Tim Boelter

It's about 9:30 a.m. here in the very dusty town of Hotan. Last night we arrived at 11:00 p.m. in a sand storm.

These sand storms get old after a while. I'm just tired of trying to keep my equipment clean and working properly. This trip has certainly been one hell of a way to break in a brand new camera.

Yesterday as we were traveling east on highway 315 (the southern Silk Road) the sky grew ominously dark. As I looked out the side window of the vehicle, the leading edge of this massive and towering dark wave of sand was coming in our direction. Lao Wang stepped on the gas and for the next 40 kilometers we traveled at 140 kilometers per hour to stay ahead of this storm. But after all was said and done, we drove into the heart of another sand storm.

Here I am complaining about sand storms from inside the vehicle, while outside the vehicle we're passing villagers being pulled along by struggling mules. Here we are, on a road that has to be one of the most barren desert highways we've traveled so far, and out in the middle of nowhere (and I do mean nowhere) are villagers traveling on carts being pulled by either a single mule or a single horse. And to top it off, what these poor animals are hauling ranges from tons of mud bricks, concrete slaps, wrought iron, to long pieces of timber, stacks of hay that tower 15 feet into the air, or just whole families. All I could think is these people and their animals live one tough life.

The choking sand storm would eventually engulf them with winds gusting hard enough to blow over an eighteen-wheeler. I couldn't help but to think about their fate, yet I knew this was just another day of living in the desert for them.

On the 17th of May, just after sending our dispatches, we departed Kashgar and headed south on highway 314 (also considered the northern Chinese extension of the famed Karakorum Highway that winds through Pakistan.) As we started our way up this magnificent road, clouds blew in concealing the views of the mountains towering around us. We were now traveling in the Pamirs and heading to Muztagh Ata, a 7,546-meter peak that has become a popular with climbers around the world. The temperature dropped substantially to the point of needing jackets and the air grew thin as we climbed to an altitude of 3,350-meters. The 200-kilometer drive took us about four hours.

Since we were traveling close to a border region we had to make a mandatory stop at a Chinese military checkpoint at a place called Ghez. I have made these stops quite a bit in the past while traveling between Nepal and Tibet when climbing in the Himalayas. So as usual we go into the guardhouse with our passports, they take down information about what we are doing and what our intentions are. In the past, this process is usually taken very seriously, but with Lao Wang it was quite an easygoing process. I notice that everything he does is taken very casually to the point where it seems as though he is the one running the show. 

We all got into the vehicle and started to drive past a very young soldier at the gate. But before we could drive through the gate, the young Chinese soldier stopped us and after an exchange of words with Lao Wang, Lao Wang looks over to me with a silly smile and says "You need to go back up to the guardhouse to be checked."

I replied, "We already did that."

Lao Wang looks at the soldier and says something then turns to me, "You guys just need to go up and walk from that door through the building and out the other door."

"Do we need our passports?" I ask

"No, just walk through the building."

"Why?" Mike and I reply.

"Because he wants you to." Lao Wang laughs.

"Just walk through?" I ask.

"Yes, It's a formality." Lao Wang again laughs at how ridiculous the young soldier is being, especially after he saw us just have our passports checked.

So Mike and I get out of the vehicle, enter the building on one side, then walk through and exit the other side. We both just look at each other and chuckle. No one even watched us go through the routine, including the young soldier who was so determined that we do it.

After passing some impressive scenery we arrive at Karakul Lake and catch views of the lower ramparts of Muztagh Ata. We continued to drive toward the mountain when Lao Wang pulls over to ask a man on the side of the road for information about the direction of base camp. I noticed that the man has a hat on with the Swiss flag. He also looked very much like a Sherpa from Nepal, although he is Kyrgyz. Lao Wang says to me that he speaks English, so the first thing I ask is if guides the mountain. In pretty good English he says 'Yes."

My conversation with this man, whose name is Sadilk, revealed that he knows my friend Jon Otto and has worked for Jon on the mountain. Sadilk said that Jon is a good friend of his, so through my relationship with Jon, Sadilk considered me a friend also. He then invited us to stay at his place instead of going to the expensive hotel down the road. So that evening we stayed with Sadilk and his family. We were treated to bread, milk tea, and yogurt for dinner. This time we were able to add sugar to the tart yogurt making it much more palatable. After dinner Sadilk's wife made up three beds out of felt and very thick quilts for us to sleep on. The room we slept in had a high ceiling was very large, it could easily sleep up to fifteen people. The stone and mud walls were covered with brilliant red carpets and the sleeping area was raised off the floor about two feet. I was very happy with our accommodations and we actually retired for the evening before 12:00.

I woke before everyone knowing that we needed to get up early to capture the mountain in the early morning light. As I quietly got dressed I was really hoping the clouds would be gone. When I stepped outside the house I walked passed a sleepy camel and yaks that lie in Sadilk's courtyard, and then looked up to see a magnificent white mountain basking in the morning alpine glow.

Without taking in the view I ran into the house and without saying good morning to Mike, I just said "Get your ass into gear, it's unbelievable." Within seconds Mike was up and on his way. We spent the whole morning taking photos and shooting in high definition. It was fantastic. We both pondered the thought of climbing the mountain, but we didn't have enough cold weather gear. I know I will be returning to this beautiful valley again to climb and film.

We said our goodbyes to Sadilk and his family and headed back down to Kashgar. Once in Kashgar we ate at John's Cafe and downloaded HD footage onto the hard drive then set off on another late afternoon drive toward Hotan.

We traveled through village after dusty village, passing mule drawn carts, roadside food stands, mud and brick houses, fields growing wheat, people sitting in the road, children playing in the road, goat herders crossing the road, huge poplar tress lining the roads, and vast nothingness on either side of the road. Every town is a mass of humanity, where the road is more than just a passageway for vehicles, it's a social intersection for village people. Cars, trucks, pedestrians, farm animals, and mule-drawn carriages all vie for the same space leaving very little room for error. And when Lao Wang is at the wheel he makes it very apparent to those outside the vehicle that the road should be for vehicles and not people.

The sites and sounds along the silk road are truly amazing, and this is something I hope to elaborate on soon. But for now we must push eastward now. Our next stop is Qiemo, we are now officially going beyond where most foreigners trod.

Cheers from Hotan.

—Tim Boelter

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