Hotan

This morning I arrived in Hotan (Hetian in Chinese) the dark purple star below. In my tour of Xinjiang Province. So far I have covered the purple line. I still have the yellow line to go before flying out on the 30th. I was lucky enough two nights ago to speak with the sisters in Michigan. When I related that I was pretty much in the middle of nowhere, Maria asked why I was all the way out here. So I thought I would answer that question for you all.

Xinjiang really is a unique place, it is like mixing a bit of the Amish with the Native Americans. I say this in that the Native Americans have a history largely (abit not recently) different from the European settlers, while the Amish have been able to hold on to their unique culture. The Xinjiang Uighurs have a history that has largely been driven by the existance of the Silk Road. In Hotan, there was actually jade found that archeologists have dated back to 5,000 BC. Additionally Hotanese discovered the secret of Chinese silk by 5th century AD. Hotan also established itself as the region's premiere carpet weavers. They were to carpet as perhaps France's Champagne region is to the bubbly-stuff. In fact traditional ways of carpet and silk making are retained in the area.

Tomorrow morning I hope to visit a traditional carpet factory and silk factory. I am very excited about this. I tried unsuccessfully to visit a silk factory today that employs more modern techniques, but because most of the population speaks Uighur and the signs all utilize Arabic script (see two posts ago), I had trouble locating this particular factory. The day was not a loss though because I was able to visit the local market.

The first thing you notice when arriving, is the previlance of donkey carts and absence of cars. The smell of farms, donkeys, and horses overwhelms you as you pass by the donkey cart-parking lot where there were over 200 donkey carts, but as you enter the market the pungent smell is left behind and the softer perfume of nectarines greats you. The sound of hee-haw-ing donkeys gets lost amongst the babble of Uighur and your eyes take in the rainbow of vibrant colors. From the bright green lettuce to the ruby red tomatoes it seems as if the colors are being accented by the colors of the Uighur women's head scarves.

A larger Uighur women outfited from head to toe in a black and white dress only her eyes visible sits on the ground with bags of seeds around her at one aisle crossroads. As people come up she holds out a cup with a long handle and without appearing to move she scoops seeds onto pieces of paper. Placing the paper on a scale she uses a marked stick and attached weight to traditionally measure the price. Later these will become the lettuce, onions, and spices that serve to infuse the market-goers nostrils with the wonderful smells of spring. Across the way an old man turns corn over a fire grilling it, and a women hacks at a piece of ice at least a meter tall, before mixing it with water and a orange spice to make a very popular drink.

Moving past the produce section, one enters the clothing section. Where traditional silk head scarves and men's doppi ('skullcaps') mix with modern troussers and children's clothing. The occasional load speaker adds to this mix of modernity and traditionalism, as hawkers anounce their latest and greatest product. It is as if the local American fair and trades show has met the Middle East. I can imagine what they are saying, and if you buy today not only will I give you the lowest price in history, but will throw in these other things for Free! So you get all the world saving, life altering benefits of this item in addition to the ground breaking deal.

But the real gem of the market lies further back. Before one reaches the market for coal and wood, they first are accosted with flocks of animals. First the heards of sheep, as men take careful stock before buying what will most likely be dinner for the next week. One rather large brown sheep makes a break for it squeezing through the wooden fence to take a drink from a puddle on the ground. The heardsman qickly notices and after unsuccessfully pushing him through the fence he all but picks the sheep up and pushes him over back into his pen.

The sound of clucking works its way through the bahing of sheep. Where red, white, and black chickens can be seen from behind the monocromatic mass of sheep and men. Not many women populate this area, but one women walks off carrying her chicken upside down. None of the chickens really fight the feeling and groping, as if they have already given into their fate. Bunnies sit in cages on the ground but no one seems to take interest.

Down a perpendicular aisle I spot another oddity, the sight of a heard of cattle. One man stops to admire my camera and points it out to another man. They both oddle over it for a mintue before the second man begins trying to speak to me and pointing at the cow next to him. I am dumbstruck for a moment, does he really expect the foreigner to buy a cow!!! What the heck does he think I am going to do with it? Take it on an airplane home?

But then a lightbulb goes off. I have been silent for most of the day because almost everyone here speaka Uighur and Putonghua (or Mandarin as it is known to us westerns) doesn't really get me anywhere. But I begin to explain using Mandarin that I have no use for a cow, when I say 'niu,' the Chinese word for cow. All of a sudden he starts speaking Mandarin and I realize he is not trying to sell me a cow, but wants to know the word for cow in English. So I say it slowly, as he struggles to pronounce the word, saying sow (like a female big). No I correct, with a hard K sound instead of the soft 'c.' I squat down and pick up a nearby stick writing the word in the dirt.

He points behind him, indicating the word for sheep (gaoyang in chinese), I say sheep. He tries to write the word spelling it see9. I correct it. Our converstation going back in forth in Chinese as he asks where I am from, how long have I have been in China, what other cities have I visited, where did I learn to speak mandarin, so you are a college student asking if I am studying abroad in China. I tell him no, I am here traveling before going to the Olympics. Like every other Chinese person this look of awe crosses his face at the fact that I have Olympic tickets.

By now as our English lesson has continued, here is the Uighur man and blond-haired fair skinned girl crouched down speaking what to most there is a foreign language. Surely a crowd has gathered, from the beginning there were several people watching even though they didn't understand. But now the crowd has circled around us and at I looked up it was at least 5 people deep. The man tried to invite me back to his house, but I declined. Most likely innocent hospitality, but I am just not willing to take any chances, telling him I already have a hotel room. The popularity of this little scenes begins to get to me, so I tell everyone "thank you" in Uighur (the only word I know: Rhakmad) and excuse myself.

I am used to being stared at here in China. For many people they have very rarely seen foreigners in these parts, let a lone a tall, blonde woman traveling by herself. For this reason I have taken to wearing my sunglasses most of the time, even indoors if I am in a public place. I tend to think of the movie 'Big Daddy' and Sunny giving Julian the sunglasses because he is scared and nervous and shy. The sunglass make Julian, the 6 year old, 'invisible.' I know people will still stare, but it makes me feel more comforable as the eye contact piece is illuminated. It helps not only with putting the stares behind me, but it stops the hawkers from bothering me. Perticularly if I don't respond to their calls of Hello. From the children I will turn, smile, wave, and say Hello and goodbye, but from the Hawkers I just sometimes don't want to deal with the rich-foreigner sterotype that they have. I really don't know what I would do without my sunglasses.

But ironically I have enjoyed being able to teach people English words here. Today it was cow and sheep, two days ago I taught this Uigher family how to say Hello, do you want to eat food?, and pulled noodles. But I think after hearing "Hello" from everyother person it does get to me after a while. I know it is part of what is called "cultural shock." But the stereotype that every foreigner is American and that somehow I have an obligation to return their "Hello" bothers me.

Anyways... Here in Xinjiang, I am debating wearing a head scarf, as it might cut down on the stares due to my blonde hair. But then I really would be hiding a varifiable part of me behind something and I am just not comfortable with that. Plus I don't know how much it would cut down on the stares. Plus it is a cultural thing and there are enough Han Chinese here who do not wear the headscarves or other head coverings that I do not feel as if I am insulting their culture. I am just being my American self and I think they understand it. I think I would be trivializing their culture if I did where it. We will see with time what I decide, perhaps in Kashgar.

But for all the complaining it is those moments like meeting with the Uighur family in Tuyoq and the herdsman here in Hotan that make this entire trip worthwhile. These are the memories that I will take with me forever. These are the memories that will make me stop and think differently about how I view Muslims for the rest of my life and for the opportunity I am greatful.

Well it is off to Kashgar tomorrow. Normally, I get a little annoyed at being in big cities, but I am really excited for Kashgar. In particular the Sunday Market which is a giant bazaar and heading out to Kanas lake. This time it is only a 10 hour bus ride!

For more information about the area of Hotan, I came across a great site, feel free to peruse: http://www.centralasiatraveler.com/cn/xj/h/hotan.html.