ON leaving the misted rice paddies which form the outskirts of the Keriya oasis one realises that it is out of necessity the thrice weekly bus to Charchan began to load two hours before dawn.
The rooftop luggage rack had been transformed into a lopsided jumble piled precariously high with matting, bicycles, irrigation piping, sacks of fruit and chests of personal belongings.
Chaos also reigned inside the bus as baggage, lengths of iron, musical instruments and even five fat-tailed sheep were jostled about in the aisle by passengers preparing themselves for the arduous 17-hour trip that lay ahead.
The southern arm of the ancient Silk Road that skirts Xinjiang's Taklamakan Desert and winds through its scattered oases runs closest to the route once travelled by Marco Polo.
His actual path lay somewhat to the north of the present road passing through ancient Buddhist cities that now lie ruined in the sands of the Taklamakan.
The present-day residents of the region, mainly Islamic Uygurs, a Turkic people, formed the bulk of my travelling companions.
Among them, a colourfully dressed woman with a huge goitre, a turbaned pilgrim returning from the 'haj' to Mecca, a team of professional gamblers, children with round faces like Buddhas, an elderly Chinese with tobacco cured skin.