We are storming across Xinjiang province and have made it to the capital city of Urumqi (“woo-ru-moo-chi” in Chinese. Say it with your best Italian accent and, funny enough, you’re right on). We’re certainly cruising and have picked up the pace from our time in the east, though it’s still no easy task as the province is larger than the state of Alaska and chock full of arid desert closed in by high mountains to the south.
They could not see our tents as we have been sleeping in drainage tunnels under the road. These tunnels offer great protection from wind, sun, and any nosy motorcyclists; the only problem is that we usually have to kick aside all the dried poo cakes because the tunnels are often used as a bathroom for passing motorists and construction workers. It’s pretty unbelievable for such a developed country. The other day I saw a man pass in his brand new Audi and pull over about a half-mile ahead. By the time I caught him, he was ten feet off the shoulder, book in hand, dropping a deuce in plain sight. In all my travels, nowhere else have I seen the same openness to public urination and defecation as I have in China. For the kids it’s rather funny. In the rural areas most don’t wear diapers; the solution is a simple slit front to back in the inseam of their pants. I just view them all as walking grenades waiting to explode and steer clear.
For us, we’ll just have to avoid the cliques of shotgun-ready riot police patrolling the streets (no joke) and not eat too many kebabs until we’ve paid a visit to the Kazakh consulate and secured our tickets onward.