If you miss the best season while visiting Xinjiang - between July and September - you can try and find its charm in another way.
Early last month I made a trip to the Uygur autonomous region for a winter experience there.
What dazzled me during my 11-day journey was the pure white snow covering the Tianshan Mountain range. I certainly missed the best time for fruit, but arrived in time for the cotton picking season, and decided to give it a go.
Cotton picking
Xinjiang's climate has a long summer period and a long time without frost, which is particularly conducive to growing cotton.
Xinjiang produces nearly a third of the cotton grown in China, accounting for about 8 percent of the world's yield. Last year it produced 1.6 million tons, beating all other provinces and regions around the nation, according to the official local government website.
But cotton does not favor saline soil, which is Xinjiang's basic soil.
Local people improve the quality of the soil by cultivating rice, which grows better in this kind of soil and in turn lowers the saline element. Farmers can then plant cotton, which they normally do in April.
Cotton picking is extremely time-consuming. From September to November, new cotton keeps blooming after the plants have already been picked, keeping everyone quite busy.
I joined pickers in a field not far from the city of Aral in Aksu of western Xinjiang.
The cotton field sits along the Tarim River, and because it is dry season, this poses no threat of flooding.
The threat is visible though, in the piles of stones waiting on the banks in times of flooding. I was asked to put on a white hat and a huge white apron with a deep pocket in the front.
The hat was tight enough to keep my hair from falling into what I picked.
The right way to pick cotton is to pluck whole plants, one by one, each in a bunch, but without any leaves. Leaves and hairs means a poor quality of cotton.
It took a while to get the hang of picking it without any leaves and for a time the pocket seemed far too big to ever be filled.
My companions showed more interest in taking photos than in harvesting.
I was given some help, though, by a fellow picker who obviously felt sorry for my poor results.
Piles of unprocessed cotton could be seen everywhere, waiting to be sent to nearby factories, where cotton seeds would be removed, and the rest left for further treatment.
Local officials estimate that the price of cotton would fall to 5 yuan (US$0.6) per kilogram this year, far lower than last year's 8-9 yuan (US$0.96-1.08).
On my way back, I passed some of those factories. Stacks of cotton, like clouds, were placed in the courtyard.
Along the road, straight poplars soar into the sky, like motionless guardians.
A family banquet
Next was dinner with a Kazak family.
The host works for the government of Barkol Kazak Autonomous County in Hami.
He introduced himself as "Huang Hai," a Han name, although Huang is actually a Kazak.
The Kazak ethnic group in Hami has a population of 30,000, making up 30 percent of the region's inhabitants, most of whom are Uygurs.
The Kazaks regard themselves as descendants of the white swan. There lies a romantic fairy tale.
Long long ago, a brave young soldier was badly wounded and left behind in the Gobi Desert. A beautiful white swan brought him water and saved him. The swan became a charming fairy and married the soldier. They named their boy "Kazak" which means white swan.
Hami is separated into two parts by the Tianshan Mountains, with the Kazaks in the north living on livestock, and the Uygur farmers in the south.
We expected to enjoy mutton the traditional Kazak way.
What captured me immediately as I entered the room where Huang Hai served us was a piece of woolen tapestry. Red and golden threads were weaved into the most complicated patterns I had ever seen.
On the dinner table were plates of sweets, fruit and other strange food.
Among them was "badaam," almonds originated in India, which you tear open to eat the tasty, crisp kernel.
Badaam never tastes too sweet, sometimes even a little bitter. Local people believe it helps fend off high blood pressure and tracheitis.
The host recommended two others that are unique in Xinjiang, "bao'ersake" and "jenit."
"Bao'ersake" is a fried wheaten food as small as one finger, often dipped in butter.
"Jenit" appears as a bowl of hodgepodge. It contains wheat, millet, butter and other things.
Time after time, my bowl was filled with hot milk tea.
"You won't warm up until you drink enough milk tea and sweat," said Huang. The local people believe this tea keeps away chills and helps them digest greasy mutton.
I was told if I had enough, just cover the bowl with my hand before the host adds more.
Adding some butter into the milk tea makes it more savoury. It is also supposed to be good for the skin.
Just before mutton was served, all refreshments were replaced with two large round plates.
A whole goat boiled simply in water was brought with some salt and a few green onions, eaten with the fingers.
To my left, the goat's head was placed on a plate of its meat. It faced Chen Xiaofeng, our team leader, as the most distinguished guest.
Under Huang's instructions, Chen slowly cut a tiny piece of meat from the bridge of the goat's nose and ate it.
After he had finished the first slice, Huang started cutting clumps of mutton, and it was passed to each of us.
It was not just mutton slabs - sausages were served made of horse intestines and filled with mutton. Then the strangest part of the feast, a block of fat cut into pieces and fed to the guests one by one.
It was definitely the hardest thing I have ever had to swallow. People on the grasslands consider fat as the most valuable food because it produces energy to fight chill. I found the Kazaks had a straightforward respect for visitors that you often find among China's minority groups.
The dinner they served me was certainly unforgettable - but unlike the beauty of the Kazak girls, it is something you may need a strong stomach for.
(China Daily December 11, 2004)
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