We came to Xi’an’s Muslim Quarter looking for the Great Mosque.
Finding it proved harder than expected.
The streets were already awake. Smoke drifted above charcoal grills. Vendors fanned skewers of lamb while others pounded blocks of sugar into candy or stretched fresh noodles before gathering crowds. Every few steps another smell caught our attention.
By afternoon, Dani had decided she wanted grilled squid. The vendors displayed dozens of them on skewers beneath the sun, surrounded by flies. We hesitated.
Then a local customer stepped to the counter.
The cook reached beneath the cart, pulled a fresh squid from a cooler, dusted it with paprika, and dropped it onto the grill.
We ordered exactly what he had.
Later, Dani spotted another snack she’d been curious about throughout China.
Candied fruit.
She pointed to the neat rows of glossy red and yellow skewers and chose one that looked especially good.
The first bite revealed a cherry tomato beneath the sugar.
She laughed once, looked at the skewer, and dropped it into the nearest trash can.
Only then did we remember why we’d come.
We looked up.
Somewhere beyond the food stalls stood one of China’s oldest mosques.
~
We followed the street north.
The smoke faded behind us. Souvenir shops gave way to vegetable stands, then racks of pale sheep brains and glossy cow organs. Wolf pelts hung from the telephone wires. Bicycle merchants rolled past with loudspeakers tied to their handlebars.
Then the sidewalks disappeared, and traffic filled the road until we couldn’t go any farther.
We turned left.
Then left again.
Eventually we found ourselves back where we’d started.
Dani pointed at her map then looked behind her.
“But where is it?” She asked.
I gestured to the market.
This time we walked more slowly.
~
Between two souvenir shops, we noticed a narrow gate we had passed hours earlier.
Beyond it, the noise disappeared.
The mosque had been there the whole time.