Note: Though we normally avoid foul language in this blog, this post does contain a fairly provocative word. In order to faithfully record our goings-on, I have decided to leave the word in, only partially censoring the word.

We were coming into Xining. I was in the passengers seat. A stranger pulled up on the right of our car. “Herro,” he said. “How are you doing?”

This is a common occurence in China. I find it rude, treating foreigners as if they were Zoo animals to throw peanuts at. I said nothing to the man, rolling my window up.

“Stupid c–nts (傻屄). They think that cause they know a few words of English, they’re so amazing,” the driver said.

Immediately, I knew I liked this guy, so I began to think of ways to gin up a conversation. We could already see a dozen cranes building on the city’s skyline, so I asked, “There are a lot of buildings going up. How long has this building spurt been going on?”

“It’s recent. A year ago, there were almost no cranes in the city. They think that if they just build it, people will come.”

“Are they coming?” I asked. “Or are people just keeping them as empties.”

“Oh, most of them, they’re empties.” He responded. “And what’s worse is that these are all being built by people from outside Xining, mostly people from Sichuan or Jiangsu. Lots of people from Jiangsu.”

“Nanjing?” I asked, curious if people were coming from the city in Jiangsu where I had once lived.
“Not so much Nanjing. Other places in Jiangsu.” He said. “They never consider local factors. They don’t consider how it will affect traffic, or where people are going to park our what will happen to the neighborhood. Just build it, make money and then leave town.”

He changed the subject. “Over there, that’s the largest mosque in the whole province. If you’re here Friday. You can go see them gathering for worship. Men pouring out praying out in the streets. ”

“Are you a Hui Muslim?” I asked.

“Yes, I am a Hui Muslim.”

“Oh, I wasn’t sure, since you weren’t wearing the hat that most Muslims in China wear,” I said stupidly. I should have known. His facial features looked very Chinese, but his skin was a shade paler than any Han Chinese person I had met. It was in his paleness that I could see hints of his Central Asian ancestory.

“Mostly, we only wear the hat on Fridays, when we go to worship.”

“So, Xining has a lot of Muslims?” I asked.

“Yes. It’s really more Muslim than Tibetan. In fact, even though this is a Tibetan province, Xining used to not have many Tibetans. But in the last few years, they all seem to have come out of the rural areas where they used to herd sheep. Now, they are everywhere.”

At this point, we got out of his car and let him continue on his way.