Far West (i)

Took two weeks off in late July and found my feet in Kashgar, Xinjiang. This is part one of my travelogue, with part two to follow below. 

By the balcony of the 100 year-old traditional tea house at the cross junction of Wusitang Boyi Road and Kumudai Erwazha Road. Just ordered a pot of saffron tea and two sticks of lamb kebab. 

As I was about to sit down beside this elderly Uighur man, he stared at me with curiosity only to let out a gentle smile when he realized that I too was looking at him. “What is this Chinese girl doing here in this predominantly male setting? She is wielding a camera and she even dares to sit with us men.” Were these thoughts running through his mind? Because that was what I imagined it to be. 

We looked at each other again in want of a conversation, yet also imbued with the understanding that language, or the lack there of, would be our deal breaker. Just then, something clicked and he muttered to me in almost incomprehensible Mandarin, “who are you?”

The smell in that corner of the Old City triggered a memory. There was a certain sense of familiarity. It reminded me of a place but try as I would, I was unable to put a finger to it at that time. But now that I think about it, it was the same smell that floated in the air in the Cambodia villages. That smell of nutmeg in the air.