What a load of rubbish!

Not India! It's a great place, but the locals just don't know what a bin is. It's more than just education as I, as a relatively well educated Westerner, still cannot manage to dispose of my rubbish properly whilst I am visiting. There are rarely rubbish bins and, when there are, upon being full, they are simply emptied out onto the roadside. I have had to resign myself to the simple fact that I may as well just use the gutter myself for rubbish. A decent disposal system would be a huge effort to put into place for a country of this size and only once that had happened would education be worth it. A massive task that would take generations to instil.
The Indians are a fairly well educated people. Obviously, there are extremes and the poor are not fortunate enough to have an education at all, but those that are speak English, have good business minds (albeit sometimes a little pushy) and are keen to progress. There are schools and universities in most towns regardless of size. Around 60% of shop and street signs are in English, which is something that I just can't understand. It's great for me as a non-Hindi speaking traveller, but in non-touristy towns and on roads where foreigners are usually driven around by locals, why would they do it? Speaking of education and the roads, education certainly does not extend in any way, shape or form to driving! Car wing mirrors are folded in. They are an optional extra for motorcycles and they have no road awareness at all, invariably pulling out without looking and drifting from side to side on the road. They love to use their horns (as do all Asians), but at the same time, ignore anyone else's use of it!
The police presence on the roads in India so far has been pretty low, which is good in that they do not ask for my passport and bike documents all day long, but bad in that it is a free-for-all. Speed limits obviously do not exist and, even where there is a barrier between oncoming traffic, use of both sides of it appear to be fair game. The police here bear wooden sticks/canes, which is a far cry from Pakistan where every policeman carries a gun, as do the doormen on most hotels, shops and petrol stations! The police are more for guidance of the law than upholders of it. Whenever asked for directions, they are extremely polite, courteous and helpful. A great trick is to park the motorcycle next to them, in which case, they take the job of keeping the locals from climbing all over it and pushing buttons very seriously! I certainly prefer sticks over guns, and whilst the police are not aggressive, they clearly command respect from locals who immediately do as they are told.
After a number of mainstream tourist stop-offs, my travel companions and I decide to head for the hills, to a small village called Kumbhalgarb. We find a very smart resort type hotel at which to stay and head for the fort, just as it gets dark, at which point it is lit up by an impressive lighting system. The complex of buildings within the vast fort walls are each most impressive in their own right. Access by any aggressor would be (and has proven to be) impossible with the double wall and the hill-top positioning. The temples, palace building and outhouses were each build with intricate detail. This was a great and peaceful retreat from the tourist trail.
On to Pushkar, a small but touristy town towards to the northeast of Rajasthan. Pushkar is known for the ghats (holy bathing spots) around its fairly small lake. Another flat tyre on my motorcycle took up half of my planned short visit, so I had it repaired and extended my stay for a further day. A walk around the lake is a peaceful escape provided that the touts trying to extort money from foreigners in return for a prayer are avoided. The town itself has the now familiar small lanes lined with food, fabric and souvenir stalls plus the odd cow lying in the street and constant hooting from the rickshaws and scooters. Enough to drive anyone to insanity. Following a recommendation from a friend, I made and afternoon visit to Ajmer which was just 11km away. Whilst a much bigger town, it is famous for its mosque, the Dagar Sharif, which is one of the most important Islamic mosques in India. From what I understand, a Dagar is a mosque that is open to all, especially the poor and where people can genuinely pray and be close to their gods. The central building in Dagar Sharif houses the remains of an important Islamic gentleman from Saudi Arabia. Rather than people praying to the West, at this dagar, people towards this central building. A crowd of people patiently queue to make their offering and prayers to this most religious building. It is just one day after the Raqui festival, so there are many people visiting. The fact that no touts or guides have approached me sends a clear message to me that this is not a touristy town and this dagar is a deeply religious place where visitors are respected. My camera runs out of batteries, as I attempt to take my first photograph. I am not too disappointed as it encourages me to look properly around with my own eyes. I watch a group of men in one area sitting on the floor along a long mat. There are, perhaps, 40 of them, each dressed in white and transferring a nut from a large, communal pile in the middle of the mat to a pile of their own as they repeat a prayer. The whole place is busy, but serenely quiet. There are various areas where offerings are made, and others where people lie or sit and contemplate. There are many poor people who have sought refuge during the day time. This non-touristy visit left me feeling that I had obtained a small insight into the importance of religion to these people.
Back at my hotel, I was heading out to a café to quietly collect my thoughts from the past few days when the heavens opened up. Literally! Whilst waiting in the shelter at the hotel, I got talking to a Sikh gentleman and his sister who lived in Amritsar, but who had been in town for Raqui. After some time chatting, Satbir invited me to try on a Sikh turban, an offer and opportunity at which I jumped. Apparently I was the first person that Satbir had made this offer to. An hour later, I was wearing a mustard yellow coloured turban, which was wrapped from around 7 metres by 3 metres wide of cotton. After an extensive photograph session, together with my new friends, their uncle, their driver, and a member of staff from the hotel (acting as translator), I was invited for dinner at a restaurant in town, to which I proceeded (still bearing my turban!). This made for a both filling and fascinating meal and the generosity and warmth of Satbir will certainly be remembered.
The final stop in Rajasthan after Pushkar was Agra, the home of the Taj Mahal. I stayed in a peaceful, but nearby town called Bharatpur, which has a huge bird sanctuary. Agra itself, having one of the biggest attractions in the world is extremely touristy. I visited the Taj Mahal itself early in the morning in the hope of having a small extent of peace in which to enjoy it - and I did, for a while. The Taj Mahal really is as stunning and impressive as people say. It is set in vast, manicured gardens, with perfect symmetry from every angle both in the main, white marble buildings and across the four gates and the mosques that flank it. From every angle, the design of it manipulates the eye to show off its perfection, whether it be the designs on the pillars or perspective of one building through the arch of another. Even the minarets that flank the main building were built at a 3 degree angle so that if they were to fall over time, they would do so away from the mausoleum. The Taj Mahal was built by the (Islamic) Mughal Emperor, Shah Jahan as a mausoleum for his late wife, Mumtaz Mahal, who died during the childbirth of their 14th baby in 1631. It took 22 years to build, at the price of half of his (quite substantial) wealth. Upon completing it, he wanted to build a second, mirror image set of buildings (in considerable more expensive black marble) across the river from the Taj Mahal, however his eldest son, who by this point had the reins to the family fortune, banned him from doing so and locked him up at the palace/Agra fort! Upon his death, some 10 years later, his body was laid to rest next to that of his beloved wife.
The Agra Fort in itself is most extensive, presenting an excellent view of the Taj Mahal with huge detail. A visit to Fatepur Sikhri reveals another palace and Dagar. The extent of the forts, palaces and mosques in the Rajasthan region has proven to be hugely impressive from all aspects from design to construction. It is only a shame that some of them have not been maintained or restored to their original state. Given the fact that foreigners are charged up to 25 times that for the locals, it is not unreasonable to expect the revenues to be ploughed back into maintaining them. My visit to Rajasthan can have only scratched to surface to its magnificence and perhaps, one day I will be able to do it justice by exploring some of its more remote sights.

White skin tax

Raksha-Bandhan (or Rakhi for short) is the festival of sisters and brothers. The girls give their brothers and cousins bracelets and in return, the boys promise to look after the girls. To mark to occasion, over the rooftops, one can see the children flying kites. The whole sky is full of them, wavering about. It is quite a sight as the sun drops behind the fort.
Heading out of Jodhpur, there was some type of a procession or protest heading back into town. Groups from 1 to 12 people walk along with flags, dressed smartly, but brightly. In one of the groups, there is a man lying on the ground. At first, I hope that he is not injured, but as I approach, he can seen to be rolling along. Clearly, this is his protest. A man follows him, holding an umbrella over him to shadow him from the sun. He is still over 30km from Jodhpur!
On the subject of umbrellas, it is not uncommon to see a poor farmer in the countryside, dressed in the traditional orange turban and white shirt, with the shorts made from a wrapped around piece of fabric carrying a stick in one hand and a black English style brolly in the other! It is highly practical, yet looks strange. The roads are a fascinating place from which to see India. Women walk along the side of the road (also, often in the middle of it!) carrying heavy pots and other loads on their heads. They are perfectly poised and balance the vessels with ease. Sometimes, they place a ring on their heads and then carry the pots on top of that. If one stops to ask women by the side of the road for directions, they giggle and run away. I expect that the correct thing to do is to only approach the men. They, themselves are not much use as during a conversation, during which they are likely to point in all directions leading off of an intersection or to point and wave their hands around in such a way that their helpful suggestion is as clear as the water that fills the gutters here!
The next stop is Udaipur, a city of palaces, built around a beautiful lake. From all angles, the restaurants and cafés invite tourists to sit and watch the James Bond film 'Octopussy', which was filmed in the Palace in the centre of the lake. It is a stunning Palace, now turned into a hotel and only open to its guests. From a rooftop restaurant in the evening, the white palace reflects peacefully against the water in the lake. On the shore of the lake, the City Palace is stunningly lit up to show the intricacy of its design and its grandeur. The City Palace is a huge complex of buildings and courtyards. The views from the top, back over the lake do not disappoint. Being a major tourist attraction, there is little calm whilst wandering around it, and as with most of the Indian Palaces visited to date, the outside has fared time better than the inside. Upon exiting the Palace, the pressure to buy something from the touts rises. Whether it is food, gifts, hotels, a guided tour or a rickshaw, they are keen to sell their wares to the 'rich tourists'. Even the Palace itself imposes its own WST (white skin tax). It charges foreigners 10 times the local entrance fee as well as a relatively expensive premium for the privilege of using a camera once inside! This WST has been evident throughout India, and on principle, where possible, those sights are avoided (unless they are the major ones). It is a shame as it just makes tourists feel ripped off and constantly be on their guard for being taken advantage of!
Rant over and back out to the countryside.

Hey, Mister, your light is on!

Whereas I was previously greeted by waves when moving and mobs of locals when not, the most important message that is sent to me now is to 'warn' me that my headlight is on. For some reason or another, Indians never turn on their headlights during the day (and almost as rarely turn them on at night). Perhaps it's a power saving thing. In Europe, motorcyclists always ride with their lights on, and on my bike, it cannot even be switched off! This frustrates both the locals who wave their hands in a light bulb fashion to warn us and also me who is well aware of the fact that it is on! I have asked a couple of English speaking locals as to why they get so wound up about the lights affair but none can give me a halfway decent reason. Ho hum.
Riding across to Rajisthan, the colours of the saris, blowing in the wind against the backdrop of the desert sand were stunning. The horse and carts have been replaced by camels and the crowds of people from Delhi have faded away. Rural India seems to be much more traditional in terms of the clothing that people wear. The men wear shorts made from a sheet of fabric that is wrapped around their legs, loosely wrapped turbans in a full array of colours.
The main roads are well surfaced but veering off to a few short cuts lands us well off of the beaten track. The people now look genuinely amazed by the sight of our heavily loaded, oversized motorcycles. Whilst many of the children wave and call out as we pass by, others just look in shock! On these roads less frequented, the sand threatens to swallow them up. In places, all that is visible are tyre tracks. Sand riding on a motorbike is a novel experience to me as the tyres slip around, struggling to grip. The buildings look much more substantial than elsewhere. These are not rich people, but they are not living so densely. The houses are traditional, with curved walls and open cavities for windows.
Eventually, we pull into Jaisalmer, an intimate city in the West of India, within around 100km of Pakistan, which is overlooked by a fort. The alley ways are lined with shops and are perfect for meandering. Many of the hotels and restaurants have rooftops from which the fort can be viewed. This also relieves us from the busy streets with local shopkeepers pushing their wares.
Next stop was Jodhpur, around 300km back to the East. Jodhpur is significantly larger than Jaisalmer and is also overlooked by a fort. This is a much larger fort and is more or a tourist attraction than the fort at Jailsamer, where there is a town within the fort's walls. Jodhpur has a maze of narrow streets where rickshaws, motorcycles, pedestrians and shop-keepers shuffle for space. The true owners of the streets, though, are the cows. They take precedence over all and regularly stop in the middle of a congested alleyway for a lie down!
Around Jodhpur are a couple of other attractions such as Jaswant Thada, a marble memorial-come-temple to a Maharaja and Umaid Bhawan Palace, which is now a giant hotel.
Whilst in Jodhpur, a friend from home introduced me to a relative who lived locally. I was invited to join Mr and Mrs Gandhi and their family for dinner. To my delight, I was traditionally greeted by their son who marked a spot on my forehead, fed me a sweet biscuit and placed a flower necklace around me. After a more than ample feast, Mr Gandhi arranged for a press meeting and the next morning, my photograph, complete with commentary was on the front page of the local Rajasthan newspaper!

Northwest India

As soon as I had crossed the border, even though it had only been miles since leaving Pakistan, the temperature and humidity appeared to rise by a notch. The road surfaces improved massively, but with that comes faster (and crazier) driving by the locals. The trucks were not painted as colourfully as they had been in Pakistan, but there were differences apparent in the people. In Pakistan, there had been few women on the streets and those that were were hidden away behind face veils. Here in India, they sat peacefully on the back of scooters that were being driven by their husbands. They wear colourful saris and smile. A smile says a lot about contentment. The men wear western style trousers and shirts, which, I have to say was a disappointment after the traditional Pakistan dress (baggy 'ali-baba' trousers and 3/4 length shirts).
India seems like a relatively rich country in comparison to Pakistan. The roads and infrastructure are significantly better and the villages and towns are better arranged. In terms of the people, there seems to be many more poor people in India, apparent by the hygiene and begging. There are certainly more people here and it is much more densely populated than any of the other 18 countries that I have visited so far on this trip.
After a couple of hours' riding up toward the north-west region, I was greeted by my first serving of monsoon rain. When it rains here, it really rains. Visibility goes to nothing and you get absolutely drenched. The locals sensibly all pulled over by the side of the road to wait it out. It seems that it is an expected occurrence, with even the time being known (4pm). In future, I think that it would be wise to follow the locals' lead! They do, after all have the inside knowledge.
Riding through India felt strange at first. India is a very long way away from London and I had ridden all of the way here. The culture is hugely different and the cars, people etc, are also different. Some days I need to pinch myself to realise how far I have come!
There had been some monsoon floods in the north of India, causing quite a bit of damage. The villages here are so simple here with poor drainage that when it rains, the roads turn to rivers. I had heard about the floods on the news, but it wasn't apparent in any places that I visited.
The first destination in the Northwest was to be McLeodgung, the home of the Dalai Lama. There is more than just a strong Tibetan presence in this region and their peaceful outlook is much less intensive than that in other parts of India. Tourists have turned McLeodgung into something of a hippy town. It is up in the hills, above Dharamsalah. A comfortable retreat to both relax and to escape the heat and humidity. Tourists with dreadlocks like to 'find themselves' here, dressing in sarongs with their dreadlocks and piercings. As you can tell, not my scene, but a relaxed place to mooch around during the days.
Cows wandering in the streets and lanes in the Indian towns (and even cities) appears to be normal, although they end up eating all of the rubbish that the locals have discarded by the street sides. It seems that they are given equal rights to live in the city streets as people!
The next stop in Northwestern India was Shimla, another hill town, this time more substantial and really built into a steep mountainside. On the way across, monkeys were on the road-sides, giving both something to look at and something to dodge! The monkeys were also in the city of Shimla. Many of the houses have grilles on the windows to prevent them from coming in. There was even a monkey temple further up in the hills where the monkeys have free roam and harass the visitors for food, grasping at clothes (not from personal experience, but if you visit, a belt for your trousers is recommended!).
From Shimla, there was a fairly fast road down to Delhi, where, again, the crazy driving went up a notch, which a melee of cars, trucks, buses, bicycles and rickshaws all eagerly going about their business. Delhi, as you might expect is a massive, sprawling city. Upon eventually reaching the centre, I visited the Red Fort and a couple of museums and memorials to the Ghandi family. There were also some massive market streets, packed with people jostling and bargaining. From experience, I can confirm that this is an easy place to get lost in! Unfortunately, most of the items on sale were tat, so I didn't buy any souvenirs, much to the dismay of the shop keepers who were all keen for me to come in for 'just looking'.

Pakistan - India border

After a couple of uneventful days in Lahore, Pakistan, we made an evening visit to the famous border closing ceremony at Wagah, the border crossing between Pakistan and India.
At the ceremony, each of the two countries has something of a stadium set up for seating, divided with men on one side and women on the other. Each country blares out some national music. I couldn't hear the Indian music as it was drowned out by that of Pakistan - this is probably intentional. Unfortunately, the music wasn't terribly melodious and all that could be deciphered was the word 'Pakistan' every 3 seconds! As westerners, we were immediately shown to a special viewing area right at the front and soon after, the 'show' began. The guards were smartly dressed in formal army uniform and sporting turbans with fan-like trimmings. There was also a crowd warmer who egged on the audience to ensure that they were louder than the people on the Indian side. Around a dozen guards marched around aggressively, stamping their feed in a knee jarring manoeuvre. There was a certain extent of synchronisation between the two countries, but I think that the jist of the performance was a display of strength and anger towards the other country! Difficult to understand really. At one point, the gates between the two countries were opened (again, each gate targeted to be more ornate than the other) and the flag lowering section began. There was plenty of rope throwing, foot stamping, moustache twiddling and had realigning going on as well as a fair share of accelerated marching with legs raised high. All in all, an interesting show, but perhaps there was more hidden meaning that was not communicated to the viewer. After the ceremony, we took a rather colourful ride back into Lahore. Our taxi driver was somewhat psychotic, driving on the wrong side of the road and eager to pass anything that was or wasn't moving. We made it back to the hotel somehow or another.
The aim had been to return to the border the following morning to actually make the crossing, but a bout of sickness put it on hold for a day or two. Little more of Lahore was explored except for the Old City and main mosque, said to have a capacity of up to 100,000.
The border was finally negotiated without too much delay on the Sunday. There were absolutely no other people at the border that day, but a bit of standing around in the sweltering heat during the processing of the carnet de passage made sure that our first cold drink in India was not far away.

Nearly in Afghanistan

It seemed like a good idea at the time, so we decided to see how close we could get to Afghanistan and to see the famous Khyber pass.
Sitting on a bike without stopping, it can be difficult to judge the mood of the locals. All that you can go by are the children lining the streets. On the way to Peshwara, which is around 60km from the border with Afghanistan, it seemed to be changing from that in the North. Some of the children appeared to be picking up stones to throw at us! None of them actually did, but it is generally a clear sign of the thoughts that have been passed on from the parents. This made me a little pensive as to whether our visit to the North-West was a sensible thing to do, but many people that we had spoken to in the welcoming North had suggested that there would be no problem - and there were no problems. Everyone that we stopped and chatted to was very polite and welcoming, generally asking the usual questions of where we were from, where we were going, if we were on motorcycles (even though we were sitting on them at the time(!) and, of course, what we thought of the cricket. Our record audience was around 100 people when we were buying a pair of sunglasses, and, as usual, involved some police to clear the crowd! Often, we just get people standing next to us, staring. The solution to this is to just stare back, and seems to clear them after a couple of minutes. I can't see how seeing 3 bikers filling there motorcycles with fuel can be even vaguely interesting!
A couple of hours of riding later, we were in Peshwara, sitting in Afghan Carpets, drinking tea with the Colonel (as introduced by Stan, the tour guide that we had met in Kashgar and Charimabad). The Colonel was to arrange our visit to the border with Afghanistan, complete with a private armed guard! All was sorted out within half an hour and the next day, we were to leave for the 2 hour drive to the border.
Peshwara is a fairly big town, with a small centre, full of a whole range of shops, but especially motoring shops, so we took the opportunity to have a couple of things made for our bikes. In particular, we went in search of a painter to make a design on our bikes like those on the colourful trucks that we had seen everywhere on the roads along the KKH. An interesting couple of hours later, we were unable to get the painting done, but much wiser in terms of having seen trucks being built and 'decked' out.
Our visit to the Afghan border took us though the Khyber Pass. We were accompanied by an armed guard, but apart from the rather precarious driver of our car, all seemed to be pretty safe. Most of the area around the border is not controlled by the police but by some kind of an independent army called the Khyber Rifles. We got to within a kilometre of the border and this time found ourselves drinking chilled Coca Cola on the top of a hill overlooking the border itself. There was a surprising amount of traffic at the border, to the extent that I'd say that of the 17 borders that I have crossed to date, this was the busiest! Good job that we weren't crossing it!

Karakoram Highway

During our stay in Kashgar, my friend, Matt, from London, who we had met up with in Kyrgyzstan had miraculously managed to foil Chinese officials (albeit with some complications) and joined us at the hotel. We agreed to join forces for a while.
Leaving Kashgar, we headed along the perfectly surfaced roads for Tashkorgan, a fairly non-descript border control town in China. Like our entrance to China, this was a good 90km before the actual border and it was here that our passports were stamped out of the country. This was a fairly slow and inefficient procedure, but disappointingly involved us being supplied by a uniformed escort to the outer border.
A very dull 2 hours later, we finally got to the outpost and Matt, who had had to put his motorcycle onto a truck due to not having all paperwork in order managed to at last unleash his bike and ride it into Pakistan.
The Karakoram Highway (KKH) runs all of the way from Tashkorgan in China to quite some way into Pakistan, a total of around 800 miles.
The Chinese side of the road is perfectly surfaced but quite flat, whereas the Pakistan portion is much more winding with frequent landslides as it progresses through continuous mountain roads, following the Hunza River. The Pakistan portion of the Karakoram Highway presented many challenges and surfaces including mud, sand, floods, gravel, pot-holes and then immaculate surfaces! Karakoram means black mountain and is the only link for many communities to the rest of the country. It is quite a poor area, but in Pakistan, the locals are hugely welcoming. This to me somewhat by surprise as I had anticipated them to be slightly hostile towards westerners. Children line the streets greeting us (the education rate is quite low, so they were not at school). We have become familiar with a hand gesture that lets us know that we are riding during the daytime with our headlights on. The locals think that they are being helpful, but motorcycles in the west always use headlights both for visibility and because they are hard-wired to always be on. This sign is seen hundreds of time a day!
As soon as we crossed the border to Pakistan, via the Kunjerab Pass, the roads deteriorated to gravel and pot-holes. We were greeted by a sign saying 'Welcome to Pakistan, please drive on the left' (our last 11,000 miles had been driven on the right!) and a friendly border guard who waved us straight through. The real border was to be some 90km later in Sost. We progressed along the stunning mountain roads, eventually being stopped by a flooded piece of road, which at over 200m long was too risky to try to navigate with the bikes. Eventually, we loaded the bikes (something of a hairy manoeuvre in itself) into a truck to get across. The truck had absolutely no suspension at all and it was pretty uncomfortable riding in the container with the bikes, but it served the purpose. Unfortunately, we then couldn't find a suitable place to unload the bikes (it was almost 2m high without any type of a ramp), so had to stay in the truck for the 60km to Sost. After the 30km/h ride, and 1.5 hour stop as the truck ran out of fuel wait, we arrived in Sost in the pitch black. The border was closed but smiling faces welcomed us. Immigration held our passports for the night but waved us through to a hotel in the town. The next morning, we returned to immigration, sat down with the border guards whilst we filled in the paperwork and chatted before preceding to the customs office where we got our carnets stamped. It was so great to finally see some smiling faces after being in the Stans and China.
A carnet (or Carnet de Passage) is a guarantee that some countries require that declares that a vehicle being brought into a country will be taken out again. It basically states that if we don't take it out, we will pay up to five times the value of the bike. Hence, it's important to get it right! ...but things went smoothly enough and by 10am, we were on our way to Charimabad in the Hunza valley, where one of the guides from the tour groups in Kashgar had recommended that we visit.
The winding mountain roads continued and we passed truck after truck. In Pakistan, all of the trucks are painted and decorated in bright colours with pictures, ornaments, lights and dangling chains. They are quite a sight and it is amazing to see that it is ALL of the trucks.
In Charimabad, we stayed at a secluded hotel up in the hills, where we bumped into another of the Kashgar tours! We joined them for dinner and some illegal alcoholic drinks that had been smuggled in (Pakistan is a Moslem country). One of the girls in the group was so taken by our travels that she (Evelyn) asked if she could join us for a couple of days.
...so then we were four! After taking a look around the cobbled, steep alleys of the village and visiting the fort, we headed on down the KKH to the Sandor Valley. This was another winding road in stunning scenery, following the Ghizer River.
Seeing the reaction of a non-biker to the freedom of being on a motorcycle was fascinating and showed me how lucky I was to just jump on my bike everyday and go whichever way I pleased, when I wanted and to have an unobstructed view of the scenery.
Evelyn travelled with us for 2 days before we dropped her off in a City to meet up with the rest of her tour group. Afterwards, we pressed on Southwards to the bottom of the KKH, on our way to Peshawar, in the North-West region of Pakistan.

Kashgar

This was my fourth visit to China, but my first to the Western part of it. Kashgar is nothing like anywhere else that I have visited in the country with a real cultural mix of Urdu, Chinese and Moslem. In fact, it is predominantly Moslem over Buddhist. Street signs are in both Chinese and in an Arabic script and both languages are commonly used (although neither are understood by me!).
Wandering around the streets was fascinating with a range of scents from the street food stalls, many colours from the hat stalls. In common with previous visits to China, I noted that whilst the streets were fairly busy, when you stop to look around and listen, you notice that they are quite silent and everyone is just getting on with their own thing. It's a fairly untouristy city, although we did catch up with many westerners at the hotel, so it really did feel like we were on holiday.
We met a couple of tour groups that were staying at the hotel, who we joined for dinner a couple of times, exchanging stories and answering the usual questions of where we'd come from, if we'd really ridden all of the way from London... Surprisingly, over the couple of days that we were in China, we met a number of couples that had cycled around Asia or even all of the way from Europe!
During our stay in Kashgar, we were not allowed to use the motorbikes, but it was a welcome change to be tourists on foot, so we had a look around the Bazaars and visited the Sunday Livestock market, which was a real hustle and bustle of locals and animal trading. Great for some photo snapping!
...and then it was back to the hotel to prepare the bikes for the onward journey to Pakistan and the Karakoram Highway.