25/8/25
During our breakfast we met Asier. A Spanish cycle tourist who had been hidden in his room, ill, when we arrived. He was waiting for his friend, who was having an awful time trying to cycle in Xinjiang. Police were making it very difficult for her. It made us feel better about having skipped.
Walking south from the hotel we discovered a heavily Han Chinese neighbourhood. We thought we observed a higher concentration of security personnel. Going into a supermarket wasn’t even possible with a rucksack.
After our morning caffeine we headed over to the mausoleum of Yusup Has Hayip. A famous Turkic poet who died in the city in 1077. The original building, constructed in 1865, was destroyed in the Cultural Revolution. The building we could see displaced a subsequent school and was built after Mao’s death. It was ‘fortunate’ that the new building hadn’t been torn down, yet.
Making our way out to the road, we noticed barricades being set up. Armed police parading around. To the people here it seemed like the most normal thing in the world. Not a place we’d want to inhabit. Unlike other cities, we couldn’t use Alipay to board the bus. It was WeChat or nothing. The driver just waved us on for free.
About 5km northeast of the city was another mausoleum. Afaq Khoja historically defined the province of Xinjiang. As a leader of Sufism, a branch of Islam, adherents stayed loyal to his teachings long after his death, revolting in the name of his teachings more than 150 years after his death. Northern Xinjiang, historically Dzungaria, was populated by the Han Chinese after a genocide in 1758. At the same time as the people of southern Xinjiang began their revolts to last more than 100 years. One could easily see the current oppression as a modernised genocide. Han Chinese will very soon outnumber Uyghur people.
Adding insult to injury, the local government had built a ridiculous scenic spot ‘disneyland’ around the ca. 1640 built mausoleum. Heads down, we ignored all the loosely related rubbish about the ‘fragrant concubine’, and walked straight to the tombs. More than 70 ornately shaped ‘logs’ were visible above the ground. Their size and height above the ground indicating the importance of the family member.
Over a nearby fence was a large graveyard full of identically shaped but plain tombs. Local people are still allowed to use it, unlike the complex of Afaq Khoja, which included a locked mosque. We endured an irritatingly loud tour group and their shouting inside in the mausoleum. It was hard not to find it incredibly disrespectful. The culture of the Han Chinese was grating in a place of such extreme oppression. There was even an exhibited model ‘ethnic house’ to show how unsafe and uncivilised their accommodations used to be.
Number 33 bus took us back to the centre. The bus was packed, almost entirely Uyghur people. After some people got off we took a seat. The diversity of the people was mind blowing. A man with a fedora and a very pale face sat staring, intrigued by Jonathan’s face. We got off at the Id Kah mosque. The square had once been a hive of activity, packed with market sellers. Now it was bare. Stripped back to being a ‘modern’ city square. Sellers had been shifted to purpose built areas at the sides.
Inside the mosque was slightly underwhelming, but still a quiet haven hidden away. The gate had a small dome and it was the only place we’d been asked for our passports so far. Hundreds of thin trees filled the area to reach the prayer hall. The visitors area was small, turning the mosque into a tourist attraction wasn’t favoured by the local people. Back outside the mosque, under some trees, sat many people. Mostly older and wearing a religious hat of some kind. Jonathan was the only bearded man around. Having a beard had been labelled as an extremist act, as was wearing a hijab.
Kashgar was once home to a British consulate. An outpost to secure the interests of the empire that dominated the south of the Asian continent and protect from Soviet intrusion. All part of the Great Game. Tucked behind the enormous eponymous Qinibagh hotel northwest of the Old City area, was a scaffold defended building. An explanatory notice board was all covered up. It didn’t look like a promising situation for the early 1900s building.
Scoffing our face with some fresh honey like figs we walked towards a shopping centre. On the way we passed another construction area, behind the fencing was a section of the old city wall. It was actually being made into a little park. As though it was appropriate to preserve a small part, just as modern cities often have. Jumping forward in time was a Chinese specialty.
After getting briefly lost in an underground shopping mall we scoured a supermarket for some dry food to take with us on the next leg. Children’s noodles were small, therefore easy to cook, and heavily fortified. We also bought some oats.
For dinner we headed back to eat in the New Old City. The perfect Disneyland. It had vendors shouting left right and centre. Yoghurt being hurled into the air. Giant woks. And of course spinning meat kebabs. It was nigh on impossible to determine what was traditional and what was an invention. We ate cold pulled noodles. A local customary food so we understood. Then took some fried tofu and overcooked deep fried mushrooms back to our room.