People here in Xinjiang, and for all I know possibly throughout the whole of China, seem to take their kite flying seriously.  It’s really quite a spectacle that is made possible by the reliably windy weather marking the transition from winter to spring.  About three or four weeks ago vendors started setting up kite stands all along the road displaying the different colors and shapes that were available to purchase, kites which included the likes of Spiderman, the Fuwa (Olympic mascots), cool-looking fighter jets, and even some incredible dragon designs.

Kites weren’t the only thing they were selling, though.  Of almost equal importance was the kind of string you have, how strong it is, and what kind of mechanism you use to keep it all in your hands and under control.  For almost the same price as a cup of coffee at Starbucks (which – I must note – is not located here in Xinjiang) you can walk away with a kite boasting a 7-foot wingspan that could fly so high you wouldn’t be able to distinguish it from a bird.  Simply incredible.

In my naivety I thought this fascination with kites was limited to the younger generation like it is in America.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  While watching a kite flying competition at a local school last week I was surprised to find that a majority of kites were being flown by middle-aged or elderly men whose children were doing nothing but patiently waiting behind them, pointing out “their” kite to friends.  Nothing could break their intense concentration on that tiny flying spec in the sky.  Over 40 kites were being flown from a single soccer field filled with a couple hundred spectators and kite fliers.

Of course kite flying competitions have their casualties, too.  As if torn from the pages of the book “The Kite Runner” (whose subsequent film was actually shot in Xinjiang’s western city of Kashgar), one of the objects of the competition is to be able to walk away with your kite in hand.  Although the kite lines aren’t stuck with shards of glass, crossed lines are common and oftentimes result in lost kites.  At the altitude some of these kites are flying who knows where they’ll land.

I’ve attempted to fly kites with some of these people, but it never quite works out.  It’s almost like going to Kenya and saying you’re going to take a quick jog with some of the locals.  There must be some technique to it that I just don’t get.  Usually I end up being the one who unintentionally crosses lines with another friendly kite flier, apologizing profusely for the inconvenience.  In the end, though, I’m at least happy to be a part of the spectacle, another colorful spot in Xinjiang’s blue spring sky…

…even if my “spot” is usually making a speedy nose dive for the ground.

*Grab a copy of The Kite Runner from Amazon
*Read a great interview by Bruce Humes with the Chinese translator of The Kite Runner on the Paper Republic.