Return from Kashgar: The Gentle World
Xinjiang is a travel promise born between me and a group of friends in 2020.
That year, during a car trip along the Qinghai-Gansu Great Belt, we almost casually told each other that one day we would visit southern Xinjiang. Time flies: six years have already passed.
This September, I returned to Shanghai from Rome. All it took was a WeChat message, a quick voice call, and that promise made so many years ago came true instantly.
We departed Shanghai, flying directly to Kashgar, to reach that ancient city in the Western Regions with over two thousand years of history.
In the century-old teahouse, a pot of rose tea emanates an enveloping warmth. Four travelers from all over the country sit quietly, listening to the locals play the rawap. The melody, simple and profound, flows slowly through the alleys and through time, relaxing and swaying every cell in the body. The golden brown sugar in the tea delicately melts, while the aroma fills the entire room. Traditional hats of ethnic minorities hang here and there on the walls: the white patterns on a green background have lost their former brilliance, but retain a touching humanity. On one side, a carpet with red borders and patterns, at once vivid and serene, gently envelops the warmth of the ancient city. A breeze filters through the window, the soft light caresses the tables, and the entire old city seems to slow its pace.
The streets of the old town are vibrant with daily life, while the aroma of nang, baked according to traditions passed down through generations, wafts everywhere. The young artisans knead, weigh, and divide the dough over and over, with care and extraordinary mastery. It is precisely these authentic, simple, and vibrant moments of humanity that drive me to raise my camera again and again, to capture the most authentic daily life in southern Xinjiang.
We rented a car to drive to Tashkurgan for a three-day, two-night excursion. Along the way, the White Sand Lake appears clear and transparent, the sacred glacial mountains rise silently, and the vast wetlands stretch as far as the eye can see. The snow-capped peaks sometimes appear before us, sometimes accompany us along the way. Such beauty is indescribable in words: amazed and thrilled, we chase the landscape through the lens, our hearts widening at this wild immensity. There's too much beauty, however, to capture on a roll of film: so we set aside the equipment, let the highland wind blow hard on our faces, and enjoy the sheep and cattle grazing freely, in a landscape where mountains and rivers coexist in perfect harmony.
On our return to Kashgar, we deliberately slowed our pace: no rush to visit monuments, no pre-planned itinerary, just the pleasure of wandering freely through the narrow streets of the old city. One day, we drove to Yarkand to visit the famous "New Unity" teahouse. A pot of tea costs one yuan, a nang costs one yuan: it's the purest and simplest form of romance in this ancient city. Inside, elderly people sit together to chat, drink tea, and watch television. Outside, an eighty-year-old man sits leaning against a tree, comfortably ensconced on a rug, reuniting with his old friends every day. Thanks to the help of a local who acted as our interpreter, we learned that the man is of Soviet origin and has been drinking tea two or three times a day for decades. For him, sipping tea isn't just a pastime, but life itself.
In the evening, on the way back from Yarkand to Kashgar, the aroma of nang wafting from the street corner bakeries is still warm. I chat with the young breadmaker and photograph portraits of the people in the soft twilight. Even the Kashgar livestock market is noisy and lively, pervaded by a genuine and authentic daily life. It was there that I truly understood one thing: the most beautiful landscape of southern Xinjiang is still its people, with that human warmth that flows alive and uninterrupted.
At the end of the trip, we returned carrying with us a sweet "Xinjiang nostalgia." I often find myself lost in thought: if I were in Kashgar right now, I'd be sitting on a bench in the old city, a yogurt in my hand, letting time pass sweetly.
This photography exhibition was born from a series of fortunate coincidences.
I captured the entire trip to southern Xinjiang and the love nurtured over these six years of waiting in a sequence of frames, now on display in the "A Reunion for a Moment" book bar in the ancient city of Xinchang.
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