Kashgar is in the far northwestern reaches of China but all those Central Asian nations ending in '- stan' are much closer to this far-flung camel-trading outpost than Beijing is. To get here one must fly or spend 24 hours on a train from Urumqi, the capital of the Xinjiang Uygur autonomous region.
Xinjiang is a land of superlatives; hottest temperature ever recorded in China (46.7 degrees Celsius), the highest road in the world (5,000 metres above sea level, running south into Tibet), the second-largest region in the mainland (as big as Western Europe but with a population of only 20 million) and with a capital city that is the furthest in the world from the sea.
Urumqi produces more than 30 per cent of the world's ketchup, although there is little evidence of this in the Muslim quarter's street cafes. Here the fast food is mutton, and comes on a skewer or in large and delicious salty flat bread. The city is a good place in which to stock up on bagfuls of pistachios, (called kai xinguo or 'open heart fruit' - think of the shape) and ubiquitous green and black raisins for the long journey to Kashgar.
The journey is a delight; a comfortable bed, interesting companions and, of course, plenty of raisins to ensure the hours slip by as the train skirts the vast Taklimakan Desert. To the south, the view is horizontal, a vast open and intimidating stony desert, and to the north the Heavenly Mountains (Tian Shan) rear up, snow capped, precipitous and largely unexplored.
Make sure you time your arrival in Kashgar to coincide with its most famous weekly event and biggest draw card: the Sunday market. Donkey-drawn carts outnumber cars, and here your first words of the Uygur dialect are quickly acquired. 'Boish boish' rings out everywhere, and apparently means 'Watch out you crazy tourists, you're in the way of my donkey/camel/horse and I'm coming through whether you like it or not'.
Deals are struck extravagantly, and with a sense of theatre. No quiet handshakes and murmured assents here, but rather a general shouting and slapping of backs, feigned indifference and outraged retreat before a deal is struck by a middleman, and an animal changes hands. There is much road-testing of donkeys and horses, which are ridden at breakneck speed (boish boish) and put through their paces by potential buyers. The jingle of the horses' bells and dust from their hooves add to the assault on the senses, and it seems that save for the occasional truck disgorging its load of cows, the scene must have remained unchanged for centuries.
Lunch can be taken at a Uygur home, and is usually a feast of lamb kebabs, bread, fruit and lashings of warm goat's milk. You will sit on embroidered cushions, and must remember to ask for smaller portions and less rice since there is much to be eaten. The hospitality and generosity of people who have so little is overwhelming.