It seemed we were the only guests staying in the Crown Inn Hotel. We were ravenously hungry after missing out on meals the day before on our trip across the Khunjerab Pass and were delighted to be served an enormous cooked breakfast of sausages, potato cakes, bacon and eggs. It was delicious. And being back in a heated, clean modern hotel with electricity was heaven.

The Singaporean owned Crown Inn is a great place to stay. Over the years we had become good friends with hotel managers Christin Tan and her husband Chiu Chan Pong. The hotel staff has always been friendly and helpful, and the restaurant is excellent. It is always surprising for us to see French and Scandinavian dishes - to say nothing of the joys of seeing fresh fish - on the menu in a place that is about as remote and far west in China as you can get.

It was great to be back in the laid back township of Tashkorgan. It was our third visit. We had explored most of the surrounds and so we used the time here to chill out, recover from our long journeys so far and to catch up on some much needed washing. It was also very useful to be able to use the Internet (free of charge at this hotel) and to let our friends and relatives know that we were indeed still alive.

Nestled against the huge Pamir Mountain range at an altitude of 3,090 meters, Tashkorgan is the last Chinese township on the Karakoram Highway before the Khunjerab Pass and onto Pakistan. It was once a significant staging place on the old Silk Road. Most major caravan routes converged here leading to Kashgar in the north, Karghalik to the east, Afghanistan to the west and Pakistan in the south-west. Its name means "Stone Fortress", a reference to an old stone fort that is still standing today on the outskirts of the town. The fort tower is thought to have been mentioned by Ptolomey in his accounts of travel on the Silk Road and was later visited by Marco Polo during his epic travels of the region.

We love Tashkorgan but we have always been surprised that we have not heard too many positive comments or reviews about this oddly quaint township. It seems that it is mostly used by travellers as a stop over place coming from or going to Pakistan. To us it is a real pity as there is more to this town that just a stop over.

Tashkorgan is an eclectic mix of Tajik, Uighur, Kyrgyz and Chinese peoples and it has a certain charm, and a surprisingly relaxed and friendly atmosphere. The majority of people are Tajik. The women wear wonderfully bright and flamboyantly coloured suits with long jackets and skirts, and veiled pill box hats. The men wear more westernised clothing and have a wonderful friendly manner of greeting each other. And we were surprised yet again to see people with fair skin, green eyes and bright red hair. Once again, legend has it that the local peoples' ancestry dates back to the days of Alexander the Great and his forces. Whether it is true or not, it certainly makes for a good story.

The colour that dominates the main street of downtown Tashkorgan is vibrant red. Tajik women’s suits are red, their hats and veils are red and there is a huge amount of red cloth for sale. Even the street signage is largely red. The entire township looks more like a giant market, with a huge number of clothing and material displayed on racks outside the shops and merchandise spread across the footpaths.

On this visit Tashkorgan was looking good, even prosperous. The pink and green recently paved, tree lined streets made for a very pleasant place to stroll and to take in the village atmosphere. And the snow capped Pamir Mountain Ranges were a beautiful backdrop to the township.

We wandered happily through the streets and markets of the township, relaxed and thoroughly enjoying being back in our old haunts. During our fist visit in 2007, we had bought some prayer rugs from one of the local shops. The shop owner was a charming Pakistani business man from the Hunza who spent a deal of time talking to us about his home country. He was a delightful man with a great sense of humour. He had proudly told us that all people from the Hunza were "very tough". We can still hear him saying "Do you know where I am from? I am Hunza Man" he roared resoundly thumping his chest. In hindsight we had realised that he was perhaps some sort of inspiration for us to make our first journey to Pakistan.

On our last visit to Tashkorgan we had been disappointed that his shop was closed and we were unable to find our friend. To our delight on this visit we found the shop had re-opened and was run by no other than Hunza Man's son who even produced a photo of his father who had moved back to the Gojal district of north Pakistan. It was certainly our Hunza Man!

Alan was even more delighted when outside the shop we met Sliman, a gregarious, charming and handsome young Uighur man who explained in no time that he was a self employed taxi driver teaching himself English. Sliman was delighted to meet us too. He was a great talker and in no time had negotiated to drive us the following day to Kashgar. I must say, I did not share Alan's enthusiasm for a bargain trip along the challenging Karakoram Highway. Sliman's Suzuki was minuscule and rather worse for wear, and goodness knows how Alan's long legs and all our luggage were going to fit in. But the deal was done..... And our Alan was happy.

On the way back to the hotel we had a mission - to find beer and wine supplies. We remembered the shops from our last visit and hoped that the next bottle of red wine was better than what we had emptied down the sink the night before. We had found the trick to finding cold beer, if you do not have it written in the local language, is to spot those stores with free standing little refrigerators outside the premises. It worked every time and this visit was no exception.

In the afternoon we wandered down to the old fort. Chinese guards barked at us as we walked around newly erected fences surrounding the grand old building. It seemed that the rules had changed since we had been there last and we had to now pay to visit the site. We had seen the fort in the wonderful solitude of an early evening two years before and it had been a very special experience. This time we were tired and not in the mood to do any serious site seeing. So we ambled off back to our hotel and enjoyed some pre-dinner beers.

A photographic team, comprising mostly young European women were booked in to the hotel. They were a gregarious and friendly group, mainly the wives and partners of European businessmen who were based in Shanghai. They were in Tashkorgan to undertake some photography projects and were delightful to chat with. We realised later that they were the first Europeans we had talked with for some weeks.

Our meal was wonderful - a delicate fillet of Russian salmon cooked in an elegant plait of puff pastry and served with simple steamed vegetables. About half way through my meal I felt queasy. For me to leave food means I'm seriously ill. I went to bed early and was violently sick all night. I suppose it was about time I swapped the role with Alan who had suffered four separate instances of stomach illness. But such a noble thought didn't help me. As I lay awake during a chunderous night, I thought of Alan's bargain taxi trip to Kashgar the next day and how awful it would be to be sick in Sliman's tiny claustrophic car.







More Photos of Tashkorgan