistani passengers and often blared Uyghur music at full volume. We eight westerners were caught in the middle.

After six hours, the road began to ascend through the mountains. The road was not good. They were still building the section between Kashgar and Taxkurgan. We passed a number of Chinese work gangs moving whole mountain sides without the use of heavy equipment, save the occasional bulldozer. They were swinging picks at giant rock faces while others would shovel the loose rock into rickety wheelbarrows to dump the debris over the side. We stopped frequently for blasting, then a truck that had slipped off a treacherous section held up traffic for hours. We continued through the darkness, disembarking from the bus at frequent intervals to allow the driver to manoeuvre over bad sections or take a run up a hill. One particularly poor section featured a one foot drop off a rock bed. The air was bitter cold (-10C) and it whistled through my 6 layers of clothing including my wool chuba. At 3:00am, we pushed into a small roadside hotel. There were not enough beds for all and some slept on the bus.

We awoke, the next morning to a goat that had jumped on Sheila's bed. An edible breakfast was not in the cards and we got under way at 9:30am. The bus broke down at 9:35am and we got going by 11:00am only to break down again at 2:00pm. The scenery had changed and we were in pasture land below the massive Kongur (7650m) and Muztagate (7500m). There were a surprising number of camels (we counted 97 in all) on the high plateau. We reached our next halt of Taxkurgan relatively early in the day, at 6:00pm. Taxkurgan has a Silk Road history but all we saw was an uninspiring town with commensurate Chinese concrete architecture. We had a fairly good lamien dinner to ease our hunger and we caught up on sleep that night.

We were scheduled to leave at 6:00am on the third day, but we were delayed by a Pakistani passenger and we left at 10:00am. We had some fresh bread to eat for the day and we reached the bleak Chinese customs and immigration post by lunchtime. We waited for the officials to return from their lunch break. It took a couple of hours to process the bus. The Pakistanis were carrying suitcases full of money and had two trucks full of Chinese goods, following behind us. There were all kinds of discussions with the officials, then we endured a further half hour delay while two Pakistanis changed money.

Then we were off. The snowy tops of Mt Minya Konka (7,590m) and Mt Kangar ((7,720m) were in view as we continued our climb. By 7:00pm, Pakistan time, we chugged over the relatively low Khunjerab Pass (4,700m). At the pass, the Pakistanis all jumped off the bus to pee openly on the Chinese side, then they all tried to get back on the bus at the same time, yelling "Pakistan!". China was behind us.