We'd had a series of adventures in northern India and in Pakistan before the three of us jammed ourselves into a jeep with three others for part of the trip northward where we used public busses until we came to the Himalayas and were fortunate to get a ride with a man headed, as we were, to the western part of China.

        The above photo shows how crowded the jeep was before we got the next ride in a public bus. The view below shows the mountains we were to cross after we were able to find a minibus that would take us there.

        Though our trek occurred ten years ago, I have vivid memories of Kashgar, the first big city we'd seen in a long time, and my daughter and I set out mid-morning to visit the famous Sunday Market.

        In Chinese, she negotiated a price of 3 yuan with a young boy who agreed to take us there in his donkey cart, and soon we were clip clopping under a warm winter sun. Everything seemed to be going right until the boy suddenly stopped and announced that we had arrived.

        We looked around and realized that we had been taken to a mosque instead of the market. He was told that he'd taken us to the wrong place. Lisa objected strenuously and wouldn't get off his cart as he was asking for double the amount of money.

         Quite a crowd had gathered by that time. We were at a stalemate and she didn't want to deal with him anymore so she got off the cart. He'd gone only half of the way, so she held out 1 1/2 yuan. After much shouting, which I've learned is common in such circumstances, the boy gave in, accepted what was offered, and we set out on foot.

        The city streets were very crowded, and we hoped to find our way by following the flow of the crowd, but that was impossible as they were going every which way.

        The map was difficult to read, and though we asked directions several times, each contact was unsatisfactory in some way. People we asked were always interested in helping, but had as much trouble reading the map as we did. They didn't know the name of the street we were on, and some couldn't understand where we wanted to go. It was quite possible they weren't Chinese as they had a different look. Either that or they couldn't understand the Chinese we were using.

        I was wearing too many layers of clothing for all the walking we had to do, and was happy each time we stopped. I took off my windbreaker jacket first, and later, my outer nylon pants came off, too.

        At one stop, we bought some candy - kind of a soft toffee with walnuts in one bar and almonds in another. It was delicious, and once I started eating, I didn't want to stop even though I still had a cold, my nose was stopped up, and breathing was difficult when my mouth was full.

        It was a long uncomfortable walk, and as we neared the market, the crowd was so thick that it took over the road, too. We had to pick our way through donkey carts loaded with produce, animals, and stands loaded with all kinds of products for sale. The donkeys, however, seemed to be getting the worst of it; they were whipped constantly.

        One of the prime attractions in Kashgar, the Sunday Market is the largest I've ever seen or even imagined. Operational since Christ was born according to the Lonely Planet guidebook, it's possible to buy all the products typically used by people who live here. A very effective marketing arrangement has evolved whereby all similar products are sold from designated areas.

        I'll never remember all of the specialized areas we saw, but as we entered there was an area at least the size of a basketball court for melons and another for radios and electronic gear with everything plugged in and the volume turned up high.

        There was an area for clothing, one for hats, sheep, goats, camels, donkeys, carts, pots and pans, baskets, candies, vegetables, handmade brooms, freshly cut meat.

        Shish kebab was offered as a snack. You could have vegetables in pastry, noodle soup, bagels , and much, much more.

        We passed through an area where metal tubs and parts for stoves were being made. Then we came upon a series of shops selling musical instruments which had been made right there. In one of them, a workman tried to interest us in buying by playing for us several tunes on a guitar.

        In another area, there was a kind of runway where horses and camels were prodded into action to show their conformation. It bothered us that there was so much cruelty involved.

        I suspect that less than 50% of the people here in Kashgar are Han Chinese or Mongolian. The rest were various minorities, people from the mountains, Turks, Slavs, Pakistanis. Many of the women had Mao suits, but others wore thick, warm jackets and colorful skirts - their hose all lumpy from the long underwear worn underneath.

        Small children were dressed in the Chinese split-bottom pants, and their little bottoms were chapped from being exposed to the air.

         We saw so many of the distinctive Moslem caps that it was almost as if we were back in Pakistan, but the people wearing them, appear to be Chinese.

        We bought a bagel and sat in a tent drinking large bowls of tea and watching the animals for sale and the people passing. We noted that other people were breaking up their bagels and putting them in the tea to soften them before eating them with chopsticks.

        The crowd of thousands was so dense at times that we were literally pushed about. Donkey carts would come up behind us with the driver yelling something like "Pusht, pusht", and the crowd would separate enough for them to get through.

        An American journalist we had met was photographing meat as it was cut from carcasses, but we saw no other westerners.

        It was a day like no other.