Dála

Intense summer heat makes my sweaty feet itchy.  This is mostly because I will forever associate the most aesthetically pleasing walk I’ve ever taken with the midday heat in one of the hottest places on earth. 

Dála (in Greek ντάλα) is when the sun has warmed the land so much that it then commands it.  The heat dances riotously over the pavements, and brows become sore from squinting. 

But try not to wilt on me.  This is the best time to strike out to collect the dust from the streets on your face and clothes. 

My best dála goes like this: As we walk down the quiet main strip, the vineyards come into view.  Their vines have crept up and over the trellises of the open-plan dwellings, giving families a precious defense, even if it is perforated here and there by arrogant rays of sunlight.

The dust indeed collects, and we sweat even while strolling leisurely.  But we are impressed, delighted and alone.  Cold white water rushes past us in an orderly fashion, directed by narrow culverts toward the bottom of this desert basin in Xinjiang.  

We come across but one person: a young man with eyes of green such as I have never beheld.  Lost in thought, he squats on his haunches, his right hand rested on his chin with the forefinger pressed against his lips.  With his left hand he uses a stick to toy with a pebble, pushing it ahead as if it were a piece in a scale model designed to show his fellow-soldiers the enemy’s battle-plans.

He doesn’t look up at us, even though we are staring shamelessly, amazed by his green eyes and the concentration with which he is planning the rest of his life.  Together we share the heat, our surroundings and a thousand possibilities.    

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Select Enlightenment:

P. Hopkirk, Foreign Devils on the Silk Road (London: John Murray, 1980).