Aug. 5 - 8:38 a.m., Yinning, Xinjiang Province, China

Arrived in Yinning by bus and discovered a pile of rubble where the internet cafe is meant to be, which is somewhat good because tonight I'll be sleeping in a tent and something is unusual about using the internet and a tent in the same day.


Near Lake Sayram

I'm now eating a large leek/egg dumpling and a steaming bowl of niu nai (hot soy milk) -- which is reminding me of Tibet, if not for the 20-odd women doing taiji (tai chi) with swords over at the next building. A young Kazakh family, veiled and shy, just arrived at this outdoor eatery. Just now, a small Kazakh (I think) boy sat down at my table and is eating mutton dumplings.

My bus ticket to Bole is for 10:50 a.m., which means I'll get to "around" Lake Sayram before 4 p.m., hopefully -- one never knows this far from Beijing. But of course, this far from Beijing you can see the stars; last night in particular, as I woke several times on the overnight bus to see a gorgeous sky laid out, through the window, above me -- gleaming as if to remind me how long it had been since we last met. I think, maybe, it's been a year; since Tibet, I doubt I've seen that many stars, which I suppose makes sense.

Since Tibet also, I doubt I've had a beard this big -- which is funny because it's deliberate: I could have shaved in Beijing, but I hate shaving anyway.


My beard, circa August 2006

I suppose Xinjiang may be some elaborate ploy to grow a beard.

Regardless, Yinning does feel like a border town, but that might be because I'm by the bus station. Everything I write about Xinjiang requires an end of sentence qualifier because of my own ignorance.

Chinese restaurants and stores have popped up all over the place -- I wonder what places they came from that to them Yinning is a big city of wonder. I bet to them, Beijing and Shanghai carry the same sort of weight as NYC must to a small boy from Alabama.

Two men just read that (lines pointing to NYC) over my shoulder; maybe they just want my table? Ha!


Urumqi, actually, not Yinning.

I keep forgetting to mention that for the past few days I feel that I have resembled a bizarre traveller from eras gone by. I'm decked out in brown breeches (rolled up), a tucked in wife beater (sleeveless white shirt, expressed unfortunately) that's too big for me, tied in with a black belt, and a plaid short sleeve shirt; my feet are filthy and so are my nails, I'm unshaven and haven't washed my hair (rain not included) for a week. For a boy from a Southern Ontario suburb, that's not half-bad.

And when I started this second bowl of milk there were three bugs; there is now one, floating on top; floating like me, but dead.

The Uighur man across from me now, has about four or five crow's feet on either eye, stretching about an inch and a half each -- but they look like they're from squinting, not smiling.

Earlier, I saw a Uighur woman -- or an old, weird Chinese -- walking in a pink great coat and cowboy boots. A Uighur man just walked by hobbling, holding a bulge coming out of his left knee with his right hand, and walking on the toes of his damaged foot -- I believe he was holding in a broken bone, afraid it would burst out his knee.