I couldn't figure out at first why the holy man wouldn't grab my wrist the way he had grabbed rick's wrist when he told his fortune. Finally, he slowly reached toward a pile of blue plastic bags, gently peeled one off and placed it across my arm before he touched my wrist to feel my pulse.

The holy man was not allowed to touch me.

He told me I need to stop eating beef, and stop drinking cold water and peach juice. He also told me I often get neck pains (true).

The holy man sat in a small alcove in the hat-selling section of old town Kashgar. Our local tour guide brought Rick and I to his little spot, where he sat surrounded in dried frogs and lizzards and other things that I could not identify.

He wore a long black robe, which contrasted with his long white beard, and was doling out information to a local Uyghur when we first arrived. The man had some sort of unnamed problem (although our guide did translate part of what the holy man said as "now you won't have any problems with your wife.")

Our guide translated more: 'Why did you not come to me first instead of going to the Chinese hospital. This will save you money and it will work."

Our tour guide gladly translated for our visit to the sufi master, who gives out advice about health and your personal life. As we sat there, scrunched together on wooden stools, a small crowd began to gather around to listen. At first I thought it was just because we were foreigners, but when Rick and I walked by later, an even bigger crowd was gathered around as a local sought advice.

Perhaps his ailment was much more interesting than ours.