Two Days in Shache: Packing the Flavor of Life and the Sound of the Qitara into Your Bag

I really have to advise friends who want to visit Xinjiang not to just focus on Kashgar! Shache hides the most authentic soul of the Western Regions, with no crowded tour groups, and even the air carries the scent of roasted buns and copperware. Early on the first day, I dove into the old town morning market. By 6 a.m., the alleys were already bustling with steam. The roasted egg stall at the corner gave off a fragrant aroma. For 15 yuan, I cracked open a goose egg, sprinkled some salt, and took a bite—the egg white was bouncy, and the yolk was sandy like flowing sand. Paired with a 5-yuan plate of baursak dipped in yogurt, the sweet and salty taste was amazing. Then I downed a 3-yuan cup of salty milk tea, warming my stomach. At the end of the morning market, the copperware shop was fascinating. Grandpa Tursunjiang, 61 years old, was hammering a copper kettle. The metal gleamed under the mudbrick wall’s light spots—this is the seventh generation of craftsmanship inheritance. In the afternoon, I visited the Yarkand Khanate Royal Mausoleum. The blue dome shone dazzlingly under the sun. The painted walls of the tomb were still very clear. In the museum, the Idilais silk robe was so vividly colored it looked like a rainbow was woven into it. The biggest surprise was under the grape trellis of the palace, where an artist played the dutar and sang. The music circled around the fountain, and sitting on the stone bench listening, even the wind seemed to slow down. In the evening, you must soak in a century-old teahouse. The wooden stairs creaked, and the window seat on the second floor offered a view of the old town’s darkening alleys. I ordered a pot of 15-yuan brick tea, paired with a plate of almonds. At 8:30, when the artist started singing, the melody of the Twelve Muqam immediately filled the room. Locals clapped along to the rhythm. Although I couldn’t understand the lyrics, I couldn’t help but tap my foot. This atmosphere was more healing than any tourist spot. On the second day, I specifically went to Kazanchi Old Street, truly the “place where pots are cast,” with the sound of copperware hammering rising one after another. In the Idilais silk workshop, an elderly lady stepped on the loom, weaving colorful threads into rainbow patterns. I spent 20 yuan trying my hand at pulling silk threads and realized how much effort this intangible cultural heritage craft requires. In the afternoon, I strolled to Qifutai, a 40-meter-high earthen platform standing at the village edge. The archway inscribed with “Respect the Han Dynasty Together” tells a two-thousand-year story. When the wind blows, it feels like you can hear the hoofbeats of the ancient post station. Before leaving, I bought almonds and dried figs at the Grand Bazaar. The original-flavor almonds, 60 yuan per jin, became more fragrant the more I chewed. Passing by a roasted bun shop, I couldn’t resist buying two more. At 3 yuan each, they were so crispy they crumbled, and the lamb filling had no gamey taste. What’s great about Shache is the lively morning market, the qitara music in the teahouse, and the warmth in the hands of the old artisans. This trip didn’t rush to any check-in spots but engraved the most genuine taste of the Western Regions deep in my heart.