Xinjiang China to Kazakhstan

From Mongolia the crossing into China again had a strange feel. I was aware that the region had a reputation for strict checking on free-roaming tourists so I was determined to stick to hotel-only rules (despite having set an unrealistic schedule to cover over 300 kilometres in two days to reach my VISA-designated hotels).

I bowled into the tiny border town of Takashiken for the first night, paid my yuan for the night, checked my cash supply and realized I needed a bank or ATM before the next hotel (my backup payment options of Wechat or Alipay had disappeared with my lost phone).

Morning saw ever decreasing circles around Takashiken looking for a bank or ATM, terminating in the desperate search for the "glass shop in the market which may be able to change US dollars". No luck.

Google maps had registered a China Post "bank"110 kilometres away in a small village on the road to Qinqhe. Head down, fingers crossed I barrelled through barren Gobi until I came to the tiny settlement. Two boys on bikes guided me to the China Post. Post only, no bank.

With darkness falling my only option was a well hidden free camp. I spotted a small herd of camels up a narrow twisting valley.  The camp was peaceful and perfect, with a small herd of horses grazing nearby.

As I rode out next morning I realized I had two options: 1 to head south to the major city Urumqi, or 2 to free camp and hope for water. 

Then Karma slipped into place in the form of two touring bikes headed towards me. Belinda and Tizian German bike tourers heading for Mongolia. I had the remains of my Mongol cash, they had yuan, problem solved. I had enough supplies and the yuan covered water costs to the Kazakhstan border. My mood lifted.

Along with my mood the whole geography of the Xinjiang began to change. The huge Kalasuke Resevoir began feeding water changing desert brown to green. Huge fields of sunflowers appeared. The border to the Beitun county area had a large modern transport rest stop and shop. I sat in the shade with a dozen or so cold drinks. Local families lined up for selfies and to hear my story. I could hear X?nx?lán being repeated at other tables (probably the only Chinese word I got to pronounce recognisably).

Beitun itself was a pretty town. Not only did it have an ATM but a wonderful lady in the China Agricultural Bank who had a friend in the Bank of China who could also get me Kazakh tenge. Follow me she shouted as she took off in her car unaware of the limited acceleration of a heavily loaded bike. 3 hours of China Bank paperwork later I was cashed up in all necessary currencies.

Then I struck the gem of the region Burqin. The huge green river and tall trees caught me by surprise. Old buildings, wide roads bustling with markets had a feel of unique character and isolation to the rest of the region. I stood in the market looking obviously lost and more obviously foreign. The nearest stall holder took me under her wing, left her stall and walked a couple of blocks to a local hotel. The family were eating dinner in their courtyard. Join us. I did, trying to disguise my raging hunger by dropping several sets of chopsticks on the ground.  I fell into conversation with the hostess. We quickly made a connection that transcended the lack of common language. She was a writer of children's developmental books (one of which is China Posting its way to Otaki). 

Reluctantly I headed out next day on my final leg to the Kazakhstan border. My carefully plotted GPS route was quashed by a road diversion which required me to quickly memorize the Chinese characters for my destination.

The remote border crossing from Jeminay to Kazakhstan was an Alice-through-the-looking glass experience. One side was the tidy border town of Jeminay the other side was the bare dusty wasteland of the China Kazakhstan no-mans-land. 

The desert continued for 30 hot remote kilometres on the Kazakhstan side until a tiny village oasis appeared. In the village one tiny shop and a happy rosey faced Kazakh woman looked at my pile of cold drinks and ice cream on the counter. She rang her daughter who spoke English. "Take this as a gift - welcome to Kazakhstan".

Another country, another gift, this journey keeps on giving.

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The dam at the head of the Kalasuke Reservoir 

Character buildings in Burqin

And my great Burqin hotel

The Police checks in Xinjiang were friendly with selfies for every officer

Wake-up scene from my tent first morning in Kazakhstan

Welcome Restday in Zaysan