Hotan Jude

I had a near spiritual experience in Hotan. Nothing to do with Hotan itself, as upon arrival it seemed to be just like many of the other Chinese towns we have visited. Dirty, noisy and chaotic. Now, while Rich seems to enjoy being part of the madness of the thoroughfare I have more difficulty appreciating the finer points. Especially when you have just disembarked a 25 hour bus journey. I don’t feel the need to expand on this too much, as I am sure even the most laid back of travellers would empathise that this is a trying experience at best. A well known fact amongst my family and close friends is that I don’t ‘do’ lack of sleep very graciously. On these occasions my sense of humour has bolted leaving nothing but dust in it’s wake. So it is fair to say that I met Hotan in less than my best mood. After a good old cry and a morsel of sleep we awoke with plans to see some carpets and silk. 

After a few dead ends we stumbled upon the Atlas silk factory which was nestled serenely amongst an avenue of poplars on the outskirts of town. The setting was idyllic, it was quiet, the sun was shining and, it was a silk factory.

I have had textiles and all things fabric coursing through my veins since a tender age. My earliest, and possibly slightly rose tinted memory, is of my dad showing me how to knit when I was about five. My mum was in the hospital and for whatever reason my dad thought knitting a good distraction for me. Kudos dad, by the way. Mum had me on the sewing machine making outfits for Barbie not long after that, they were the coolest looking Barbies going, actually I think I had Sindy dolls as the folks thought Barbie a bit grown up. I wasn’t allowed a Ken doll until much later, but I digress. I have several people in my life, you know who you are, that have at crucial points helped navigate my path to reach my potential. If I believed in fate then mine would be a good example of things going swimmingly. I don’t actually, but I do believe my passion for textiles was too strong to ignore or deny. The level of excitement I feel when faced with a fabric shop, balls of yarn, haberdashery etc is off the scale. In fact if I was hooked up to a an ECG at these moments I know it would be flashing and beeping furiously. Fabrics float my boat, make me tick, get my juices going and flick my hair back. Got the picture? 

The Atlas silk factory would be enough to make any self respecting textile student sell their granny to have a look. It is one of those experiences that money really can’t buy. It is such a hidden gem, and as Rich pointed out before it should be a huge tourist deal, but thankfully for us, it is not. The Chinese tourists like BIG affairs you know? Lots of flash and pazzaz, wear the cap and buy the T-shirt. The Atlas ‘factory’ has probably no more than a dozen workers. Their average age I guess at around 70. We saunter in casually, there was no ticket desk, and are met by two young friendly Uighur girls. One of them has very good English and she begins our ‘tour’. The first stop is a shady corner where an old couple work together, almost telepathically, extruding the silk filament from the cocoons having been softened in a boiling vat of water to release the thread. This in itself let me tell you is no mean feat, to see it done with such ease and speed was a treat. The old lady would pull up the fibres and feed them through an eyelet onto the spinning wheel the old gent on her right was working. Goodness knows how many years they have been doing this together. It was like watching Fred and Ginger work the dance floor. Seamless. 

Next stop was the dyeing process, again a couple of old chaps sitting under the shade of the vine trellis having a natter and tying up sections of the yarn to begin the tie dye effect. The Atlas method is a sort of dye by resist method, you build up the colours and patterns by covering specific sections so as they will not pick up all of the colours. This is done at the thread stage as opposed to the usual finished fabric stage. Although unlike the tie dye look often sported by hippies and folks stuck in the 1970’s it is a much more graphic and sophisticated result. It wouldn’t look out of place on a Marni or Prada catwalk. 

Lastly we enter the weaving shed (shed being the official term for the room housing the hand looms the fabric is made on). There are about 8 hand looms, and about 5 of them in use. In contrast to the other stages of the process, the weavers are mostly younger folk. However, working away contentedly in the far corner was who I will call the Seifu (Chinese term for Master). No joke, I think he must have been about 100 years old given his multitude of wrinkles and the few teeth he had left in his mouth. 

A brief explanation on the weaving process. This is how we get what most of us know of as cloth/fabric, what your shirts, trousers and skirts are made of, and so on. The ‘cloth’ is made up of interlocking vertical and horizontal threads. These are called the Warp (the vertical backbone of the fabric) and the Weft (horizontal). The Warp threads are laboriously threaded through the hand loom to achieve the correct tension and end up sitting in what look like fine toothed metal combs in front of the worker. The fabric pattern is made by positioning pegs of wood in a rotating cylinder which determine the sequence with which these combs move with the aid of foot pedals and firing the Weft thread in between using what is called a shuttle. 

Anyway, I hope that rough explanation is a help, apologies to weave experts for any inaccurate terminology...it has been many years since I have handled a loom. Back to the Seifu. I wandered over to spectate while he artfully communicated with his loom. There was something about him that drew me to him. Thankfully for me he seemed just as curious by my presence and welcomed my interest warmly. Immediately he handed me the shuttle encouraging me wordlessly to have a go. He was keen to nurture my interest. As far as tutors go he was something special. Although his fingers were knarly with age, he was a bit nifty with the apparatus. During my time at college our weave tutor was a friendly chap called Jim Marshall. He had one glass eye, so it was difficult to know where to look when you spoke with him, you know the way. He was always more than helpful and as most geeks are, genuinely enthusiastic about his subject. I find myself wondering what it would be like to sit for hours with this old Seifu just soaking up his experience. I was reluctant to make the move and leave his world behind. 

We finish the tour off with a trip to the shop. Incredibly restrained, I leave with only one scarf. But what a scarf it is. We exit the factory and cross the road to wait in the shade of the poplars for the next bus back to town. Briefly we contemplate visiting the next factory in the guidebook which boasts 2000 plus workers and the silks made by power machines. No, we could not improve on our morning. My mood has lifted, my weary soul nourished by the treasure of the experience. I am speechlessly content. Hotan wasn’t so bad after all.