The Silk Road - Walking With Abdullah

The day of four seasons began in earnest with a hearty breakfast and promises made by Yvonne to obey Abdullah. In between mouthfuls of bacon and eggs, Mom listened intently to every word he said as he knelt down in front of her on the thick Xinjiang carpet. He presented her with a gift of  delectable pomegranates. His beautiful face, earnest. His warm voice, a tone or two deeper. Listening to him gently but firmly explaining, in no uncertain terms, what she needed to do that day in order to make the outing a success. Of prime importance was getting Mom accustomed to the extremely high altitudes we would later experience. Yvonne, in awe of Abdullah and already firm friends, received her sentence from our incredible guide. She was not to leave the bus until receiving the green light from this remarkable young man. The man who had taken it upon himself to escort Yvonne safely to Mount Muztagh Ata – a 7546 metre peak which lies at the centre of the great mountain ranges of Asia. To the south, is the Karakoram Range, the Pamir Range lies to the west and the Kunlun and Tian Shan Ranges to the north. The peak has incredible views of K2. When Yvonne started making noises about seeing K2, I reminded her that we needed to take one step at a time …

With layer upon layer of clothing, suitable for each phase of the journey, we boarded the bus for the trip of a lifetime. A fair amount of trepidation silently slipped in beside me as I remembered the lack of oxygen on hand if needed. We had made it this far with ease. The trip had been a joy. As I snuggled down into my seat, Yvonne made herself comfortable in the seat especially designated for her. Right up front. Her view, completely unobstructed. Her smile, that of an excited child, could not hide her emotions. Another of her dreams was to become reality. That of exploring part of the Karakoram Highway which leads to Pakistan.

The mountains on either side of the road were rugged. Stark. Inhospitable. Yet they exuded an aura of beauty interwoven with intense power. We came upon extensive flat plains. Fields spanning 40 000 hectares of chilli peppers which, in the dry summer season, present their own dark red tapestry. It is here in Xinjiang that farmers produce 16 varieties of chilli peppers. During the day, the stones covering the ground are as hot as hell - Nature’s intrinsic method of drying out the chillies. Whilst at night, the stones release the heat, continuing the cost-effective process. The red gems are used in foods, spices and as pigment in cosmetics. 

We headed out along an extremely straight road. One lined on both sides with huge Birch trees. Donkey carts dotted the horizon. Loaded with people and every possible object imaginable. Women walked slowly in their colourful  fabrics. The past alive and fully operational. Streams rippled beside the road. Their icy waters caressing large round stones which have witnessed time as she makes her way through the centuries. Scenes such as those appear only in paintings. Or so I thought. Ahead, in the distance, snow-covered mountains appeared. Watching over us as we made our way through the seemingly endless avenue of trees. This beauty was ours to behold, only thirty minutes into what was to be a ten-hour drive. Excitedly I wondered how much more Mother Nature would share with us. For her splendour in that moment was superb.

Travelling through those wide open spaces under a canopy of crystal clear skies, the warmth of the bus enveloped me, nurturing my soul. For months I had craved this state of mind. However, in the bustle that is everyday Beijing life, it was difficult to attain. If not impossible. Observing my mom across the aisle, her happiness too, was complete. The difference being, she was in pilot mode and concentrating on plotting directions and altitudes. 

Stopping in a picturesque village, the first thing we noticed was probably the woman who held the key to our happiness at that moment. Having no doubt that she had been producing piping hot Naan bread since before daybreak, the vote was unanimous. We simply had to support her. Yvonne obeyed the order from Abdullah to remain seated on the bus. Part of her acclimatisation to the higher altitudes.

Our lady put her heart and soul into perfecting our order. Flat and circular with patterns created on it, our Naan bread was devoured in an instant. Yvonne’s face lit up as I delivered her parcel of crispness. She smiled throughout the eating process. Those heavenly breads are traditionally baked in a special clay oven known as a tandoor. The size, shape, and seasoning of the Naan may differ between cities and even vendors. 

An elderly man was baking different shaped breads next door. Watching him was a marvel in itself. A somewhat nerve-wracking one as he reached deep into the fiery pit and literally slapped the dough onto the walls of the oven. Minutes passed. We drooled. Yvonne stared from within the bus. The circular mounds of dough expanded and turned a rich golden brown. There was nothing quite like gripping the hot bread between icy cold fingers, whilst being caressed by warm sunshine. Within minutes a new batch had to be made. 

With every kilometre travelled, we climbed higher and higher into the mountains. Passing the odd heavy-duty trucks carrying their loads between China and Pakistan. No doubt, also providing a vital link between communities along the way. Some of the world’s most dangerous driving conditions occur on certain parts of the highway. Requiring nerves of steel. Parts of the road were washed away due to the heavy rains. In Abdullah’s words, “This area is a  living museum for global warming.” Loneliness and exhaustion on the long journeys resulted in many accidents. The evidence was strewn all along the Karakoram Highway. A harsh reminder to all. One or two sightings of what had once been a truck, left me reeling. Somebody’s loved one, no longer. We came upon a checkpoint along the route. Frustrating to say the least. Not because we had to stop for forty minutes, standing in the cold whilst they checked all documents – that was a blessing as we could  appreciate the fresh air and the scenery. The frustration was due to checkpoints banning cameras. That pristine environment with no way of capturing it through the lens.

An extremely narrow and winding road led us through ancient valleys. Sheer cliffs on either side, reaching up, forever in search of the sun. Looking down upon us as we meandered through their passage of time. The majestic mountains exposing their coats of red, green and grey hues. Forming a barrier of protection along the almost dry riverbeds. Only six weeks before, Pakistan had experienced devastating floods caused by the monsoons. The rivers we drove along had also come down in flood. Evidence of the severe damage caused, stared at us as our skilled bus driver negotiated the huge gaping wounds in our already narrow road. It was best to ignore the scenery at such times, I found. Preferring to close my eyes and ask any power listening, for help and protection. For many kilometres thereafter, we faced treacherous deviations. Every now and then, I would peep at my incredible surroundings before asking for more help. More protection. Snow-covered mountains, in their gentleness, seemed to feel my anguish as they gazed upon us from a distance.

A few weeks before this Silk Road journey, whilst flying from Cape Town to Beijing, Yvonne had looked out the window and seen what seemed to be a mammoth mountain of sand, its peak scattered in snow. In the desert. With her level of curiosity, she researched this specific mountain. To discover that it was indeed the famous Kumtag Mountain, situated in the Kumtag Desert. This desert, a section of the Taklamakan Desert, approximately 160 kilometres in length from north to south, is covered by shifting dunes. Tall mountains break the fierce winds that blow across desert sands in this region. The sands are then whipped up to form monstrous dunes.

We climbed steadily into the heart of the mountains. With each tight bend in the road, I held my breath. For reasons other than being fearful. The scenery was utterly magnificent. Mother Nature presenting herself in her various robes of splendour. Her finest riches. It occurred to me then that within each chapter of this incredible journey, we had experienced more and more of the best. Each day brought new wonders. What we had seen, in terms of scenery alone, was beyond any expectations we may have had. I was more than satisfied with what I’d seen that morning, despite being anxious about the roads, when suddenly she appeared before us. The exquisite Kumtag Mountain. Complete silence permeated the bus. In absolute awe of the beauty surrounding us. Yvonne was stunned. Standing in absolute supremacy, was the exact epic sand dune she had seen from the air. I thought I saw a tear or two rolling down those smiling cheeks.

Kumtag means White sand-mountain in Uyghur - a dialect of the Turkish language and spoken throughout Xinjiang. Standing in stillness, for what seemed an eternity, I gazed across at Mount Kumtag. She held us in wonderment. Her unusual colours, varying shades of grey and earth tones, reflected in the crystal waters of the lake below. A sight I will carry with me forever. I truly felt at times, that we were on another planet.  Even the icy air which stole my breath as I tried to comment, couldn’t drag me back to the warmth of our bus. 

At times such as those, one realises just how small we humans are. And … just how much spectacular natural creation still awaits us to explore and to understand. The journey that day made me stop and re-think the magnitude, the splendour and the mysteries of our planet. What power designed the earth and her patterns. Her landscapes. One can only wonder at the miraculous creation that is Earth.

In this beautiful area situated in the Tajikistan highland, we passed groups of Kazakh yurts. Dotted against exquisite backdrops of snow-covered mountains, they sat in silence. Surreal in appearance. A sacred symbol of family unity and shelter. Having clearly taken their natural surroundings into consideration, these portable dwellings, the yurts, are made of hides for warmth in the bitterly cold season and to keep the dwellers cool in summer. Being portable, the yurts are packed up and moved as the folk travel in search of greener pastures for their livestock. 

At times, the earth was so barren, one wondered what life could possibly survive there. Only, to then come upon a young girl in her home environment. One of extreme harshness. Yet it was home. It provided shelter. It was her reality. She waved at me as we drove past slowly. I wished we could stop and share time together. I wanted to learn more about her daily life, her thoughts and her aspirations. I wanted to know if they ever enjoyed fresh vegetables or if she went on playdates. An elderly woman was seated on the earth beside the house. Sitting in the sun. A simple life it seemed. Peaceful, but tough no doubt, taking into consideration their environment. Living in the shadow of those barren mountains. Majestic, but somewhat daunting. 

 

The day was packed with marvels. Each one more exquisite. More thrilling. We had driven 200 kilometres from Kashgar. Weary from an obvious lack of oxygen, but beaming with excitement. Each bend in the road produced gasps of amazement. We were amid towering snow-covered mountains, when suddenly the dramatic and spectacular Mount Muztagh Ata appeared before us. A jaw-dropping sight. I literally wanted to cry. Not sure why. But I felt once again, that we were on another planet. The entire surrounds were surreal. Such beauty did indeed exist. The fact that Mom and I had made it to this remarkable place in the world was quite overwhelming. 

The bus pulled up in an area beside Lake Karakul. Yurts were situated nearby. Welcoming and warm. After a briefing by Abdullah, every layer of clothing was added to our bodies. Our companions left the bus one by one. The right hand of Abdullah lifted into the air in front of Mom. Anxiety flooded my being. Would she be able to cope with the lack of oxygen whilst being outdoors. He explained that the main yurt had oxygen and that after only twenty minutes of being outdoors, Mom was to be in that yurt. No arguments. Mom simply smiled. I worried.

Whilst walking around Lake Karakul, at 3900 metres above sea level, a sense of disbelief engulfed us. The world’s highest alpine lake lay before us. Her icy cold waters displaying shades of dark green, azure and light blue. Fed by glaciers, her waters are so cold that even the fish don’t survive. It was astonishing however, to see the odd horse having a swim. We stopped every few metres to either take photos or for Mom to breathe. Everyone on the trip was concerned for her health and diplomatically took turns to look out for symptoms of breathlessness. Such friendship had developed whilst sharing our experiences along the Silk Road. 

After twenty minutes, Abdullah joined us. Mom politely told him she had no need for a mask or oxygen and that she was having way too much fun being outdoors. He smiled his beautiful smile. Taking her arm gently and remaining at her side whilst we continued our walk-about. He himself, a fabulous photographer, stopped to capture the moments. I will forever be grateful that we shared that phenomenal trip with Abdullah. A man of honour. A man I’m happy to call my friend. Our stomachs were growling. The temptation of local food and warmth won us over. The meal in the yurt was splendid. Copious cups of hot tea washed down succulent lamb, vegetables and Naan bread. No sooner had we eaten when we headed out into the cold once more.

Standing before Lake Karakul, we watched the reflection of yet another mammoth creation, the spectacular Mount Muztagh Ata, dancing across the surface. The highest mountain in the area, Muztagh Ata, peaks at 7546 metres above sea level.  On this incredible mountain are 128 glaciers. The name of the mountain in Uyghur, The Father of Ice Mountain, refers to the  glaciers resembling the white hair and whiskers of an old father.

Once again, I was in awe of our location. That day I saw some of the greatest scenery the world has to offer and it was mine to behold. Exotic natural landscapes. Virgin forests, glaciers, snow-capped peaks, alpine lakes and  deserts to name a few. In one day. After almost two hours spent beside the lake in the presence of Muztagh Ata,  we made ourselves comfortable in the warm bus and headed back to Kashgar. But not before Abdullah sneaked in one last photo opportunity.

Looking back at Muztagh Ata through the huge window beside my seat, I bid the stately old man farewell. Recently, my eldest daughter Debbie, shared  some very personal wisdom with me. She told me that she never feels afraid when  alone in nature. “Nature supports me Mom. It offers me protection. I know I am cared for when at one with my natural surroundings.” Those mammoth mountains, stark and at times treacherous, supported us that day and will continue to do so for centuries to come.

To be continued …