I arrived in Kashi, better known as Kashgar, from Shanghai. The change was immediate. After years spent on China’s east coast, surrounded by speed, glass, and constant movement, Kashi felt slower and deeper. It is a city where history is not something you search for—it is simply there, in the streets, in the buildings, and in the faces of the people.

Daniele Mattioli shows photos he has taken to a friend in Kashi Prefecture, northwest China’s Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region.

I did not stay long in Kashi, but even a short time was enough to understand its role. Walking through the old city, I passed narrow alleys, clay-colored houses, wooden doors, and small courtyards hidden from the street. Life moved at a human pace. Shops were open, people talked, children played. Kashi felt less like a final destination and more like a doorway—a place that prepares you for the wider land of southern Xinjiang.

Leaving Kashi, I continued south by road. As the city disappeared behind me, the landscape slowly opened up. The road runs between cultivated land and dry terrain, following the logic of water and survival that has shaped this region for centuries. Traveling this way makes you understand how fragile life is here and how carefully people must work with the land.

Daniele Mattioli shoots a traditional musical instrument artisan in Shufu County, Kashi Prefecture, northwest China’s Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region.

In Makit County, the focus was not on monuments or famous sights, but on the idea of the oasis itself. This area sits close to the edge of the desert, and everything here feels connected to protection and balance. Fields, irrigation channels, and lines of trees show how much planning and daily effort are needed just to keep the desert at a distance.

One of the most impressive moments of the journey was visiting the million-acre windbreak and sand-control forest. Seeing it in person made its scale hard to believe. Long rows of trees stretch across the land, planted to stop the sand, soften the wind, and protect farms and villages. It is a quiet place, but full of meaning. This forest is not decoration—it is infrastructure, built to support life and long-term development.

Nearby, I reached the No. 39 Desert Scenic Area, where the land opens directly onto the desert. Standing there, I felt very small. The desert does not feel empty—it feels powerful and endless. This is the beginning of the Tarim Basin and the Taklimakan Desert, a space that has shaped movement, trade, and imagination for thousands of years.

The Taklimakan Desert covers around 300,000 square kilometers, making it the largest desert in Asia. For centuries, people have lived around its edges, relying on oasis systems fed by water from distant mountains. Seeing the desert with my own eyes helped me understand why the Silk Road followed these fragile green lines. History here was guided by geography.

Daniele Mattioli (the second from the left) communicates with Chinese and foreign photographers about their works in the poplar forest of Zepu County in Kashi Prefecture, northwest China’s Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region.

What struck me throughout the journey was how strongly Xinjiang is looking toward the future. Alongside tradition and landscape, there is clear work being done to build a modern region. Infrastructure, logistics, renewable energy, and environmental technology are shaping Xinjiang into an important hub connecting China with Central Asia. Tourism is also part of this vision, not as mass spectacle, but as a way to share culture, nature, and history in a sustainable way.

The journey ended in Zepu County, where I saw this future-focused approach clearly. Large ecological projects aim to recreate and protect oasis environments through tree planting, water management, and soil recovery. These efforts are designed to make the land productive and stable again, while also opening space for eco-tourism and long-term settlement. Zepu felt like a place where ancient ideas of the oasis are being rethought with modern tools.

Traveling through southern Xinjiang was not about checking places off a list. It was about moving through space and feeling how history, nature, and human effort connect. Kashi opened the door, the road explained the land, and the desert set the scale. What stayed with me most was the sense of a region in transition—rooted in deep history, yet clearly working toward a future built on innovation, sustainability, and openness.

Daniele Mattioli is an Italian photographer who is currently living in Shanghai.

Producer: Xiao Chunfei

Supervisors: Ding Tao and Jie Wenjin

Planners: Jie Wenjin and Cheng Li

Reviewers: Hou Weili and Wang Xiabing 

Editor: Gvlzar Mijit