To enter the labyrinthine, jumbled mass of backstreets centered around Kashgar's dominating Id Kah mosque is to experience Uyghur life at its busiest and most authentic. Mud brick homes with ornate doorways jostle for space with quaint, diminutive mosques, shopfronts decorated with assorted cuts of mutton, and merchants plying their roadside trade. Groups of Uyghur men with sun-darkened, careworn faces and pristine white taqiyah (caps) sit on low stools, engaged in animated conversation, or gather round battered pool tables. Uyghur women in colorful headscarves and long dresses, occasionally veiled, walk arm-in-arm through the din and confusion, the epitomy of serenity and modesty. 
 
It's hard not to go a little photo-crazy in the midst of this cultural treasure trove of sights and smells. However, displaying a camera in Kashgar's old quarter is an open invitation to the hordes of loitering Uyghur children who naturally congregate around anyone looking remotely foreign. Blithely snapping away, I was quickly surrounded by a mass of highly photogenic kids, literally begging to be captured on film. Using surprisingly good English, my new found gaggle of friends quickly quizzed me on my nationality, occupation and marital status, and willingly arranged themselves at my discretion for a lengthy photoshoot which only ended when I dove for cover into a nearby teahouse.
 
After a dinner of delicious dapanji (chicken, potatoes and noodles Uyghur-style) and a comfortable night's sleep in a stationary bed, I awoke early the next day ready to experience Kashgar's famed Sunday market. Once a week Kashgar's population swells by 50,000 as people from near and far flock to one of Asia's most incredible open markets. With the sun still low in the sky, I was carried along by a raucous crowd of pedestrians, horses, bikes, motorcycles, donkey carts, tractors, trucks and tuk-tuks to a massive outdoor maze of livestock pens and covered stalls on Kashgar's eastern periphery.
 
The air was thick with dust as sheep, goats, camels, cows and donkeys mingled with buyers and sellers, and money was changing hands everywhere. Rugs and blankets, boots and clothing, fruit and vegetables, hardware and all manner of junk were on sale. To my right a market blacksmith was doing a brisk trade, and to my left a vendor of dogh (a local drink made from ice, syrup, yogurt and water) was rapidly quenching people's thirst. After a few unforgettable hours my memory card was full and my nose and eyes thoroughly clogged with dirt - it was time to head back to the hotel to wash, eat and plan the next leg of my journey, along the Karakoram Highway to Lake Karakul.

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