2011

Even in another country, I know the sounds of shoveling snow, snow plows, and even the type of light that sneaks through the window to let you know…SNOW!

Yep, 2nd day riding and I get about 3″ of snow along the top of the mountain. My morning greeting:

It’s about 3km of backtrack to where the road breaks to go North to the desert. I pass about a dozen trucks putting chains on their tires and only feel my own tire slip once.

Lunch, noodles, a soda, head North. Steady incline for majority of the day. I can’t help but think how all m photos are blue and white…blue and white…blue and white. Between thoughts of “how am I going to warm my fingers?!”

The day basically consists of this scenery without traffic. At the top of the mini pass (I say mini now because after Sichuan and Tibet, the mountains and passes are only hills and bumps to me) I see trucks pulled off and a police checkpoint to my right with a small town to the left. This is the town where the men in Songshu said I should stay the night because I will never make it to Yiwu.

Police checkpoints still make my heart race, a lump in my throat, and my vision gets a little shaky. I’m rattled but I come back down and remind myself it’s only Xinjiang. Yes, exactly, it’s ONLY Xinjiang. Last night was my first visit by the local police, on my first day riding in Xinjiang, to take care of my foreign residence in China. Always a pain in my butt!

I go past the trucks, pass the checkpoint, and there is a man standing in the road with the long Army green coat that reminds me of the gate keepers at Emerald City…if it was Olive Green City. “This place have accommodation?”

“Probably not”.

“I will look”.

It’s a small village and I pull in and ask the man on the motorcycle, a Kazakh, “this place have accommodation?”

“Probably not”.

I still have about 3 hours of light so I power up to the tip top of the pass and begin a slight descent. Fingers freeze…Fingers REALLY REALLY FREEZE.

Camels!

I can see a small town ahead with some new construction, grey concrete with a crane.

The sun is setting fast…the roads are freezing and nearly a sheet of ice. Although on this side of the mini mountains it’s not as bad as it was earlier. My hands are completely frozen after removing my 2 pairs of gloves to photograph the camels, that walked away from me.

I get off to walk because of the ice. School is getting out, it’s nearly 6pm. There is a school, must be a place to stay. Walking puts feeling back into my frozen feet and I can fist my hands up in my gloves. A man tells me there is zhusu around the corner. I don’t see it.

2 boys on a scooter ask if they can help me. I tell them what I need, they tell me there is nothing there. It’s really hard for me to believe this. So I say thanks and walk all the way through the town…I have about 15 minutes before it’s dark.

On the edge of town they return. They tell me they will help me. One boy stays with me, the other goes away on this scooter. He returns, nothing. He asks me what I’m going to do…I say go on, slowly. I say I have a tent and hope for an offer of one of their homes. Nope.

Gotta go. Go.

About a 1/4km down the road I look on and it’s very very barren. All I see are headlights and the dark blue. Riding at night, on ice…not so good.

I pull off the road and into a road tunnel. It’s just one of those ditches under the road that cattle/sheep pass through or water. It’s dry, not a lot of turds, it’s not a concrete one, so I could pitch my tent – as it’s nearly 7′ in diameter.

It’s dark. I begin to unbuckle my rear rack bag on the edge of the opening and I hear a gate closing. Shit. Shepherd.

I run in. I can hear the footsteps crunching over the ice towards me…I walk to greet him, only seeing a dark figure with an orange tip from a cigarette. He’s about 5′ and I greet him with “hello” so he knows I’m not Han and a foreigner.

“What are you doing?”
“Resting.”
“Where are you coming from?”
“Hami.”
“what country person are you?”
“America.”
“Are you cold?”
“Alright.”
“Come into my home over there”, as he points to the small rows of concrete structures.
“Okay, is your wife home?”
“Yes,” with a slight smile.

We walk over and I rest my bike, fully loaded minus the bar bag, outside. The door is guarded by a dog and a Kazakh woman steps out from a small concrete room. They exchange a short conversation and she smiles to me. I enter a room about 8’x 8′ with 3 small beds shoved against the back and side with a little boy and color television. I smile and say hello to the toddler and directed to sit next to the small coal burning stove.

Basic questions and conversation. I lie and say I’m 28…I’m struggling to figure out her age…she looks like she could be in her late 30’s with deep set forehead wrinkles…but I keep doing the math of a 4 year old…and the hidden newborn in the cradle in the back of the beds. It doesn’t make sense…this is crazy. They’ve been married for about 6 years…he looks my age. She is 28…should have lied more. I don’t care what kind of woman you are, where you come from, how you’ve lived…no woman likes to feel “Old looking” – even nomads. She’s had a rough life and very weathered. I’ve got to start saying 24 when I’m dealing with nomads/shepherd families.

She washes her hands!!!! Then begins to make dumplings with beef. Wow, she washed her hands, and he does too after handling the coal. This sure isn’t Tibet!

At one point the man rushes out, to return with a baby lamb that he shoves under the bed. It comes out, shivering and “bah”ing with some poo hanging off it’s rear. It’s still so young it’s wobbling around on the floor.

We watch t.v. with a little conversation, she is making dumplings with a break to breast feed…and the little boy and I are entertaining ourselves with little games of facial expressions.

I have to force the 3 bowl of dumplings down…after repeated “chi chi chi”. eat eat eat!

The great thing I have found about minorities is that they are really kind and helpful but won’t talk your ear off like the majority. We had some basic conversation and they were curious what the Kazakhs in Kazakhstan are like…I can not answer. I don’t know.

The father is wonderful with his children. Both parents are hunkered down over the new baby girl. The toddler frustrated, banging against the small table the tv sets on. During the dumpling making, he had taken her out of the small cradle, that she was strapped into and cuddled with her. Talking to her, snuggling his face into her. He sets her up against a pile of blankets with her wobbly little head. When mother is taking care of her, he devotes playing time with the little boy, who is jumping over the metal frame of the bed. At one point, crossing back and forth over it, I see him grab his crotch and whimper. ooops!

At one point the infant is in the fathers lap and she is looking at me with her wobbly head, and she begins to smile, drool, and make a high pitched noise. The parents notice this and smile. I smile.

After dinner there is a little tea, curds added. Strange but good. He apologizes for his home being so small, I feel so bad because my Chinese isn’t so good and I smile and say “it’s not a problem”. What am I supposed to say?

As the toddler gets ready for bed, as he takes off layers and layers of close, he gets a little attitude and starts playing some sort of game. I can’t help but start laughing, with a few tears rolling down my face. The parents smile at this but I can sense a feeling of “what’s that foreigner laughing at”.

It was a delightful evening where I got to warm up, literally, and warm up to a new group of people in China that I haven’t had any experience with. Trying to learn customs and figure out how to photograph this simple life. I did notice no baijiu…which is always a relief.

I leave my bike outside, a little apprehensive, and go to the room next to the heated living room. It’s a large room with a bed with beautiful weaved carpets and fancy looking blankets with embroidery. He stands on the bed once I’m settled in and removes the light bulb. Goodnight.