Along the Silk Road - Kucha
The next stop of my grand Silk Road trip was another ancient city whose history can be traced back to the 2nd century, sitting on the northern edge of the Taklamakan desert.
When the flight flew over the Taklamakan desert, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to observe the desert in its fullest form through the window.
It made me more excited to discover the world on the other edge of the desert.
“Kucha was an important Buddhist center from Antiquity until the late Middle Ages. Buddhism was introduced to Kucha before the end of the 1st century, however it was not until the 4th century that the kingdom became a major center of Buddhism. … Kucha served as an important intermediary in the transmission of Buddhism from the Indian subcontinent to China.”
— Wikipedia
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Kucha wasn’t in my initial list of places to visit and since I needed to go back home at this point of my journey, I only scheduled an overnight trip. That only left me one and a half days to experience the city.
I headed out as soon as I arrived at the hostel.
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I walked along the main road that led me to the old town which had been transformed into a touristic centre. The history and culture were made more prominent and visible for the visitors through the decorations and display panels at the street corners.
The most interesting discovery was the very distinctive colour palette. Almost all the paintwork in the town was the mixture of bright base colours, green, yellow, red and blue etc. They fitted right in with the surroundings, the old houses and nature. Having a bright sun hanging in the blue sky without a cloud, everything looked so absolute in its own existence.
As someone who had just visited the desert, I actually enjoyed this kind of brightness that felt like it could illuminate me from the inside out, making all my worries disappear.
By enjoying all kinds of street designs, I let the colours consume me.
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Soon, I exited the curvy old town streets and arrived at a modern main avenue. I kept going to see where it was leading.
There was a lot going on along the sides of this avenue, mostly restaurants, but also shops. Unlike the jewellery shops in Hotan, that focused more on being commercial, the ones here were much more careful in their architectural design.
What’s more, I saw more smiling faces and heard some chattering voices.
In its entirety, this place was alive and had the spirit that was lacking in Hotan. It was more populated than the other two cities I visited and perhaps also had more modern-life flavour.
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Steps away, there was a major destination that couldn’t be missed - the last Kucha king’s mansion.
I couldn’t wait to go inside.
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When I crossed the very high threshold of the gate, I entered a different world - the world of the king, the past.
A king? I would never have imagined a kingdom would be still standing in my hometown and I would never even have thought to look for one.
It was only because I had been living in Europe long enough that I developed interest to explore the kingships elsewhere in the world.
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The mansion was large, and it consisted of multiple buildings and gardens of traditional Asian architecture. There were buildings dedicated to the royal family, and the main building in the centre where the king worked and received guests.
However, now everything had been converted into museum displays illustrating the history that once existed.
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What was striking, however, was that the king’s last wife and her daughter were still living there and serving the mansion’s tourism business.
What an interesting time for this family, I thought to myself.
Yesterday’s heroes, today’s ordinary people.
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I made my way to the very back of the mansion where there was the king’s tomb. It was located inside a grand Islamic hall, having his biography and a lineage map of all past kings, which could be traced back to the times that were prior to the region’s islamisation.
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When I went back outside to a garden on the front side of the mansion, I heard music. Similar to every single tourist centre I had visited so far, the dancers were performing the traditional Uyghur dance.
Although, I probably had heard this music a million times growing up, I will never get tired of it, the music is in my blood, the dance is in my imagination, always.
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Finally, I left the mansion having mixed feelings about everything. I think for the first time in my life, I saw the past in a vivid form, other than being told about it. Though I didn’t know what to expect, it was not easy to witness the fallen kingdom, and its descendants confined inside this modern prison, in what was once the seat of their glory. I also saw a vast difference between who I was becoming and who they were, though we came from the same community - the Uyghurs.
For me, it has been harder each day to call myself Uyghur.
I am becoming too large for its definition to hold me. One of us has to change, either me or the definition.
Maybe one day this identity will disappear, but I hope it will become something larger.
The visit triggered such a deep heavy feeling that I could do nothing but go back and rest.
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The next day would be my last day of the entire trip.
It made me want to contemplate my journey.
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I had been taking for granted all of this rich history and culture, which had been lasting, building and transforming for thousands of years on the very land where I was standing, without ever knowing its worth.
It only occurred to me to look back when I was diving deeper into the culture of a different land - Europe.
Living in Europe taught me a lot that I had missed before, an appreciation and understanding of various cultures, the ability to not only preserve but also to reflect on history, and the rich interior of each individual to be the carrier of the wisdom from the past.
This trip has been necessary and meaningful for me to dig more about myself and my past, which gave me the clarity for the future.
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I decided to take the next day at a slower pace in order to remember every little detail of the last moments of this trip, and how I was feeling being there on the verge of giving up parts of me that would no longer serve the person I was becoming.
After having a late morning breakfast, I chose a digital museum to visit thinking that it would bring me back to the present, to the modernity.
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The museum had two parts. The one at the front had various interactive media to display the modernisation process of the region. Like anywhere else in the world, modernising a historically rich area posed difficult questions on what to keep and what to modernise.
There were pictures of the town from decades ago versus now. Also, people who had been involved in the process shared their opinions on the subject.
What interested me more was the other museum at the back. It was purely dedicated to the most famous cultural icon of the region - Kizil Caves.
It is said to be the earliest Buddhist complex in China and it was constructed between 3rd to 8th century CE.
I was the only visitor when I entered the museum, but the friendly receptionist still showed me everything in detail. I had the privilege to be the only one sitting in a grand hall while having the video introduction projected onto the walls around me.
While learning about the Buddhist history, I was imagining the lives of people who lived almost two thousand years ago on the same land where I was standing.
Though I had been to many museums and had seen all kinds of high-quality educational materials, this particular one touched something deeper in me. It felt personally relevant, close and important.
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The comfort of the place made me want to stay longer and comprehend things better. So far, my brain had been taking in much more information than I could make sense of.
First of all, my initial understanding of what my hometown was that it was mostly about music, cuisine and my family. Then, after having lived in Europe, I started to see everything from higher ground, and I saw the Silk Road rather than just seeing my home and my street. And there I was, filling in the larger missing pieces of what should have also been included in the place I call - home.
I stood up finally, from one of the comfortable cushions and headed out.
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Without deciding where to go, I walked on my familiar route and found myself back at the hostel.
A heavy rain poured down.
People were in the court yard having conversations.
I sat down naturally, using my charm to involve myself in the chitchat.
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“A policeman died last night trying to save some kids swimming in the river during the storm” A girl said. “He was a very good man!”
I think I happened to have a glimpse of that news when it popped up on my phone screen this morning.
“Yes, I heard. Did you know him?” I said.
“Sort of, but not very close. He is one of the good police officers, who was genuinely caring and helpful. Bad things always happen to good people.”
I found myself being drawn into something more serious than I thought, so I decided to steer away from the subject.
“I went to the King’s Mansion yesterday, and I saw the Queen who is still alive. How amazing!” I said.
“Yes, you can talk to her, and she can tell you a lot of stories.”
“Oh, but do you need to pay? It says it charges 30 yuan only to take a picture with her.” I replied. I didn’t want to delve further into how they were doing and what their lives looked like.
It gave me an impression that the locals here know the Queen quite well, and I think that makes sense.
After this brief attempt at blending in with the locals, I discovered that I was too much of an outsider for this, so I stood up and left again.
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I was just idling on the streets and looking for interesting things to see trying to fill up the time.
In the meantime, I felt like my trip was over and I couldn’t wait to be back home.
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After wandering for a long time through the city, the time finally came.
I took a taxi and there I was at the train station awaiting my departure.
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The trip was over, but my mind had not yet stopped replaying everything I had encountered on this journey.
It was not yet clear how to feel about it, but I saw my hometown with fresh eyes, as a semi-outsider, after being away long enough to see things from a different perspective.
Whether the place has changed or I have changed, the answere is both.
All I could do was let go of the past, so that the future could continue painting its story.
September, 2026
Paris