As Low As You Can Go

Xinjiang is an autonomous region much like Tibet. The population is mostly Muslim and the region has had a few spats with the central government regarding its independence. The Uighr people are decendants of the Mongols and their language sounds very much like Turkish. The province was once called Eastern Turkmenistan and it really feels like it should be a stan country. The architecture, landscape and people remind me of Afghanistan and Pakistan. If ever you want a Central Asian experience akin to the stans without risking to travel there come to northeastern China.

Turpan was one of the major stops on the ancient Silk Road. It is famous for its grapes, wine and raisins. I counted nine varieties of raisins at the market. Each one tastes entirely unique. The city is an oasis surrounded by desert and the second lowest depression in the world (after the Dead Sea). This makes it an extremely hot place to be. Today temperatues rose to 45 degrees. Xinjiang is a couple of time zones removed from Bejing but of course eveything in China is on Bejing time. Most businesses take a break between 2 and 4 in the afternoon and then reopen for the early evening.

There are lots of sights to be seen in the surrounding desert and I, of course, slept in until noon today and missed the organized tour buses. That turned out to be a blessing. Most of the tourists I've seen in those buses were either Chinese or sunburnt senior citizens from the west. The only thing I wish I had seen is Tuyoq, seven pilgrimages to the desert town would have counted as one trip to Mecca. I suppose I'll be going to Mecca some time after I give up all my vices...maybe not.



I took a local bus to Emin Mosque outside downtown Turpan. The mosque is built in an Afghan architectual style and looks like a sandcastle surrounded by grapeyards. The minaret is 33 meters high and tapers at the top. Thanks to the Frenchie (an architect) I met in X'ian I was able to recognize the hovel leading into a dug out structure near the mosque. It was an old Uighr dwelling. Frenchie told me that the people in this region used to live underground to keep cool during the summers. This old architectual style is slowly disappearing and being replaced by a very ugly and depressing Communist architecture.



On the way back I decided to walk which gave me an opportunity to be passed by several donkey carts loaded with grapes. The aroma of drying grapevines filled the air. I shared the load of grapes I had been given by a woman whoms courtyard I had stopped to photograph with the kids I met on the road. Everytime I stopped in front of yet another mosque (there are thousands of them) a man or woman or child would come up to me and start speaking Uighr. Believe it or not, I look Chinese! ...well, maybe just Uighr. Everyone is surprised when I shrug and start speaking in English. This has happened at least ten times today already and I don't think Mayuko believed me until we went for dinner tonight at the bazaar where an elderly man bought us beer and a woman gave us a free bag of raisins and everyone spoke to me in Uighr, thinking I was her guide.

Tomorrow I am off on a 25 hour bus ride to Kashgar.