Getting There
The biggest problem when vacationing inside Xinjiang is the time it takes to get from point A to point B. To get from my home here in Korla (Kuerle) up to Kanas Lake (Hanasi Hu) took three buses over the course of 30 hours. I left Korla with my friends Will and Zoe on the 10:30am bus to Urumqi (Wulumuqi), arriving in Xinjiang's capital at about 6:00pm. After mounting a devastating blitz on that city's pizza buffet, we were back on a bus at 8:00pm for the 12-hour overnight trip to Burqin (Buerjin). After a long, bumpy night in a sleeper bus (the last 400km stretch to Burqin is unpaved), we reached the jumping off point for Kanas Lake. Barely surving the assault by taxi drivers that ensued upon our arrival, we managed to squeeze ourselves along with a couple of South Koreans into a minibus. Three hours later, we arrived at Kanas Lake.

Kanas Lake
At first, it seemed like Kanas might turn out to be a disappointment. We were dropped off by our minibus in what looked like a parking lot, full of both Chinese and foreign tourists. We were again attacked by tourist herders, looking for us to sleep in their yurts or simple log cabins. The whole super-tourism thing really puts me off... having to bargain between this guy and that guy all the while worrying about getting ripped off and having a generally awful time. To add to the negative atmosphere, the weather was cold and cloudy.

Eventually, we settled on a nice looking guy who offered us lodging for ¥15 per person per night ($2.00). He piled us into a small bus and drove us to the location of his cabin/yurt. It was far, far away from the lake (which we had hoped to sleep next to), but as it was cold and rainy and we deemed the lodgings authentic enough for us to sleep in, we forked over the cash. We were going to stay in his yurt, but since it was freezing and the yurt had no heat, we opted for the log cabin. After lunch (which we would later pay dearly for...ouch!), we strolled along the lake and had a look at the tourist village. Despite the promise on the back of the Kanas entry ticket, we found that "Earth's last perfect natural environment" had indeed been spoiled by tourism... particularly by the affinity of Chinese tourists for disco and karaoke. After dinner and some cards back at the yurt, we hit the sack.

The next morning, despite the continuing rain, we made up our minds to hike up to a viewing pavilion at the top of a mountain next to the lake. Our Lonely Planet guidebook called the hike a one-and-a-half hour stroll, but we found things to be slightly different. First of all, from where we were staying we had to hike along the side of a mountain to the beginning of the path. Not knowing where we were going, and things being fairly slippery because of the rain, this alone took at least two hours. When we finally found the path, which is an endless string of wood and stone stairs up the mountain, we began climbing eagerly. It appeared as if the top was no more than an hour or so away.

Of course, anyone who's ever tried to climb a mountain before is familiar with the phenomenon of thinking you're at the top, only to realise that what you thought was the top was just the highest point you could see. This happened over and over again during our four-hour or so ascent to the top of the mountain... and when you're out of shape like I am, that sort of thing really makes you want to give up and head back down. Fortunately, a mentally and physically stronger member of my ascent team, Will, kept pushing me on. When we finally reached the top, we were rewarded with an onslaught of clouds, half-frozen rain, and tourists who had taken the bus to the top. Grrr! But, we waited things out for a while while gorging ourselves on chocolate, and in the end the sun came back and we finally got to view Kanas in all it's glory. Hooray!

After taking the bus back down the mountain, eager to rest our weary legs and get some rest, we were approached by a group of Kazakhs on horseback. Fifteen minutes later, despite our intense desire at that particular moment for some rest and relaxation, we had agreed to pay for a two-day trek by horse to the neighboring valley of Hemu. Not only that, but we agreed to leave the following morning at 7:00am Beijing time, which is only 5:00am Xinjiang time. Why did we need to leave so friggin' early? We would soon find out.

The Journey to Hemu
I awoke at 6:15am the following morning in an attempt to get my stuff together and eat some breakfast before our Kazakh guides arrived. No such luck. They arrived early - with horses - at 6:30am and were ready to hit the road. After swallowing a couple of half-hard boiled eggs and discovering that the soles of my red New Balance sneakers had almost melted off in my attempt to dry them over a fire, I mounted my steed. Giddyup!

Besides our early departure time, things seemed a bit strange right from the get-go. Not having ridden a horse for any significant period of time before, I was a bit disconcerted by our breakneck pace through Kanas village. It wasn't a minute or two into the trip that I started wondering why I had agreed to subject my body to such torture. Not only that, but we seemed to be taking an oddly evasive and circuitous route out of town, with our guides constantly looking over their shoulders. To make things even better, for some reason our Kazakh buddies moved us quickly down a small hill, at the bottom of which my horse stumbled and fell to the ground. Somehow, being the equestrian that I am, I managed to jump clear of the horse before it landed on me, merely losing a shoe and muddying one knee. I was a bit shaken, but as whoever was after us was in hot pursuit, there was no time for tears. I was ordered to remount my horse and forge on!

An hour later, all of that unpleasantness was forgotten. We had escaped from the Kazakh Horse Police unscathed (I figure we must have been taking an unauthorized tour), the sun had come out, and our slow ascent of a mountain to the east of Kanas Lake was taking us through beautiful green pastures. Seeya later Kanas tourist village! Hello Kazakh nomad-land!

The two day journey to Hemu Village was really fantastic, and I'd recommend it to anyone who's going to visit Kanas Lake. It not only saved our trip from being a letdown, but it transformed it into something special and magical. From what I understand, Kazakhs in Altai mostly live around the city of Burqin for the winter months, returning to the mountains around Kanas sometime in May. Although we were in the area well after May, we surrounded by constant evidence that the nomadic lifestyle is not a thing of the past: heavily burdened camel trains carrying logs and yurts through the mountains, herds of thousands of sheep and goats being let out to pasture, and Kazakh families with all of their posessions in tow heading in every direction.

We stopped after our first four hours of riding to eat some lunch at a small Kazakh compound, which contained a log cabin and couple of yurts. It was here that I saw something of a rarity in Xinjiang (or China for that matter): cheese. Small blocks of what looked like goat's cheese (but turned out to be cow's cheese) were drying on rack under the intense high-altitude sun. I tasted a bit from the freshest section on the cheese rack, and found it pleasant if not entirely what I was expecting. It had a similar consistency to goat's cheese, but without a whole lot of flavor. Later, while were eating lunch, I got to try the "final" version of the cheese, which looked like it might have been drying for weeks. The flavor was a bit more intense, but so was the texture, as the cheese had become rock hard. Along with small fried breads called ballsac, butter, butter tea, some raisins, and some cooked cabbage, this was our lunch. Of course, as men we were asked to wash it all down at the end with some more nai jiu. Errr... yumm.

After taking a little rest after lunch, we were back on the trail. I was thoroughly impressed by the scenery again and again. I drove through Montana once, back in 2000, and I remember remarking to myself that the "Big Sky Country" moniker was indeed apt. But, all things considered, I'd have to say that Altai was "Bigger Sky Country". I'm talking about really big skies here, people. And the pastures... don't get me started on the pastures! They went on for mile after green mile. Add in a few snow-capped mountains, a good dose of puffy white clouds, and a wide swath of super-blue sky and we're talking Windows XP background-quality scenery. It was a welcome change from the dead, brown, sandiness of the rest of Xinjiang.

That evening, we arrived at the tent-like home of a Kazakh family, our hosts for the night. I'm getting tired of writing this entry, so I'll speed things up here. More milk products were consumed, cards were played, and I was generally impressed by the strength and hard-work exhibited by every member of the family. Logs were split, meals were cooked, and a young child repeatedly urinated on the floor. A good time was had by all, except for the fact that I shivered all night and generally slept terribly. My summer-weight sleeping bag just wasn't heavy enough for the sub-freezing mountain temperatures. Who woulda thunk that while it's about 100°Fahrenheit (40°Celsius) down in Korla it could be freezing up here? Oh well... I survived.

The next morning, we said our goodbyes to our hosts and set out for Hemu Village - and at a notably increased pace. We're not sure if our guides couldn't wait to get their hands on our money or what, but they were relentless. The first day of riding was pretty much a slow walk, but the second day more often than not proceeded at a swift trot, if not a canter. By that time, my ass was really killing me... it's just not used to being bounced up-and-down in a Kazakh-size saddle for hours on end. Not only that, but my lower back was in pretty bad shape, too... all that side-to-side action is to blame, I think.

After only a couple of hours, we arrived at a spot where we could see Hemu Valley, appearing to be not-so-far-off in the distance. But, like my experience climbing the mountain two days before, things were not quite as close as they seemed. After at least four more hours going up and down a steep mountainside path above the roaring Kanas River, we finally arrived in the Eden known as Hemu. My body was bruised but my ego was stoked by my having completed what I feel was a very, very manly voyage.

Hemu was breathtaking and all, but what I was really interested in doing was resting (preferably not on my derriere). Unfortunately, my commitments back in Korla determined that I couldn't stay in Hemu for more than one night. The next morning, happy to have completed yet another amazing Xinjiang adventure, I piled into a 4x4 Jeep along with Will and Zoe for the trip back to Burqin, Urumqi, and ultimately Korla. THE END.