homestay karakul

[a bonus add...]

we descend into a place without beginning or end. dust rises in clouds from the roads as taxis and donkey driven carts barrel through. in a rush to get somewhere, though where isn't exactly clear in a place where business is slow, and any exit from the city leads you to the middle of flat desert for miles and miles. the young women in veils look like they could be my sisters. hapa children the product of other empires clashing. but we break bread together, and in their language and in mine we have nothing to say. we huddle in a small brick and adobe room around a small round metal stove, sitting on colorful woven blankets, covered in dust. the river freezes at night where they live, there's hardly radio, hardly tv. aside from the scarves on their heads, an outfit out of an earlier century-- a burgundy 1920s jacket and skirt suit with layers of long thick nylons browned from the dirt and closed toed shoes with a strap and a slight heel. they are mothers and wives first and foremost, no confusion of roles. their husbands and uncles make their business by inviting people like us, tourists, into their homes, to eat bread, play with and take pictures of their children. give us a good price for a motorbike ride around a lake that reflects turquoise crystal against the dusted mountains, capped in snow. do we also in america drink milk tea for breakfast? the grandfather asks. he means the kind that they do, salty from yak's milk, sipped out of soup bowls and accompanied by hard bread. do we answer by saying we drink coffee? and in a friendly gesture omit the running water, the dsl, the $80,000 education that grants jobs that let us land in any part of the world we want, with cash ready to burn in the palms of our hands...?

desert of the east

okay, i know, i know. string of inadequate excuses, pitiful groveling... and i'm back again. now for the rest of my trip.

it's kashgar, and jay and i want to see a real market. on tips from travelers we convince a confused taxi driver to drop us off along a desert road. once we shut the door and he drives away, the exhilaration sets in. men wearing green and white square shaped skullcaps and dark colored suits, hands clasped contemplatively behinds their backs, huddle around vendors who talk loudly about the groups of sheep they have tied together in the center of the circle. more wandering reveals cows, horses, yaks, goats. outside the livestock area, there are piles of watermelons by the road and vegetables on the backs of carts. one man gets his head shaved outside while a young boy watches.

turns out though that we're the strange ones. more people are watching us than we are watching them. doing double takes, looking at our clothes, probably wondering what we're doing there. i like to take this as a sign that we're being good travelers.

still, just as we're starting to feel kind of uncomfortable, the amazing happens. out of nowhere, a bus of tourists from japan arrives. not just any tourists, but a full procession of tourists on a photo vacation-- many draped with huge lenses over outfits that appear to be able to protect from the most extreme conditions: khaki fishing vests, cargo pants, bucket hats and surgical masks.


back at the hotel, a rundown former british embassy, jay and i have a few beers with our new friend marcus, a swiss guy in his forties. we recount our stories of the sheep, the yaks, and everything we've seen.

'yes, but this place is nothing like it used to be,' he says. 'before, there were no taxis, just horse drawn carts that would drop you off right here in front of the hotel. i walked around town today and i couldn't find a single horseshoe welder.'

the concrete buildings are rising up from the dusty streets of kashgar slowly and steadily like weeds. development a la 'shake and bake.' lined with neon signs, nights are something out of blade runner in the middle of the an empty blazing hot for miles and miles.

even still, it's all new to me. predominantly uigur muslim, xinxiang, in the northwest of china, is nothing like the china that you would imagine. duck into a back alley in the old town and you can lose yourself in a maze of adobe alleyways, ducking under wood beams, turning corners that lead down more alleyways. each humble home exudes pride, bearing an elaborately carved wooden door in bright colors that stand out against the desert streets. women in hijabs, turn down the streets, bringing home groceries, gossiping with friends.

if you think you've never heard of it, xinxiang is featured in several films, including crouching tiger, hidden dragon (jen runs away to the desert of xinxiang, where she meets her love interest), and the kite runner (afghanistan, uh, wasn't an option).

check out the xinxiang pics if you haven't seen them yet.