Let’s begin with the obvious: I did not find any grapes. None whatsoever! Instead, I found checkpoints, Uyghur food, and some guy in black who snapped my picture in a corner shop, as if that was something brought to life in a casual corner store action comedy. If you came here looking for vineyards—sorry. But if chaos was what you came for—you’ve won some sort of lottery.
That Creepy Moment
I’m going to get right to one of the more peculiar moments: a totally random guy in black follows me, walks into a store, lifts his phone, clicks, and then acts like nothing happened at all. I questioned myself for all of half a second–maybe he was texting? Nope! He was documenting me. Once you consider this circumstance in light of the interrogations yesterday (and the subsequent warning whisper of “We’re watching you”) you’d have an understanding of how impossible it felt to get to sleep that night.
Food brought us back from the edge of paranoia
But before paranoia took over completely, there was spice. Giant skewers paying homage to grilling, naan baked so fresh it practically hummed, kids shyly muttering “hello,” and sneaking selfies. Uyghur restaurants in Kashgar at 11:30 p.m. were still exciting, with hookahs stacked like they’re Middle Eastern decor imports, and my stomach was finally happy after a 10 hour fast. Best meal in several days!
Taxi Troubles That Felt Like Comedy Skits
A flashback has me back in the street, standing there yelling, “Taxi! Taxi!” to cars that either had a person inside or were not taxis at all. At one point, I couldn’t pass the cold war bunker-looking concrete barrier, and just cross the road. And the absurdity of this was that I had the cash, and I had the need, but did not have permission. It got to the point where I squeezed into a vehicle with only 35 yuan in my pocket, wondering if it would take me somewhere.
The Tourist Disneyland versus the “Real” Kashgar
This is the part of China that they want you to see, with nicely painted walls, fake cracks to make it seem authentic, staged “folk villages” where influencers are sipping iced lattes next to fake cow dung. And the Kashgar they want to keep hidden: clay homes with broken windows, abandoned markets that feel like you are in an eerie horror movie, and empty streets that feel like everyone just up and vanished. To walk through both worlds, back to back, was like changing channels from a Disney movie to a horror documentary.
Smoking With Strangers
Between being paranoid and being a tourist, I found myself handed a rolled-up Uyghur cigarette rolled up in some paper that looked like a newspaper. “Free,” he said. I lit it up alongside him on the street. For just a second, all our tension melted away—two people, no common language, just smoke swirling around us. An issue in international relations was resolved with smoke.
Hats, Haggling, and Almost Getting Conned
Well, no visit to the market would be complete without the ritual: “60 yuan.” “No, 30.” “50.” “35.” A short while later, I was leaving, wearing a Muslim cap that did not do wonders for my hairline, but I did feel like I was part of the culture. Somehow, paying in dollars, yuan, and hard effort, I managed to not go bankrupt.
Arrival That Should’ve Been The Beginning
As soon as we arrived in Kashgar after crossing the border from Kyrgyzstan, I thought: wow. The colors, the sounds, the mosque-like buildings, everything felt like more of the Middle East than China. Gold shops everywhere, children playing in the alleys, and calligraphy that resembled Arabic alongside Mandarin. You could’ve told me I’d stepped foot in Afghanistan or Syria, and I would have believed you.
And The Feeling That Stuck With Me
Even in the light-hearted moments—asking strangers if I looked “sexy” in my hat, being invited to empty arcades and wedding halls, or smoking herbal spliffs with whoever sat next to us—there was an ominous feeling that rolled with me. Cameras on every block, being followed at times, painfully aware that almost everything I filmed could be erased with one “checkpoint inspection.”
So no grapes, but plenty of adrenaline. Xinjiang wasn’t the trip I’d planned, but it is the trip that is seared into my memory.
