The devastation comes from a source far more recent and local—the government— who in 2009 implemented a demolition program, which set to knock down the majority of Kashgar’s Old City, a rabbit warren of centuries-old mud-brick homes that form the epicenter of Uyghur culture.

The government claims that many of the homes and structures in the Old City are poorly built and pose a threat to those who inhabit them should the region suffer an earthquake like that in Sichuan in 2008.

With this as their platform, the government has been urging locals to leave their homes and relocate to apartment blocks on the outskirts of the city, while the homes from the Old City are demolished, renovated or reconstructed to meet anti-earthquake standards.

However, many locals believe that the government’s move to bring in the bulldozers stems from motives far less benevolent. 

The Uyghurs form a Muslim majority in a city Beijing is intent on resettling with Han Chinese. Already the impact of resettlement is evident as the city makes way for identical apartment tower blocks, Chinese fast food chains and a culture based on the mass consumption of goods.

Many Uyghurs see this program of demolition and relocation as a way to control and monitor a minority group whose relationship with the Chinese government has historically been tense: many locals Uyghurs do not affiliate themselves with the Communist party and have never accepted being Chinese.

Furthermore, the Chinese government fears these separatist sentiments, given the proximity of the Pakistan and Afghan borders, could make Kashgar an ideal location for the seeds of Muslim terrorist groups to germinate and gain strength.

In 2009, Xu Jianrong, the deputy-mayor of Kashgar who was responsible for the reconstruction project, said in an interview with Stephen McDonnell of ABC News in Australia, “If you come back in five years to the core area of the old town of Kashgar, it’s special features will be preserved, every family will have a job, everyone will live in an anti-earthquake house, the basic infrastructure will be completed and people’s lives will have greatly improved”.

Though it has not been five years, it has been three. And what we saw was not the reconstruction of a city but rather its destruction. Children play on piles of bricks and rotting wood planks in abandoned building sites while the apartments meant for relocation already begin to show the signs of wear. Structures stand hollowed out with walls collapsed and windows that stare out at you like gaping wounds as people sift through the rubble of what was once a home.

The city is being reduced to a shell, or shadow, of its former self. What once was an oasis for travelers and traders, a sanctuary offering refuge and respite from the cruelty of the surrounding landscapes, now faces extinction after 2000 years.  Once it disappears it can never be recovered and another piece of history and culture is obliterated for the sake of profit, power and progress.

So, what is the spirit of Kashgar? In a word: tradition.

The way things are done in the Uyghur community within the Old City walls are the way things have been done there, more or less, for hundreds of years.

People make or harvest goods that they sell at the market or in the bazaar, sheep are a valued form of currency and donkeys are still, for some, the preferred method of transport.

People’s lives are dictated by this sense of tradition from the clothes they wear and the jobs they hold, which are often passed down from one generation to the next, to the way in which they worship or spend their hours of leisure.

Also embedded in this tradition is, in some regards, a truer version of capitalism. In the streets of the bazaar or the famed Sunday market, a consumer has the choice of countless stalls from where to buy their goods. And, their choice doesn’t end there. To a certain degree, consumers choose the cost of these goods as they haggle for a mutually agreed upon price with the vendors.

This way of life has little room in the new world order dominated by name brands and mass-produced goods, where style, price and choice are predetermined.

The threat to the Uyghur’s Kashgar is not so much the Han Chinese sent to settle in the area, tempted by cheap housing and subsidies, or the government per say but the multinational corporations that stamp out any other way of life that does not prescribe to it or feed into its machine.

In the case of Kashgar, tradition does not sync with “progress”, and though I would like to think we could come back in ten or even five years time and find the Old City untouched and people going about their way of life undisturbed, sadly I find it doubtful as much of the Old City has already been reduced to rubble with more of it set to follow suit.

Now mixed in with the sense of tradition that permeates the streets of Kashgar, like the smell of wood burning in the stoves of the stalls, is a sense of fear of what’s to come.

Kashgar teeters on the edge of a precipice. What the other side holds is its preservation or demise.

As we approach one store, the sound of hammers announces the workshop of blacksmiths.

Inside the mud-brick walls, skilled smiths use sledgehammers to shape heated steel into the head of a hoe.

Farm tools make up the majority of what the blacksmiths produce. Much of their wares will be sold at the Sunday market as well as other smaller village markets that surround Kashgar.

In each workshop, one finds generations of blacksmiths working together: apprentices watch closely as young men sharpen axe heads while older, more experienced smiths are in charge of the ovens, hammers and anvils.

One of the remarkable things about Kashgar is just how deeply tradition runs through every aspect of the Uyghur way of life, from the markets and food to the making of tools.

Unfortunately, as with so many aspects of Uyghur culture, it’s preservation is an uphill battle against the influence of the East. Much of the Old City is set for demolition and the threat of change is around every corner.

Still, until that time, the living history that is the Old City of Kashgar is safe for another day and its traditions are allowed to be passed down from one generation to the next.

Here, men gather before and after prayers for black tea and bread, which they soften by dipping into their cups.

Pots of tea are heated over wood-burning stoves. Smoke and steam mingle in the air, catching the odd ray of light that manages to come in from the window and into the dimly lit rooms.

Furnishings and décor are sparse; wood cabinets store pots and cups while elevated wood platforms serve as the seating area.

Patches of faded color hint at one-time painted walls and doors.

Many of the patrons are men in their fifties and sixties who come to enjoy the warmth and company of the tea house.

Topics of discussion generally revolve around day-to-day life or religion when the imam from the neighboring mosque appears.

As with many of the establishments in the Old City, the teahouses are an endangered species, threatened by demolition as well as new modern breeds of tea and coffee houses, selling imported goods and catering to the younger generation.

The character and feel of these traditional teahouses is undeniable. Stepping into one, as with so many places in Kashgar, is like stepping back in time.

Or rather, perhaps it is better said that these teahouses are timeless, unaffected and unconcerned by the passage of time, at least for now. Hopefully, as new high-rise towers continue to sprout up throughout the city, it will remain that way.

About 45 kilometers to the south east of Kashgar is the small village of Han Irik, which lies on the outskirts of the desert and is home to a Monday market famed for its cows and donkeys, though when we were there, sheep seemed to rule supreme in comparison to other livestock.

Five kilometers or so from the market, the two-lane, poplar lined highway begins to fill up with motorbikes and donkey carts piled with people, sheep, chickens and anything else that can be sold at the market. The number of donkey carts far outnumbers cars or busses on the approach to the village; the speed of traffic slows to match their pace.

Once there, a myriad of goods and services are for sale or open for negotiations as, for all Uyghurs, haggling seems to be a pastime akin to baseball in America or football in the UK. Anything from superglue to twine, farm equipment to pigeons, or cats to carpets are offered up for sale at the open air stalls that comprise the market, which lays just off the side of the highway.

A main attraction of the market is the barbers who come to provide their services to the local farmers. With straight razors, heads are given a close shave while scissors trim mustaches and beards.

Throughout the market, smoke and steam rise from the wood burning stoves and pots on the fire respectively as vendors make handmade noodles or prepare cow head soup, manta (steamed meat dumpling) samsa (baked meat pie), polo, roasted mutton, chickpeas, fried fish and a host of other foods for the farmers and their families.

“Kassa!” (come in!) can be heard echoing throughout as sellers invite potential customers to their restaurant or stall.

Though famed for its cows and donkeys, the cash cow of the Han Irik Monday Market is the sheep, with a high-quality breeder sheep bringing in as much as 1-2 million RMB, or roughly about 167,000 USD.

That may seem a pretty penny for an animal with the lifespan of around 8 – 11 years. However, when you see the countless mutton stalls both at the market in Han Irik and on the streets of Kashgar where butchers are known to make 3,000 RMB a day (500 USD), the high asking price begins to seem less steep.

Also popular in the market are donkeys which, for many of the farmers serve not only as work animals for the field but also as their primary method of transportation. They are strong, relatively fast and eat less than horses making them, at a going price of anywhere between 2000 and 3000 RMB (330 – 500 USD), an economical and efficient choice.

The market is not only a place for commerce but for gossiping, mingling and catching up with family and friends. It is at the very heart of the Uyghur traditional way of life and it’s fortunate that these pockets of culture still exist relatively uninfluenced and untouched.

The Uyghurs have a phrase, “de khan”, which roughly translates to “farmer king” in English. It refers to people who are free from the toils of city life; they are their own masters and rich from the fruits of their labors.  A visit to the Han Irik market begins to show you that wealth has many faces and does not always come in the form of iPhones, designer clothes or advertising but in family, culture, community and, of course, sheep.

Though perhaps no longer a stopover for travel weary merchants, Kashgar, and particularly it’s Sunday Market, still attracts thousands of farmers from surrounding villages who come the city to sell their produce and animals.

It is said that Kashgar’s population increases by 100,000 every Sunday for the market, which perhaps is true in the summer months when the warmer weather is more inviting and the day has an earlier start.

In the heart of winter, however, things don’t get started until well after midday Beijing time (about 10 am local time) when the sun is finally high enough in the sky to provide both warmth and light. At least two or three time zones to the west of Beijing, Kashgar runs on a local time more attuned to the city and the rising and setting of the sun despite the official decree of Beijing clocks being the official time for all of China.

However, regardless of the cold and delayed start, thousands of men and women (though perhaps not 100,000) make their way to the market to eat, socialize, haggle, shop, or get a shave.

Here, garlic sellers draped with ropes of garlic walk throughout the market, eager to make a sale.  On a street corner, men discuss the quality and price of shoes.

Amidst the call of the vendors, women in all variety of scarves and dress come to inspect the goods and buy the necessities of the week to come.

Richly covered fabrics hang from stalls and against the mud-brick walls surrounding the market.

At the height of the day, the streets are so crowded with people that it’s easy to get swept away by the current of moving bodies as they steadily stream by the stalls.

With so many people walking through the market, its essential that the vendors help each other in keeping an eye out for thieves.

Locals will tell you that the market is not as traditional as it once was, and it’s easy to see why as whole sections of the market are devoted to refrigerators and other major household appliances.

Neighbor to stalls selling spices and nuts are stalls specializing in cheap plastic tack from, no doubt, the larger metropolises of the east.

It reminds one more of a cheap dollar store than an old, exotic market seemingly at the world’s end.

Nevertheless, the market, as with all of Kashgar,  is still an excellent place to experience a culture more akin to Central Asia and the Middle East than China proper and where the art of buying, selling and haggling is as old as the city itself.

This time of year is brutal for booking tickets and traveling in general around China as millions of people take advantage of their one to two week holidays during the Spring Festival season.

However, although the majority of the day was spent in a booking office, we did get a chance to get out and wander around the old city streets.

Today was Friday, which meant the Idkah Mosque was full of activity as people from the surrounding villages came to pray, socialize and of course engage in the age old Kashgar ritual of buying and selling produce, livestock and goods.

More than one sheep could be seen tied to a post, most likely a lay-over on its way to the meat stall.

Tomorrow we’ll try to explore the old, residential area of the city where much of the homes lie in ruins due to a recent earthquake, government reconstruction and relocation projects.

 Until later…

Immediately stepping off the bus and into the Kashgar afternoon sun you feel like you’ve not only crossed mountains and desert but a border into an entirely different country.

Kashgar is an old city dating back almost 2000 years and life in the Uyghur section of town seems largely unchanged.

Bazaars bustle with activity; donkey carts run along busy streets and the Idkah Mosque, the heart of the old city, serves as a gathering place for young and old alike where you can get your picture taken on a camel or horse for only a few RMB.

The streets around the mosque and the neighboring old city are truly a throwback in time. Traders, bakers and artisans attend to their business and craft in front of mud-brick walls and storefronts.

Shops burst with knives, jewelry, silks, carpets, vegetables, legs of lamb, hats, pots and pans, kettles and boots. Shopkeepers are open for negotiations and are proud to show you their handcrafted wares.

The only reminders that you are still in China are the occasional red flag and, of course, the 59-foot steel-reinforced statue of Chairman Mao in the city center.

Encircling the older part of the city are more modern and less aesthetically appealing structures, which serve as homes to banks, shopping centers and hotels, and sit in stark contrast to the tradition found within the old city walls.

With a population of around 2.3 million people, Urumqi is a Central Asian melting pot though the two predominant ethnic groups are the Han Chinese and the Uyghur, a Turkic ethnic group living in Eastern and Central Asia.

Our main purpose in stopping over in Urumqi was to catch a train to Kasghar. We assumed this would be a simple enough task as we were informed there were three trains that left for Kashgar daily.

We optimistically made our way to the bustling train station only to find 50 deep queues of people, mostly Han Chinese, at each teller window.

After an hour or so of waiting we left the station disappointed. There were no train tickets to Kashgar for the next ten days.

Our next stop was the bus station. Equally alive with activity the bus station had a completely different feel.

Much less chaotic and stressful, within ten minutes we had two tickets to Kasghar. Travel time: 23 hours on a sleeper bus.

Though Urumqi is a Central Asian melting pot, a divide seems to exist within the city, which was clearly visible by visiting the two major methods of transportation in the area.

The train station customers and employees were mainly comprised of Han Chinese while the bus station was mostly operated and used by the Uyghur minority group.

The bus is by far the cheaper and less convenient way to travel. Narrow rows of “beds” line the upper and lower levels of the bus. Movements are constrained and comfort is minimal.

However, it’s a lively trip filled with music, food and a generally happy atmosphere. And, as with the train, it’s an incredible way to see the countryside and perhaps catch a glimpse of wild camels grazing on a desert plain.

For now, onwards to Kasghar.

Until then…

You can truly appreciate the vastness and the diversity of the landscape as well as the people who inhabit it.

Leaving from Beijing West Station you begin to see the ethnic diversity not often associated with the country.

Another feature of the trains here is that they are dependable and run, for the most part, like clockwork.

Though the trains cater to thousands of passengers, things generally work in a surprisingly orderly fashion with uniformed train workers ready to check tickets and get passengers to where they need to be.

Upon leaving Beijing you begin to see a different part of China. The buildings are dated and often run down.  A grey haze, part pollution and part fog, settles over the more industrialized suburbs where the shiny new gleam of Beijing has yet to reach, if it ever will.

Afterwards, the mountains appear where rivers wind through the valleys and villages carve their livelihood from the land. And then, comes the desert, the vast and endless desert that lasts for two days and seems to stretch for a lifetime in every direction. It’s hard to imagine that caravans made this trip regularly with camels and horses along the Silk Road to buy, sell and trade their wares across the empires. Or rather, it’s hard to imagine how they were able to make the voyage at all.

Then, from out of the desert the snow capped mountains creep in closer from the north, and the smoking factory towers of Urumqi appear in the distance: civilization once again and respite from the dry and inhospitable landscape of the northern fringes of the Taklamakan desert, whose name, translated roughly, means, “Once you go in, you never come out.”

Thank goodness for trains and Urumqi.

 Until later…