A history of Turkophone languages

Grapes, tea and smiles

Since I’m talking about the next step of our journey after Turpan, dad tells me that we must think and live the present moment and not always project ourselves into the next day, or if so very little. And since I don’t like to be contradicted, I’m upset. Finally, dad explains to me that this trip allows us to discover new things, but if we always think about tomorrow or the next destination, we’ll never be able to enjoy the present moment. All right, I understand his philosophy and do my best to think about it. We leave Turpan to head towards the desert. There’s a small village called Toyogh, however when Harkan said that entrance fees were included in his fee, he didn’t take into account this “new tourist stop”. Basically, it’s up to us to pay. Dad asks us to get out and stays in the car. He speaks to him in Ouigour since Ouigour is close to Azeri and dad speaks Azeri since they are Turcophone languages. Other negotiation: dad has him understand that if there’s an accounting problem, it’s up to the driver to take on. Question of commitment. The issue is resolved. Harkan pays the tickets. At the entrance, two police officers ask us for our passports, but for the first time since the beginning of the trip, dad didn’t bring them. So, he begins to speak in Ouigour and since the police officers are Ouigour, they show us another route to avoid police checkpoints. We find ourselves in the small streets of a mud village and we begin to observe the people who live there. I, of course, observe the girls and in Xinjiang, they’re drop-dead gorgeous. We talk with people from the village and learn that there’s a place of Muslim pilgrimage on its heights. We go up and there we end up in front of two old men praying. Dad makes a donation for the upkeep of the mosque. At the end of this place of pilgrimage, we enter something that looks like a cave. It’s dark and cold, but it’s a good place to gather ourselves. A group of people from the same family is crying. We stay discreet, silent and we move away towards the mosque. There is an empty yard where no one seems to be waiting for us. We are about to be thrown out when the Imam arrives for the prayer. We go to a basement where the air is cooler than upstairs and more pleasant to pray. Dad takes pictures.