Needless to say, the suffocating lake in Kanas, the truly beautiful Wolong Bay, the No.3 mine with outstanding military achievements in Cocotohai, and the intimate couple tree ... I just want to say that the flocks of cattle and sheep, shy and simple minority friends, an ancient forest, Gebao Matian fields, and the snacks with national characteristics that I met on the path at random in Altay are all fascinating.
Came to Alahak Town, Altay. Originally, I thought the town of Alahak was only one street long in front of me, and I took part in the food and national unity activities in the villages of Aheqi and Seck Houlle, only to know that this town was so quietly spreading.
In the big forest at the entrance of Aheqi village, tall and lush branches and leaves extend from both sides of the road to meet in the middle, forming a natural jade palace. The sunset in the evening slanted down from the cracks in the branches and leaves, and the light was dim and visible, and suddenly it was like a fairyland.
When I entered Aheqi village, I saw such a big pot for the first time, and I also saw such a big pot of mutton for the first time. All the villagers came. Only the mayor and the secretary can speak some Chinese, but the language barrier does not hinder communication at all. Smile is the best language. We smiled at each other and many villagers came to take photos with us.
A large plate of essence contains sheep's head mutton and fat sheep oil. The director said that this sheep oil nourishes the stomach and is not greasy. As for eating, I never want to be left behind. I bravely took a bite of sheep oil, which melted in my mouth and slipped into my stomach unconsciously, which was particularly comfortable. A young man skillfully divided the meat on our plate with a knife, and the villagers enthusiastically advised us to eat happily.
After dinner, Kazakh friends taught me to spin wool, which is pure wool. Woven shawls and tapestries must be very ethnic and beautiful.
In Seksewule village, friendly and enthusiastic villagers made ethnic snacks with various patterns, including Balsack, which not only had different shapes, but also used sheep oil, clear oil and ghee. Noble female elders wear white embroidered headscarves, and male elders sit in the front row. The villagers are singing and dancing, and their faces are filled with happy and satisfied laughter, which makes people forget themselves and just want to sing and dance with them. They were pulled back for another drink when we said goodbye.
The hospitality of Kazak friends in Woymak village lies in a table full of Borsack, milk bumps, ghee, milk tea and exquisite candy from Kazakhstan. Knowing that I was traveling, doctor A Pai and teacher A Ga asked me if Xinjiang was good. I said the scenery was delicious. I just wanted to come for two weeks at first, but I couldn't bear to leave after staying for two months. Everyone laughed heartily.
The next day, I went to look for the forest leading to Aheqi village. No guide, no companion. I was exposed to the hot sun. I only took a bottle of water and walked north through the only street in town. I started by feeling. At the end of the road, some savages parked eight or nine motorcycles in an arc, talking about something. I was uneasy and slowed down.
Xiao Zhi (a Kazakh guy who has met several times and is slightly mentally retarded) always smiles at me like a child and sometimes accompanies me for a while. I didn't know his name at that time, so I called him Xiao Zhi) who came out of nowhere and babbled with me. Those savages stopped chatting and looked up at me, their clear eyes full of curiosity.
People with clear eyes must be kind people. I walked on with confidence. Goodbye to the forest, I stopped and opened my mouth wide. The half-withered and half-glorious shape points to the blue sky, like a sentry in a fairy tale castle. I turned around twice in the same place and simulated entering a magical country. The Woods are quiet and picturesque. Occasionally, motorcyclists pass by with shovels and other farm tools behind them. They all turn around and stare at me fiercely, and I am intoxicated. When someone passes by, I behave myself and go my own way.
I met a villager who mowed the grass. I asked what trees these are, and how many years have they been? He said it was planted by his father when he was young, probably in the seventies and eighties. It was an elm willow. Beautiful Xinjiang, after several generations of efforts and dedication, still maintains this original beauty, paying tribute to people who have struggled in this land!
It's getting late, and the avenue bathed in golden light is difficult to reproduce. I want to go back. I glanced at the car coming by the side of the road. Mr. and Mrs. Gulibahti stopped the car enthusiastically and were lucky enough to hitchhike. Really, just one more look at you in the crowd opened the legend of our friendship.
Back to my residence, a reader who left home left me a message on the official WeChat account: Aheqi Village, my home, I miss you.
A few simple words made my eyes water. I was moved by his deep affection for my hometown and by his own words that made the wanderer homesick.
During the days when I returned to Shenzhen, my bedtime reading was Winter Ranch by Altay writer Li Juan. Reading and reading, I often giggle in the silent night, as if I had wrapped all my warm clothes of the same length as them in a linen bag, and I was herding cattle and sheep, fetching snow water, eating naan and drinking tea with Li Juan and Mama Ju in the cold and humble winter pasture.
I think of Altay countless times, miss it, miss all the surprises I have encountered, even if it is only a short time to get along or smile at each other, the simple and practical smiling faces, the cattle and sheep in the pasture, the birds in Yanchi, the alpacas and birch trees in Baihualin Park, and the beautiful girl sung in the song of Gebao Niuhaiwang ... They have an unforgettable name-Altay.
I am eager to go back to Altay. I am eager to see the paths, Woods and villages that I can't tell why, and the kind faces that are not necessarily familiar but unforgettable.
On the eve of departure, I was bathed in the sunset in Altay, as if I had been injected with some sacred ability by magical light. As if there was a deep voice, I said slowly, Tina, come and tell my story to more people. ...
The beauty, warmth and love of Altay will flow out of my heart in words, and all of them have legs and run into your heart happily.