Kazakhstan and Xinjiang

So, some of you might be wondering exactly why the first few posts have been so mild. Part of that has to do with the nature of our first two weeks, part with jet-lag and TD (look it up). The subsequent two weeks afforded a bit more...unconventional...fun.

On August 25, Russell and I set off on our cross-country train journey to Xinjiang (made infamous recently by the Uighur protests). To be more specific, we took a train from Shanghai to Urumqi, which is a city of 4 million people in the middle of the desert (and, incidentally, the farthest 'big city' from an ocean in the world, as well as the site of the Uighur protests). We took the 'hard sleeper' option, which essentially consisted of a row of bunk-beds.
It was especially interesting to watch how the Chinese landscape changed as we went west from the urban clutter of Shanghai through beautiful, lush green fields and farmlands, past snowcapped mountains, and finally to the barren wasteland of China's western desert (though not part of the Gobi). We tried to channel our inner-photographer by taking a series of pictures as we crossed China to show the vicissitudes in the landscape (Mike: but I probably failed miserably). We had decided to take a walk on the wild side by buying some Chinese 'rice wine' before we left Shanghai, and the second night we played lots Texas Hold'em and drank rice wine. Russell was a fan; Michael not so much (Mike: Russ WOULD be a fan). There was also some sake and a sweet Chinese beer called "REEB" - yes, that is indeed "beer" spelled backwards.

When we got to Urumqi, we discovered that the whole province it's in - Xinjiang - had been totally cut off from telephone and internet access by the Chinese government. Following the protests in Urumqi by the Uighurs, due largely to the Chinese government's denial to them of the same rights and opportunities as the Han Chinese, the government in all its progressiveness and spirit of democratic virtues decided to deny outside access to Xinjiang (thereby 'eliminating the problem'). Anyway, we had no access to internet or phone and Russell still hadn't been able to call his friend in Kazakhstan to let him know that we were coming. The one and only night that we spent in Urumqi, we had dinner at a Uighur restaurant and it was GREAT but very, very spicy. After that we went to another night market. It was under an enormous canopy of lights that lit up the whole place at night, and they were selling all different kinds of things - food, clothes, toys. What was especially interesting to note was that the Chinese and the Uighurs were on opposite sides of the street, with little acknowledgement of one another. We also noted the occasional armed police patrol on various corners, apparently waiting to break up any potential mischief. The next day we went and bought a bus ticket from Urumqi to Almaty, the largest city in Kazakhstan (and the second-largest city in Central Asia). We weren't leaving until that evening, so we had some time to kill. We bought a train ticket for the return trip to China, and then went to the Urumqi museum of history.

Now where things got a bit interesting... We probably should've known it would be nuts when the bus driver took one look at us and thought we were Uzbeks. When we told him we were from the US, he excitedly remarked: 'Ohhh! I love Americans! As long as you're not those dirty Uzbeks...' We were supposed to leave on our bus by 7 pm, and it was supposed to be an 18-hour bus ride. We didn't even leave the station until past 8:30, though, and then we kept on stopping for 30 minutes at a time along the way. We finally got to the border of China and Kazakhstan early in the morning, but then literally sat at the border for 12 hours. We were outside the border and just sat there for 12 hours. Apparently they randomly "close" the border at various times in the afternoon. When we were finally able to cross the border, it was just total chaos. There was a crazy Russian lady, with a grotesquely massive metal contraption, who was trying to wheel it through the border. It took up virtually the whole line and she kept on shoving people out of the way and screaming at them if they tried to get by her. Then there were people passing TVs and other goods - even BABIES - over the fence. When we FINALLY crossed the border it still took us another 8 or so hours to finally get to Almaty, and by then it was already 1 am. So a trip that was supposed to take 18 hours ended up taking 32 hours. Russ met a guy on the bus who offered to let us stay at his friend's house for the night, citing the "dangerous" nature of the bus station and taxi service. We didn't like the sound of that, and so piled into his friend's car. Between the sketchy stop, when all the Kazakhs in the car poured out and told us to wait in the car while they walked into some alley, and the equally sketchy neighborhoods we went through to get to the guy's house, we (mostly Mike) became a bit squeamish. We opted for a hotel. But, it was a total adventure, and I guess that's what this trip is all about.

The next morning we bought bus tickets from Almaty to Astana, the capital of Kazakhstan, where we had planned to meet Russell's friend Kenny (who is in the Peace Corps). On the bus, Mike was squeezed between two older Kazakh gentlemen who delighted in coughing all over him and spewing spit at his feet (when in Rome?). We also got an in-depth look at 1970s Russian comedy via 'Ivanov and Rabinovich', a strange show about two friends exploring the Mediterranean in their sailboat. We met up with Kenny at the Astana bus station and then took another bus through the Kazakh countryside to a stop at the crossroads of nowhere and nowhere (how anyone could possibly know that there was supposed to be a BUS STOP there has continued to mystify us). We arrived in Makinsk, a small town in the middle of (you guessed it) nowhere, to attend a small going-away party for a Peace Corps friend of Kenny's. We knew immediately that we were in a former Soviet territory by the profound amount of vodka with which Chris's host family greeted us.

The following day was Constitution Day, a holiday commemorating the institution of the Kazakh constitution. After waking up fairly early, we explored the town, including the so-called 'Lenin Factory', a WWII-era arms factory that proudly displayed a large mural of its namesake on a side wall. We then proceeded to the village square, where we watched the oblast's (Kazakh province) police force parade around. On the way back to Chris's house, we encountered a Russian wedding party in the street. Before we knew it, they had surrounded us and quickly force-fed us two to three shots of vodka and fruit candies while drunkedly crying out 'I love America' (and, after discovering Mike's Texan origins: 'Texas! George Bush! Cowboys!'). After that ordeal, our gracious Peace Corps hosts decided to treat us to a staple in Russian society: the banya. In the days that followed this experience Mike was often reminded of the creepy pilot in the movie 'Airplane' ('Billy, have you ever been to a Turkish prison?' 'Billy, have you ever seen a grown man naked?'). Needless to say, the public bathhouse is an experience which we had not previously had the privilege to see. More than the large number of naked bodies, what mainly took us the most by surprise was the custom of getting hit by naked men with large branches (apparently it exfoliates the skin quite nicely!).

After the banya, we went back to Chris's host-family's house and had lunch (AND fermented horse milk!). We then set out to take a train to Kenny's house in a neighboring village, Akol. When we arrived it had begun to drizzle, and we walked through the dilapidated streets to his host-family's relatively up-scale home. Seeing as we were intruding during Ramadan, we the infidels had to stay out of the house until 10 pm (Kenny remarked that this was strange, given that his family neither followed the standard Ramadan protocol nor observed any other Islamic conventions). Nevertheless, we took it as an opportunity to explore the village, and headed toward the center of town. As Kenny told us, you could tell you had reached the center of town when you came upon the only intersection with lights. Eventually we reached the community center, where most of the town had gathered to celebrate Constitution Day. We were thus able to observe traditional Kazakh dances, lots of singing, and LOTS of vodka-drinking. You might think that the stereotype of slavic-peoples enjoying vodka is a myth, but we are here to tell you that it is NOT. After taking in the sights and sounds of the Constitution Day celebration (and downing some beer and a bottle of vodka), we went to explore a lake. When we finally got back to Kenny's house, we embarked on a particularly unanticipated adventure. Kenny managed to convince us to partake of the Kazakh national meal (no kidding): horse meat. We can now proudly say that we have eaten horse colon, intestines, heart, and 'mystery meat'. Mike (ever the Texan) remarked on numerous occasions that it tasted like brisket, though the other two remained skeptical. After another bottle of vodka and reminiscing about semester at sea (Mike just sat in a haze of vodka and horse), we called it a night.

The next day we had some time to kill before taking a bus into Astana, so we hiked through the forest by Kenny's house up to the radio tower at the top of a hill and got a great view of the Kazakh countryside. We then took a bus to Astana and roomed at the bus station, as we had train tickets for fairly early the next morning. Before going to bed we decided to explore Astana a bit, and walked through the main downtown area. The Astana central business district is quite neat, and we got to see Nazerbaev's presidential palace, various government buildings, and an incredibly cool tower wherein is housed a golden mold of Nazerbaev's hand. Nazerbaev is apparently a national hero to Kazakhstan, and he certainly has some impressive plans for Astana, and the country as a whole, even if his methods are a tad...undemocratic.

On September 1st we woke up early to take a 22-hour train ride from Astana back to Almaty (Astana is in the far-north, while Almaty is much closer to the Chinese border. And here's a crazy fact: a small Kazakh town just northwest of Astana is closer to Vienna than it is to Almaty). Highlights from the train experience include a kid who looked exactly like the actor Michael Cera and a stop at a fish market, where people basically threw fish in your face in an attempt to sell them. We arrived in Almaty early the following morning to a cold rain. We tried to decide between taking a bus directly to Urumqi (from where we would depart western China) and the more 'interesting' but circuitous route. Naturally, we chose the latter. While waiting for our bus, we attempted to strike up a conversation with a charming Russian family on vacation in Kazakhstan. This part would prove vital to the craziness that ensued. We ended up taking a bus to Zharkent, a town near the Kazakh-Chinese border, from which we hoped to actually cross the border back into China. At a stop, Mike was accosted by an irate shopkeeper and her surly elderly security guard, who were convinced that he had stolen a candy bar (even though he had actually paid more than its worth). Luckily, he managed to convince them (or they just gave up) that he had, in fact, not stolen it and they relented. Later, we were stopped at various checkpoints by militzia (police) officers, who examined our passports. Twice we were forced off the bus, and we couldn't understand why; our visas were, after all, in order. The first time, the Russian family attempted to intercede on our behalf, as they spoke more English than we spoke Russian or Kazakh. The officer, apparently thinking that the Russians were 'colluding' with us to somehow pull the wool over the eyes of the Kazakh goverment (or something to that degree), made them get off the bus as well. It seemed as though he might make us take our things and leave with him (an option many on the bus, led by their ringleader - whom Mike has affectionately nicknamed 'The Cryptkeeper' - wholeheartedly and impatiently encouraged). Finally, the stone-faced, middle-aged Russian woman, who Mike imagined as the accompanying aunt (and who looked a good deal like the character Mrs. Mac from the show "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia") went with him into his car. When she emerged, we were free to go. We can only speculate that she had bribed him to let us continue on.

Later, we were stopped again, and we finally realized that we were having issues because, in spite of our visas, the Kazakh goverment requires foreigners to 'register' within 5 days after arrival (it was our 6th) - a fact they had neglected to tell us. This time, to avoid another lengthy delay, our driver immediately offered to have us bribe the officer - to which he vigorously agreed - for the modest sum of about $2.50. Yes, we have now bribed a Kazakh official. During the exchange, the Cryptkeeper looked on with his angry eyes bugging grotesquely out of their sockets. When we finally got to Zharkent, we told the driver we needed to get to Khorgos, the border town. The Cryptkeeper instantly popped out of his seat and changed his tone, offering us his taxi services. Actually, he pretty much forced said services on us. We explained that, to avoid a hefty fine - or worse, getting tossed in Kazakh prison - we wanted to register with the militzia. He ushered us into his cab and convinced us that he knew what to do. Apparently, though we didn't know it at the time, this would consist of smuggling us across the border - for a price, naturally (it ended up being about $5.00). As we drove toward the border (he wasn't driving, mind you - he was only there for his sage advice on hoodwinking Kazakh authorities, or something to that effect), the Cryptkeeper told us to hide our "departure cards" which conspicuously told of our misdeed (eye-roll). When we reached the border, we were ushered into a van and driven past a military station, to the border station itself. The driver had us pay $3000 tengue each (roughly $20) and assured us that we had to hurry or else the border would close. He then ran with us into the building, asking for more money with which to bribe the various officials whom we passed along the way. We finally reached the final checkpoint, where our driver asked for a LITTLE more money (essentially cleaning me out) and then left us to fend for ourselves. We stepped up to the booth separating us from the edge of Kazakhstan, and the guard asked us for our departure card. Following the Cryptkeeper's advie, Mike feigned ignorance, to which he responded: "Departure card or" - and making a plane motion with his hand - "America". Realizing that we had pretty much been conned, and that this guard wasn't messing around, Mike immediately "found" the card in his pocket. The real kicker: despite not having registered, the guard let us through without even fining us. Definitely a learning experience...

When we finally got back into Xinjiang, we stayed in the village of Yining (village is a relative term; the 250,000 population that comprise Yining is considered small by Chinese standards) for what we expected to be a night or two. At the border, everyone's baggage was being thoroughly inspected and we heard rumors that a metaphorical storm might hit Xinjiang between the Uighurs and the government (but didn't give it too much thought, as that has pretty much been the case for the last few months). When we got to Yining, we checked into a hotel room that had a view overlooking the main square. We were rather shocked to discover that the main square was overrun with tanks and military vehicles. As we walked through the square, we saw soldiers with automatic weapons creating a perimeter in front of the tanks.

The next morning we got up early to try and get bus tickets back to Urumqi, where our train out of Xinjiang was set to depart. After buying the tickets, we had an afternoon to kill and decided to explore the local river. We hiked along the river a bit, which ended up being pretty gorgeous, and got some lunch at a Uighur restaurant overlooking the river. There was a bit of excitement with a stubborn waiter who either didn't understand us or was determined to make us pay as much as possible. After shoving an entire chicken and six large fish (which we hadn't ordered) onto our table, we refused to pay. He wasn't too happy and a shouting match ensued. That was overshadowed when a Uighur family who were dining in the same restaurant attempted to placate the irate waiter, and then invited us to join them at their table. We hiked along the river a bit more and then decided to head back to the bus station.

On the walk back, we were stopped by a patrol of Chinese policemen who were set up on a street corner. They seemed perplexed to find a couple of American tourists in the midst of all the turmoil in Xinjiang, and were determined to discover whether we were American journalists or spies or something trying to get an inside scoop. After questioning us for a while and looking through literally every picture on our cameras, however, they finally let us go (hailing the first available cab and basically telling us to get the hell out of town). We headed to the bus station, only to discover that all buses to Urumqi had been cancelled for the evening due to increased turmoil between the government and the Uighur protestors. It was about at this time (if the tanks in the town square and police interrogation hadn't been enough) that we began to feel that we were in the middle of something surreal. It was also slightly problematic, as our train from Urumqi was scheduled for the following evening and - not even knowing when we would be let out of Yining - we had bigger problems than missing our train.

The following morning we went back to the bus station, where we were refunded our money for the bus ticket. Luckily, the buses had only been cancelled the night before and were opened again that morning. So, we got a bus ticket for the 10-hour bus trip and basically waited around at the station. The bus trip itself was pretty spectacular. Much of the first few hours went through almost entirely undeveloped mountain regions with some fantastic scenery. Maybe as an unconscious acknowledgment of the surreal movie-like quality our trip had taken on, Mike listened to Pink Floyd's "Dark Side of the Moon" in its entirety on the way. Unfortunately, we arrived an hour after our train had left, and were thus forced to stay in Urumqi for at least a night. We decided to stay at the hostel where we had stayed before, and on the way were greeted by the most surreal sight of all: tanks, military humvees, and squads upon squads of soldiers barricading the streets and on every street corner. We had to make our way through a wall of heavily-armed guards to get to the hostel, and were informed that no one was free to walk around and the local bus system had been temporarily suspended. We talked to the other backpackers who were cooped up in the hostel with us, who informed us that the past two days had included relatively peaceful Uighur organizing efforts that had devolved into chaos. Some of the backpackers had even gotten hit by tear gas. Apparently the Chinese government had surfaced a rumor that the Uighurs were injecting people with HIV (which none of them had seen, and seems pretty ridiculous). Anyway, we were lucky to not be there for the real craziness but it was still really surreal.

The next morning we were fortunately able to move about, and headed to the train station to try and get our tickets exchanged. They were totally booked for that particular day, but were able to totally refund us our money and get us on a train for the following day. Again unfortunately, we were switching from a "fast train" to a "slow train". What this meant was that we were essentially losing 2 days of our China trip. We met a young backpacker from London at the hostel, though, and spent the afternoon with him exploring the city (including a pretty neat park). The following morning, we packed our things and FINALLY said adios to Xinjiang.

Roughly two weeks of the most insane/surreal/ridiculous adventures I (Mike) have certainly ever experienced.