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Saturday 2004-05-08 - Damascus, Syria
We’re there, but we’re not in yet!
We’re at the airport of Damascus. Three in the afternoon, a slight delay but nothing dramatic. Arranging the group visa on arrival isn’t the problem … the problem is we need someone from the local agency to come pick us up with a letter of invitation — and he isn’t there. Marie Josee, our tour companion, can’t go outside to see if he’s there, and he can’t know we’re here if he’s waiting outside. Ultimately, she manages to call him: he’s in the car on the way to the airport (he says). Finally, he arrives (it’s quite a way to the airport): he had our old travel scheme (arrival late at night), not the new scheme with arrival in the afternoon.
While waiting, we amuse ourselves looking at other passengers arriving. The variety is enormous, from plain-looking demurely-dressed ordinary people, to very modern-looking young people in tight-fitting fashionable clothes, to chique-looking Arab businessmen in full regalia. As we will find out later, they afford us a preview of the kaleidoscopic diversity seen on the streets of Damascus.
Finally, after three hours, we’re in. Then we find our luggage and one of our suitcases has been forced open. It’s not clear if anything’s missing, but the suitcase itself is damaged. More waiting time, to get a declaration; they can look later whether anything is actually missing. Half an hour’s ride to the city, and then we finally arrive in our hotel where we’re welcomed with a nice cup of tea.
Monday 2004-05-24 - Bāzargān, Iran
Compliment for the ladies
The border crossing into Iran goes amazingly smoothly; on the Turkish side, the bus is allowed to take us right up to the gate which is practically flush with the Iranian one at Bāzargān. After that is customs, which worried us most — for no reason as it turns out. All ladies in our group were already dressed “decently” before getting on the bus, and the rather grumpy tourism officer who receives us before the customs gate (for inspection?) actually compliments us for how we are dressed. Possibly as a result we get no baggage check at all!
Saturday 2004-06-12 - Bājgirān, Iran
Border formalities
We leave Mashhad at six - without breakfast - since we want to be early at the border so we won’t have to wait all day. When we are a little outside the city, our guide, Hassan, manages to produce tea, fresh bread and cheese on the bus, so our stomachs aren’t rumbling. At 10 we’re at the border at Bājgirān and the long wait starts. Leaving Iran is no problem, entering Turkmenistan a bit of a hassle. The passport check just after the Iranian exit gate is easy enough but then we need to wait for our bus to pick us up and take us to the actual Turkmen border post. Finally our guide, Bava, appears — without the bus: it was not allowed to go through till the gate. In two shifts we go in a minibus taxi to the customs check. The driver goes at a crazy speed along the winding mountain road, laughing at our worried looks, refusing to slow down.
We’ve heard stories about Turkmen border officials, so we insist we won’t enter the customs building until we’re all together; then we go one by one, with our guide and our tour companion watching, keeping in mind the stories about border officials grabbing what they could. Apart from a lot of hassle with all the forms, stamps and counter stamps, it all goes surprisingly easy though: the officers (half of them women) are friendly and actually check only a few bags. My load of films (more than 100 in lead-lined bags) causes mainly amazement: “Are these all yours?” - “Yes” - “How many used?” - “About half” - “OK.” The serial number of my camera is noted on the declaration form. A cursory glance and poke at the inside of my big bag, and that’s all. Still, since we do it all one by one, bag by single bag, it takes a long time.
Tuesday 2004-06-15 - Chardzhev, Turkmenistan
Sick over the border
We have to leave Mary early this morning to have sufficient time for the border crossing near Chardzhev. As soon as I wake up, I know I’m sick: I have diarrhea and a little later I have to throw up, too. No fever, so I’m not really worried but I do feel very weak. Bad planning for a border crossing day… When I enter the restaurant next to the hotel where we’ll have our breakfast, just the smell of the food makes me sick again, I have barely time to make it outside to throw up again, let alone to ask for the bathroom. I try a bit of tea, but even that upsets my stomach.
I’m put in the front of the bus and soon doze away; the landscape is boring anyway. At Chardzhev where we need to cross a pontoon bridge before the border crossing a little further on I wake up again because we seem to be going in circles. We are. The driver can’t find the entry to the bridge because all the original routes have been closed off. Finally, with the help of some locals, he finds the way. At the bridge, Bava starts negotiating: normally the bridge can be crossed only by locals and trucks — travelers have to take a taxi across to the border. Some baksheesh takes care of it though: more expensive than taxis but also more comfortable. As a ‘bonus’, we can take a picture of the railway bridge next to the pontoon bridge — illegal but safe from our bus with a trusted driver. It was bombed several times by the Germans during the last World War but they could not take it out of action.
Crossing the border is near torture: it’s extremely hot at midday, everyone is tired, customs at the Turkmen side takes a very long time with all luggage opened (though for a cursory look only) — and then, after saying goodbye to our guide Bava whom I promise to email, we have to walk a long way across no-man’s land in the burning sun to the Uzbek side. It doesn’t help that I’m very light in my head but I’m not the only one suffering. I bless my luggage on wheels though: without the wheels I wouldn’t have made it! At the Uzbek end things are a little easier — the same type of customs declarations as we had for Turkmenistan is required, but at least they have an X-ray machine for the luggage. Two mini busses stand ready to take us to our first Uzbek city. In the front of the bus again I fall asleep immediately. It’s still 97 km to Bukhara.
Sunday 2004-06-20 - Tashkent, Uzbekistan
My name is Johan
Our driver, Vladimir, has gone to the office to pick up our plane tickets. When they arrive at seven this morning, just before we are to leave for the Tashkent airport, we find all our names have changed! Instead of a group of 9 women and 3 men, our tickets claim we’re all men now and though most (not all) have kept their last names, all of us have new first names… My name is Johan Katsma now. Our guess is someone, somewhere, seems to have mixed up two spreadsheets in their computer, and ordered the tickets in the wrong names (some other group must have tickets in the wrong name, too!). Will we be able to fly?
After a phone call to the local agent, they promise a representative will be waiting for us at the airport to sort things out. Someone is there, indeed, but we don’t get new tickets (they can’t print tickets at the airport); the situation is accepted though, and we’re entered in the computer — and the agent’s representative leaves again … too soon, since we still have to check in. Luckily, the airline official who’s to check us in has a sense of humor: for starters, our luggage is far too heavy for the small plane according to the rules but he accepts it because the plane isn’t fully booked. “Bring me a present next time,” he says, and proceeds to literally walk us through the rest of the check-in procedure, first keeping all tickets and boarding cards and taking care they are stamped, until we get onto the bus that takes us to the tiny Yak-4 plane.
It’s like a bus, with at most 40 seats, some of them at the back taken up by our luggage. On the 50-minute flight to Fergana we even get a drink but the seats have no head rests and no folding tables, so a meal is out of the question. We get beautiful views from the windows: plains, gradually changing into the mountainous area of the Fergana valley. Touching down at Fergana airport, we see scarecrows in the sparse grass along the landing strip, obviously meant to keep birds away but I doubt they’re very successful. A bus is waiting to take us via Andijan to the border crossing near Osh. Along the road friendly villages with light-blue washed walls and sidewalks and front gardens shaded with grape vines: I’d like to see more of this area some time!
We have an easy border crossing, and on the Kirghiz side our ‘team’ is waiting for us with the truck bus that will take us across yet another country.
Friday 2004-06-25 - Torugart Pass, Kyrgyzstan
Wildlife
We’re leaving at eight for the border crossing over the Torugart Pass - “Much too late” I’m thinking to myself and alas I turn out to be right. First we go back along the 15 km track to the ‘main’ road to China which we follow farther up. The road is very bad, even for an all-weather road, but most traffic here consists only of trucks transporting old iron to China (another export ‘product’ of Kyrgyzstan of which they have plenty with all the factories that were closed after independence while China is eager for it for its growing industry). The rest of the traffic consists of tourists, of course, and precious little else.
In the valley near Tash Rabat I noticed one of the mountains was riddled with holes; nests of ground squirrels, I suspect, but I didn’t see any there. However back on the main road I do see many ground squirrels, mostly sunning themselves on the mounds of sand next to their burrows, not paying much attention to our passing truck. There are two kinds of them here, one a lot bigger than the other — I see a lot less of the smaller ones, but maybe they’re just more shy. I suspect these are the same species that live on the high plains between China and Pakistan but I don’t know the names of these species (yet).
Because of the bad condition of the road it takes us a long time to reach the passport check before the actual Kirghiz border; we finally reach the main building at 11:45 — the border closes at noon! Border formalities at the Kyrgyzstan border post are simple and quick though - seemingly smoother each year. The truck is allowed to take us right up to the pathetic little pillar now marking the border, replacing the original monumental gate building at 3752 m. The landmark gate was taken down by the Chinese a few years ago when they claimed another 7.5 m of territory — a move not so good for international tourism. We say goodbye to our team; on the other side of the gate our Chinese bus is already waiting for us (well, we’re late: it must have been here more than an hour already).
Friday 2004-06-25 - Kashgar, Xinjiang (China)
Into Xinjiang
After the actual border crossing on the Kirghiz side, it’s a long trip to the building of the Chinese border post — at first over a bad road, alongside it pieces of old iron that have fallen off the truck exporting it to China: enough to fill another truck. Then into a new river valley, a much better road here; the mountains on each side are mostly bare but along the river bed there’s some greenery and we see some (ethnic) Kirghiz nomads grazing their herds here; the bus sometimes has to stop for a large herd roaming all over the road. Later, we see more agriculture, and Uyghur houses shaded by rows of poplars.
Before the actual border post there’s a small building where the quarantine office is housed now; the questionnaire has a question about SARS, and our temperature is taken (with a kind of hand-held scanner). But since we left late by now we’re late here, too; two trucks are before us, with a load of carpets an other stuff that all has to go through the (single) scanner first. When it’s finally our turn, I’m asked if I have any books (of course!); I then have to open my bag to show them — I take out only my travel guides and decide not to show my old Hebrew book just yet, not knowing what they’re looking for. The officer is probably just curious (but officially looking for subversive materials?): he’s trying to figure out what the books are about, looking through each for maps; it’s obvious he cannot actually read any English; he even walks away with my books into an office: I’m getting worried I might have to leave them behind. After a long time, it’s declared “OK” and I can put my books back. Phew! Ouside there are money changers, but we ignore them; we must move on.
When we finally get into Kashgar, it’s late — and we find that not only the banks are closed but since a year hotels apparently no longer are allowed to change money either. So there we are without any local currency. We’re allowed to have dinner at John’s Cafe (now moved to a building on the Seman Hotel’s grounds) at credit, giving our room number: we can pay tomorrow, when we can get money. Well, I hope … tomorrow is Saturday: will the bank even be open? But we can’t really do anything but have dinner on credit tonight. We’re effectively grounded — forget about going into town. I’m not in my best mood now.
Tuesday 2006-09-05 - Beijing, China
We really have a group visa!
I wake up a little past six: that means no more jet lag! For breakfast I have the cup of yoghurt I bought last night at the supermarket.
Yvon, our travel companion collects all the stuff that is not allowed in the DPRK. Meanwhile I deliver the powerstrip I borrowed yesterday and get my 100Ұ deposit back.
At the airport Yvon spots a sign “Group visa only” and resolutely walks past all the long rows behind the other counters to find a nearly deserted one. The young official behind the counter has a problem though: he does not recognize our fancy visa (a sheet with passport photographs, our names (in Korean) and lots of other info) as a group visa and shows an example: a computer printout with basically just a list of names. “No, that is a Chinese one,”, Yvon says. It takes teh help of a colleague official (and of course a little patience on our side) but finally te young man sticks up his thumb to signal it’s all right. Next, we sail through security without any problems.
Tuesday 2006-09-05 - P’yŏngyang, Democratic People’s Republic of Korea
Getting in is easy
It turns out to be surprisingly easy to get into the country. I had expected we’d have to open all luggage on arrival at the P'yŏngyang airport, but it simply goes through a scanner and we pass through a little gate and are scanned with a hand scanner. "Do you have a phone?" - "No." When my carry-on case goes through the scanner I'm asked: "Do you have a GPS?" - "No." -"Can I see?" - "Sure," and I open my case, suspecting they saw the silhouette of my image tank, which I show to them and explain it's a photo album and for listening to music; they believe me and I don't even have to turn it on. My little bags with cables are no problem either; I also have to open my little camera cleaning kit. And that's it. The security people are friendly and extremely polite as well - a pleasant change from many other border crossings I've done.
