navigate:
Sunday 2004-05-09 - Damascus, Syria
Relaxing in the mosque
After a nice breakfast in the hotel we (two travel mates and me) first walk to Martyr’s Square where there is a money changer’s office — which turns out to be closed. We decide to go to the old city first, after the “advance” we got last night we still have enough cash for a drink and entrance into the Mosque. When we cross the street, a young man coming from the other side nods at us, and says: “Welcome!” — a nice sign of how friendly people are here in Damascus.
The old town isn’t far, and we get in at the Souk entrance; the Souk al-Hamidiyeh reminds me of the big bazaar in Istanbul, with its high vaulted streets, and endless shops along them. When we get out at the other end, skipping all the side streets for now, we see the Umayadd Mosque before us, through remnants of what looks like an old Greek temple, Greek architecture, anyway. Entrance to the Mosque is 50 Syrian pounds, and us women get a hooded robe (freshly washed and ironed) loaned to us for free. We visit the shrine first; people get very emotional there, moan, and even cry. We see some drying their tears when they get out, and whole families sitting together on the floor in the front room, eating apples, chatting, relaxing.
When we get to the mosque proper, we find same relaxed atmosphere. The inner plaza is very big, beautiful with lots of marble, and at various places people sit around, resting and enjoying the place. Inside the prayer hall this continues. Everyone mixes (no strict separation between men and women here, families sit together). Near the shrine of Prophet Yahia (St. John the Baptist) a group of women sit together, listening to what a mullah is telling them. A woman walks round and hands out sugared almonds (delicious!); some people try to chat with us. We end up staying here a long time, a wonderful experience. We see many other interesting things today but this is definitely the best.
Everywhere, people are very friendly and helpful. We all agree: this is a very, very nice city to be in — and one to come back to. And a great city to start our 65-day trip across Asia from.
Monday 2004-05-10 - Damascus, Syria
Travel blogging for the first time
We walk via a medressa (with computer-cataloged public library) and another mosque (Shi’ite, all glitter, men and women separated, but within that framework still very relaxed) to the Christian quarter of Damascus where we have a nice early lunch with a cup of yellow lentil soup.
From there we go to the Al-Azem palace where we see the exhibits and have a nice cup of Turkish coffee in the pleasant courtyard. Then we go to Jabri House (Beit Jabri), an 18th-century house, renovated and turned into a restaurant; in the corner of the courtyard is an Internet cafe. We want to try whether we can really email from Syria, since our tour companion had told us that was not possible — but I didn’t quite believe her.
It turns out that the friendly manager of the Jabri House Internet cafe we spoke to yesterday was right — it’s no problem to use email: so for the first time I use my system to email to my travel blog — and it all works! I treat my companions to a round of drinks (freshly pressed juices) in the pleasant courtyard. I’m so happy that it all actually works now!
Old traditions still alive
Behind the Umayadd Mosque there is a pleasant cafe where on some evenings a traditional story teller comes to tell a few stories. We’re lucky: he’s here tonight. Of course we don’t understand a word of what he’s saying but that doesn’t matter. It’s quite amusing to watch and listen to — obviously first the setting of the scene, then the meat of the story, followed by the climax. He’s sitting there with his story book, a red fez on his head, glasses on his nose, a sword he’s gesturing with at times, and every one present is captivated. Of course, if you can understand it’s even funnier: two young men sitting at the window explode in giggles at times and are almost as amusing as the story teller himself. Interesting to note though how it’s not just tourists but also locals who come here to listen to him. It’s a great end to our stay in Damascus.
Wednesday 2004-05-12 - Hama, Syria
Round and round
Our next (unscheduled but much appreciated) stop is at Hama to see the norias. These impressive waterwheels were built for both irrigation and water mains for the city via aqueducts, all powered by the water itself. When more and more water was held up outside for irrigation and didn’t reach the city any more and the norias fell into disrepair, the government realized this was bad for tourism, an important source of income here. Holding water was forbidden, and now 17 of the original 30 norias are restored to their full glory and again are pumping water into the city, groaning and splashing - I’m sorry I didn’t take a tape recorder! A friendly guard even lets us into the park for free (normally an entrance fee is required for the park) so we can walk a bit farther to see another group of norias.
Friday 2004-05-14 - Aleppo, Syria
Tea on the square
Today is Friday, so all Islamic stores will be closed, including most of the Souk. We go to Aleppo’s Armenian (Al-Jdeida) quarter instead where we visit a few old merchant’s houses. One, Sissi House (Beit Sissi), lovingly restored with as much as possible of the original interior, is now a bar and restaurant; the other, Beit Wakil, is beautifully restored but somewhat less authentically; this is now a four-star hotel. Here we can also see the cellars, part of an old system of underground passages which connected all the houses and ended up below the citadel where people could find safety when the city was attacked. In both houses, visitors are often welcome to look around, even if they are not guests. It’s very interesting to see such old (and rich) houses with their pleasant courtyards.
Afterwards we end up at a little square - the three of us would like some tea. Thom goes off to find some while Carla and I sit down but he returns without having found anything. Just at that moment we see a man serving some tea to three men across from us; a little wave and he comes to us: yes, he sells tea! So here we sit in the shade of some trees on a little bench, sipping our tea and watching the comings and goings across the square at the bakery: people in a crush in front of the hole-in-the-wall store, getting piles of piping-hot round flat bread which is then immediately spread out on benches and fences to cool off before repacking it and taking it home.
City on a hill
After lunch with a very big glass of freshly-squeezed juice, we go to the Citadel, finding the entrance only after walking nearly all the way around — which gives us a good impression of the enormous size of this stronghold built on a natural hill. Much of it is still in rubble but parts are restored, such as the throne room; also two small mosques are restored now, as well as some other small buildings. Restoration is still in full swing though and well done, in a way that one can also see the difference between the old remains and newer additions to walls to complete the structures. From the top and the walls one also has a beautiful view over the city of Aleppo.
Saturday 2004-05-15 - Antakya, Turkey
A thunderous welcome
Today we cross the border to Turkey, where the city of Antakya is our first stop. Crossing the border (where we get our Turkish visa) is no problem but just after we are in, I see dark clouds on the horizon. Indeed, more rain is awaiting us, and soon we’re driving through a big thunderstorm. This one isn’t over quickly however, and when we arrive at our hotel it’s still pouring. We want to go out for lunch and then go to an Internet cafe but think we’ll wait a bit until the rain gets a bit lighter; one look out of the window a few minutes later tells us otherwise: not only is it still pouring, but the street has turned into a river! People pulling up their trousers to wade across the street, a cat making big jumps trying to get home without getting wet (unsuccessfully), bottles, crates and even a chair floating by.
When we finally go out we find a little restaurant for lunch and an Internet cafe on the way there where I am sitting now typing this — struggling with the layout of a Turkish keyboard where the ‘ı’ (i without a dot) is in the place where on our keyboards the i is, with the i somewhere else entirely — listening to the hum of people (this is a large room and it’s busy) and the clatter outside of the rain which has started again.
Sunday 2004-05-16 - Antakya, Turkey
A mosaic of history
In the morning we go to St. Peter’s Grotto: the natural cave high above Antakya where St. Peter preached and founded the Christian community, later made into a church, and designated by the Pope as a holy place. Interesting historically, but there’s not really much to see. Somewhat more interesting is a huge sculpture of the face of Maria carved into the rocks near the cave; the face has been removed by Muslims later, since their belief forbids making images of humans but the outline is still recognizable. It can be reached only by clambering up rocky paths (or not-quite paths) but it’s worth the effort, and from up here the view over the city is even nicer.
Then on we go in the bus, to visit Antakya Kalesi: the original spot of old Antioch on top of the mountain. The stronghold commanded the whole river valley below. Up there, about 665m high there’s only a crumbling tower and parts of the walls left but still it gives a good idea of the size and importance of the city and the walls that girded it.
In the afternoon, after a quick lunch, we first visit a small mosque in the “new” old city, with a lovely quiet courtyard shaded by trees. Then on to the museum. The Hatay museum has a superb collection of well-conserved Roman mosaics from the second and third centuries, as well as some sarcophages, one very detailed, in which also gold ornaments and the skeletons of a man, a woman and a young woman were found. When Syria was captured by the Romans in 64 BC, Antioch became the eastern capital of the Roman empire; the museum gives a good impression of the splendors of the city in Roman times.
Monday 2004-05-17 - Şanlıurfa, Turkey
Tea near the holy carp pond
After a ride through a beautiful landscape of rolling hills with vineyards and orchards, grain and strawberry fields we arrive at two in Şanlıurfa (or Urfa for short). The three of us go looking for the tourist office first, because (of course) I want a map of the city. Two boys approach us, wanting to help and practice their English: they offer to walk us there. They’re very nice, and their English is surprisingly good. Chatting all the while, we end up in the pleasant park around Abraham’s cave where there is a small office of the tourist police; they’re friendly and give me a nice brochure of the area, but they don’t have a map; the friendly officer writes down the address of the real tourist office for me, so we can go there later (or tomorrow).
We invite the boys to share a tea with us near the pond with the holy carp, and they tell us a little about their life. We’d estimated them about 18, but both turn out to be only 15. Both have a number of brothers and sisters and come from outside the city. One, whose parents are separated, stays with his grandmother; the other lives in the school’s dormitory where they both study mathematics. Life at the dormitory is “boring” but both boys are obviously quite serious about their studies and practicing their English.
It doesn’t matter that we haven’t found the actual tourist office, because now we know the way to the park, overlooked by the citadel (yet another one), where some of the main sights of the city are. We decide we’ll come back here tomorrow, and the boys take their leave. A while later we walk back to the hotel, with a very nice impression of the friendly people of Şanlıurfa.
Tuesday 2004-05-18 - Şanlıurfa, Turkey
Medieval atmosphere
This morning, Carla and I first roam through the curving alleys of the old town of Urfa with its medieval houses. It’s a veritable labyrinth, no right angle, no straight street, beautiful bow-windows and some houses actually built right over the streets, and — not suprisingly — a lot of interesting doors for my photographic collection.
We end up near the river (an open sewer) where Kurdish people have a market of second-hand clothes. It’s quite obvious the Kurdish people are among the poorest in Turkey, even though we’re here in Kurdish territory.
On we go along the vegetable market and through the bazaar until we end up near the carp pond where we meet Thom.
“We nice to meet you”
First we (Thom, Carla and I) have lunch together, and while we chat a little afterwards, one of three girls next to us asks if she can practice her English with us (a question we’re to hear more often). Of course she can, and she immediately joins us at our table. At first the words come hesitatingly but gradually Döne gets over it and starts talking better; the other two girls, Songul and Esin, join us, too, and since they don’t speak English, Döne starts translating both ways. All three girls have several older sisters and study biology here, like one of the boys we met yesterday staying with family in the city; they have a small grant from the government, dad pays the rest and though their families are well off, they don’t have much money to spend. Tomorrow they’re going on a tour to Mardin and Diyarbakır: they spent the last of their savings on the tickets.
We talk a lot about various subjects. The European union (Döne, with an obvious strong sense of identity, isn’t enthusiastic about joining, and also — with some justification — seems worried Europeans look down on the Turks), relations between Kurds and Turkish people (Songul is Kurdish and the three girls are the best of friends, but surprisingly Döne says she doesn’t like Kurds - a strange contradiction we’re to encounter more often), are we rich? (depends), music (they know European stars, why don’t we know Turkish singers?) and so on.
We offer them a drink and chat on. Döne also writes down a lot of useful Turkish words for me in my little notebook. When we finally separate, we find we spent all of four hours just sitting near the pond chatting - and practicing Döne’s English. In my notebook she writes: “We nice to meet you. Thank you for everything. We love you too.” We had a great time with them.
A visit to the mosque around Abraham’s cave and the citadel overlooking the park complete our visit to Şanlıurfa.
Wednesday 2004-05-19 - Mardin, Turkey
Early Christian history
Our final destination for today is Mardin but to get there we have to go back to Şanlıurfa first: there is no other road. Once on our way out of Urfa again, the landscape gets gradually greener and after riding through the beautiful valleys we arrive at Mardin, an old city built hugging a mountain side. It’s now a little after 2 in the afternoon, and we have somewhat empty stomachs. Asking around for directions, we find out that our hotel is not in the city at all, but in Kızıltepe, 20km back! If we go there first, we won’t have time for our goals in Mardin, so we decide to do the tour before going to the hotel - and skip lunch.
That was a lucky decision: when (after quite a bit of searching through the confusing narrow streets of the city — all curving to follow the contours of the mountain) we arrive at the Antioch Syrian Orthodox monastery outside of the city at 3:10, we find it closes at 3:30! The monastery (Deynulzaferan) built like a fortress on the top of a mountain is interesting, but we cannot even see all of it any more — and the place is packed with day trippers: unfortunately we picked a holiday to arrive late… Still, we do get at least an impression: enough to want to spend more time on exploring this interesting complex and its history if we ever get back.
From there we go to the Antioch Syrian Orthodox church in the center of Mardin. Here a priest who speaks passable English gives us a nice lecture about the early history of Christianity and and all its different branches. The Antioch Syrian Orthodox and Alexandrian Orthodox churches were early branches, like the two Catholic ones, one of which became the Roman Catholic Church, the other Greek Orthodox. The Armenian Orthodox church (of which we visited a small church in Damascus) is a later branch off of the Syrian orthodox church. I hope I got all that right… The church building itself is very nice — and old — with many paintings, icons and embroidery, some of it obviously made by children of the community. The effect is almost homely.
Thursday 2004-05-20 - Diyarbakır, Turkey
Kurdish capital
The ancient city of Diyarbakır, situated on the banks of the river Tigris and inhabited for over 5000 years, is the Kurdish capital in Turkey. We arrive already at eleven at our hotel within the old city walls after a trip from Mardin through a gradually more green landscape with rugged mountains and some agriculture.
After a short visit to the mosque (essentially closed to us since a prayer service is starting) with market stalls in the courtyard and lots of noise around, we decide to walk along the inside of the city walls on the way to another Christian church. We end up walking through the poorest, and not the most pleasant quarter of town. 90% of inhabitants of Diyarbakır are Kurds, and while Kurds are among the poorest in Turkey, the poorest of them in Diyarbakır live here in tiny houses below the old city wall.
The children are quite irritating, constantly begging for money, grasping your hands and clothes. Apparently more naive tourists have taught them that if you keep asking, ultimately they will give money — just to get rid of you. That’s a good way to create beggars out of children. We try instead to just ignore them but that isn’t all that easy: they also like to jump in front of the camera when you want to make a picture — not to be in the picture, but just to get in the way.
Luckily the grown-ups are mostly friendly, especially after you greet them first. A small group of women is baking bread in an outside oven, and they invite me to have a closer look and take a picture. Farther on, a girl sits in a doorway with her friend crocheting a fringe for a shawl. She’s quite happy for me to take a picture of her. I compliment her friend about her shawl and she tells me its fringe was also made by the other girl who then shows me her samples. Obviously she does this for others who can pick a pattern from the samples, a way to make a little (extra) money. Mother also wants a picture, and a small boy writes down the address.
A young man who’s accompanied us uninvited since the mosque turns out to have a small shop with carpets and jewelry; he invites us for a cup of tea in his shop. On the way, he tells us he’s half Kurdish - something not very common here.
More history
After we take our leave from the carpet seller at the mosque nearby we try to finally find the Christian church we were looking for — which we succeed in doing only with the help of another crowd of children and some friendly older people. The church, another Orthodox Syrian church, is obviously for a small community only. Three families live in the buildings surrounding the church proper within the church grounds. The priest speaks some English, another man some German, and together they lead us around their small church with many beautiful and very old paintings badly in need of restoration. We leave a donation for the church.
Our next goal is the old city wall: an enormous wall built of black basalt stone, still surrounding the whole old city and 6 km long; the top of it provides a good view of the city of Diyarbakır and its surroundings. At several places there are stairs where you can get up the wall; we climb up via stairs inside one of the gates and immediately attract another crowd of children. These are friendly and try to play guide (though we’d rather walk without them). Of course we don’t give them the money they obviously hope for when we leave the wall after a nice walk. But these somewhat older children don’t seem to mind too much: they had a good time with us, apparently.
A Kurdish evening out
Our tour companion met a Kurdish man in Diyarbakır today; he knows about a cafe where there will be live Kurdish music this evening. We all gather to go there after dinner. It turns out to be a very nice and also interesting evening. The cafe is in a cellar - and quite open; only three years ago, Kurds here could not publicly play their music here, and had to meet in secret. At least the situation of the Kurds has improved somewhat now.
The singer of the band seems to be quite well known locally, and the cafe fills up: middle-aged and young people, but also whole families with children. The music is a mix of modern songs and traditional music, and whenever a traditional is played, a group of students next to us start dancing. We chat a little with them: the boys have learned the Kurdish dances since they were boys, the girls only last year. With other well-known songs they sing along. During a break a small boy comes to the stage and is allowed to sing a song. It’s obvious the Kurds cherish their own culture and keep it alive through meetings like this. The students are poor; they only share a bottle of water (they pay their share for the band, too) and can afford to do this only once a month.
We end up dancing with them, much to the amusement of the other customers, since the steps of their dances aren’t all that easy to learn. When the show is over at eleven, we get some group pictures taken, both with the dancing students and with the band, and finally are offered a drink by the cafe management. All in all a wonderful evening with an interesting little peek into Kurdish culture.
Friday 2004-05-21 - Van, Turkey
Soup and Internet
When riding into Van we’d spotted an Internet cafe on a corner, just before turning into the street where our hotel is. When we set out to go there though, we find there’s another one right next to the hotel, in the basement of an office building. We do a quick inspection: It’s a nice place, with not just workstations: they also sell books, software, a few small accessories, and drinks. The price is OK, too, but we want to have some dinner first and promise to come back later.
We walk on, looking around for a restaurant, turn right twice in the direction where we suspect restaurants might be and — what a find! We discover a ‘soup salon’: the little restaurant sells nothing but soup, six kinds of soup (with bread, of course), 24 hours a day. Actually, we’re not terribly hungry, but a bowl of soup sounds like just the thing — and you can always take another one if one isn’t enough. There’s no menu of any kind: you just peek in the big soup kettles and point at what you’d like. Thom, Carla and I all have different soups. All deliciuous.
Then it’s back to the Internet cafe: both Thom and I have quite a bit to catch up. By now I’ve given up on learning to use the Turkish keyboards where the Turkish ‘ı’ (‘i’ without a dot) is where we expect the ‘i’ which is somewhere else, somewhere unexpected. It’s much easier to just type and then use Notepad’s search-and-replace to change all the ‘ı’s to ‘i’s and put the occasional intended ‘ı’ back afterwards — it sounds like more work, but it’s actually much faster and reliable.
Saturday 2004-05-22 - Van, Turkey
White cats? Yes, they’re real!
Next to the jetty from where the ferry boats left for Akdamar Island this morning, there was a little shop where we noted a whole collection of postcards featuring white cats. Seemingly these white cats are typical for this area; they’re completely white and all seem to have two differently-colored eyes! They’re also known for actually liking water and swimming.
Seeing these postcards, I suddenly remembered a statue we passed on our way into Van yesterday: big white cat, with a kitten, both with one yellow and one blue eye. Surely if a city puts up a statue like that - in the way many cities do, highlighting something special for the city or the area - these white cats must be important here. But actually all of us have a little trouble believing there really are cats like this here, with two different eyes - none of us have seen a real, live one here!
Update! By now I know why: these cats are so special that not only the University in Van has a special program for research (and breeding them), they’re also quite valuable. That’s why you’re unlikely to see them roam about in the streets in Van - or anywhere else for that matter.
Imagine my surprise when shortly after my return from this trip, just around the corner I practically stumbled over a white cat with two different eyes. Surely a “White Van”. I managed to make a picture with my camera phone, and found out his name is Johan (though he listens to the name “Fluffy”). But now, having met Johan here in Amsterdam, I really regret not having a picture of at least that nice statue in Van - we never stopped near it, and were far too busy for me to go back to take a picture. When I ever come back to Van, I’ll surely take some time to make one. Meanwhile, thanks to bpelvan and his friend Dr. Burhan Oral Güdü in Van whom he asked to take a picture of the statue, I can now at least point you to a splendid picture online of the Van White cat statue!
Sunday 2004-05-23 - Doğubayazıt, Turkey
Border town
It’s not far from Van to Doğubayazıt but we go via a beautiful scenic route with spectacular views and over a high pass (the highest we encounter in Turkey); on the way we make a photo stop near a huge lava field near Soğuksu, encrusted with lichen in many different colors.
Doğubayazıt has a typical border town atmosphere - hard to put into words, but unmistakable.
Tuesday 2004-05-25 - Tabriz, Iran
A hard-to-find church
We take the city bus to the center of Tabriz again, and go looking for the Armenian Maryam church, near the bazaar according to our little map. We can’t find it, and when we are obviously looking around us, an older man spots us and guides us there: he guessed what we were looking for because he himself is an Armenian. The church is in the block where we were looking, but with no obvious entrance: you have to go into an alley, then turn right into another alley, then knock on an iron gate.
We’re let into the courtyard by a friendly old man, but alas the church itself, dating back to 1782, is closed, and only opened for religious holidays. He tells us a little about Armenians in Iran: they’re only a very small minority with about 250,000 people in all. Here in Tabriz there are 4 churches, and they even have an Armenian school where the children learn Armenian (which has its own script), Farsi (written in Arabic script) and English (written in Roman script). They also used to have their own newspaper here (there’s a remnant of the printing press in the garden) but now there’s an Armenian newspaper only in Tehrān. Many of the Armenians here live in the flats around the church; the buildings are owned by the church.
Conversation in the bazaar
After our visit to the Armenian church, our next goal is the bazaar, across the square. The bazaar in Tabriz is the oldest bazaar in Iran; not only is it very large but also very beautiful. It covers one huge block, and has all covered “streets” with vaults of brickwork, and sometimes larger halls. The brickwork is intricate at times and in many places very nicely restored. Also there are 55 open courtyards, many caravansaries, and countless small passages.
A man in a green jacket approaches us and tries to guide us — which we don’t want — but we don’t find a way to get rid of him politely. Sometimes he irritatingly tells us what we can see easily with our own eyes (“this is the paper bazaar”), then again he comes with interesting facts (like the 55 courtyards). At last it transpires he wants to show us his brother’s carpet shop. We explain we won’t be able to buy anything, with still such a long trip before us but that’s fine with him - just come along for a cup of tea, he suggests; we agree.
That turns out to be a good decision — we have a very interesting conversation over tea. The older brother doesn’t speak English so our guide translates: the carpet trader travels in many countries around Iran to buy carpets and thus has a different view of the world than most Iranians. First he tells us he thinks Carla and I are overdoing it a bit, the way we are clothed (we explain we feel more comfortable this way). He also tells us that Iranians are suppressed, and have little access to information because all information sources are controlled by the government. It’s obvious he is not one of the conservative Iranians, and hopes the situation will get more liberal here. So our tour of the bazaar ends with a nice meeting — this sets the theme for our trip through Iran.
Meeting in the park
After we take our leave form the carpet seller and his younger brother, ‘Green jacket’ no longer follows us. Our next goal is a visit to the beautiful Blue Mosque of Tabriz (Masjed-e Kabud, still in the process of being restored, very expertly) and after spending quite some time there we decide to call it a day and head for the park. We find a bench in the shade and watch the locals relax. Soon a man approaches us and asks if he can talk with us; we agree and he joins us on our bench.
He turns out to be an Azeri (not all that surprisingly as we should have known: this region is actually called East Azarbaijan and many Azeris live here; Tabriz is the capital of the province). His story matches that of the Armenian at the Maryam church and the carpet seller but adds new insights. He tells us that as opposed to the very small minority of the Armenians which obviously don’t form any threat, Azeris aren’t allowed to use their own language: Turkish is forbidden here in Iran. Of course people speak it all the same (when they feel safe enough) but it’s not taught in any school and thus they can write only in Farsi.
Another surprising tidbit he tells us is that while alcohol is strictly forbidden — if you are found drinking it you may end up in prison for six months — some two million people are addicted to drugs which are easily (though not openly) available; they can go to some parks to use the drugs. Also according to him, many young people (four million) are depressed. Except at university, young men are not allowed to speak to girls, and if caught, a young man may even be forced to marry the girl in question (frankly, that sounds a bit far-fetched to us). Like the carpet seller, he brings up the point of access to information, and tells us that many people have a satellite dish, which is forbidden. A dish can be bought secretly if you know the way, and is kept indoors. At the recent elections for parliament here, when so many liberal candidates were removed from the list, only 14% of people in this region actually went to vote — partly because there was no candidate left which they wanted to vote for, partly as a form of protest. In general, it seems that while things were gradually getting more liberal before, now that’s being turned back again.
Of course we can’t check all the things he tells us, but he seems remarkably open and clearly eager to talk about the problems in his country and for the Azeri minority he belongs to. We end up staying much longer in the park than we had planned. All in all, an interesting day, even more for the people than the sites we visited.
Friday 2004-05-28 - Sanandaj, Iran
“You are more precious than my eyes”
We head for the mosque first, of which we had a glimpse when we walked through Sanandaj last night to watch the people shopping: the streets were busy on a Thursday evening. But today it’s Friday so naturally most stores are closed and it’s very quiet. Behind the old mosque a new prayer hall is being built; Carla and I aren’t allowed in there (Thom tells us later it’s very beautiful), so the two of us head for the women’s prayer hall to the side. Since it’s Friday, prayers are in progress — one woman praying aloud for a group, all in a row closely together. Normally non-muslims aren’t allowed in during prayers but we’re welcomed warmly all the same: we’re waved in, smiled at, and several women bring one or two hands to their eyes: a symbolic greeting we later find out means something like “you are more precious than my eyes.” We sit down at the side for a while, and watch and listen to the proceedings quietly. After a while, one of the women spots Thom waiting outside and points to him; after we take our leave, several women even wave us goodbye from behind the windows.
Internet problems
After lunch in a pizza restaurant in Sanandaj (you’re supposed to put ketchup on a pizza in Iran but I prefer mine without…) we head for the area where most Internet cafes are (they’re called “coffee net” here). We’re hoping to find one that’s actually open on Friday since we found out yesterday most will be closed today. With the help of two young men who walk us half way there when we ask for directions, we do indeed find one. It turns out to be the hardest Internet access experience so far: Internet Explorer is intermittently taken over by casino and sex sites (sex dialers sit on the desk top as well) — and then after I finally manage to send an email I can’t see the result on the travel blog site. I suspect a proxy server is serving the first-retrieved page from a cache: no amount of clearing IE’s cache, history or forced reload makes any difference. I try several times but can’t find any other reason why my mail doesn’t appear. After three tries I give up and write a short note about the problems (which also doesn’t appear though it should) - hoping my first Internet experience in Iran isn’t predictive for the rest.
Reports that sex sites are all filtered out in Iran by state-controlled proxies are definitely missing something… it’s not hard to reach them at all — in this “coffee net” it’s hard to avoid them!
Monday 2004-05-31 - Kāshān, Iran
Kahn-e Abbassi
After a visit to the beautiful Kāshān bazaar (with a mosque that to our disappointment — and that of the mullah who arrived just before us — turns out to be closed), the three of us head for the area where there are a few restored old houses. The first we find is the ‘Abassian historical complex’. Dating back to the 19th century, it’s still in the process of being carefully restored to its full glory but it’s already very beautiful. One enters the building on what turns out to be the floor above ground level — the building has three levels in all; rooms are arranged around two large courtyards and one smaller one. Everywhere is very “Iranian” stucco with intricate floral designs; in one room is a unique ceiling of white plaster, with small decorations made of mirrors in the shape of a sun, stars and trees with birds in it; in several other rooms are superb stained-glass windows.
The complex boasts several badgirs: ‘wind towers’ that function as a natural, passive kind of air conditioning: at the top openings all around catch the lightest breeze and create a draft that pulls up warm air from inside, so it’s always cool. The badgirs here are not just excellent examples, but one can also see in the rooms the air inlets and conduits so it becomes clear how this ingenious mechanism works. We will see many examples of badgirs, typical Iranian desert architecture; they’re not just used in houses but also for cooling communal water cisterns.
Tuesday 2004-06-01 - Yazd, Iran
Culture shock (not for us!)
We arrive a little before dinner time in Yazd; Thom, Carla and I are not all that hungry, so we make do with some fruit that we find in one of the shopping streets. After ‘dinner’, Thom and I go out to find a “coffee net”; the place we’re directed to turns out to be a backpackers’ hotel near the Akmir Chakhmagh complex. There’s a single, slow computer with a slow connection used also for the hotel administration — visitors (even non-guests) can use it though (for a reasonable fee). Other than slowness, there’s no problem and I manage to catch up a little of my travel journal backlog.
Meanwhile Thom chats with two boys from the hotel — I don’t follow it all since I’m busy typing but it sounds like they’re talking about subjects like the difference between religion and culture. When I’m finished and we want to leave, it becomes clear what one of the subjects really was: Thom had explained that shaking hands (specifically a man not shaking a woman’s hand) is not something to do with religion: Muslims in other countries do it; friends kissing each other in greeting or to say goodbye is similarly cultural and occurs in different cultures (we do that, but it’s not done here). Now, the boys, one bold, one shy, want to try how one says goodbye in our culture! Bold shakes Thom’s hand, and then my hand without even blinking but after Shy shakes my hand he quickly withdraws it — as if he burned his hand. Then comes the friendly goodbye kiss - we’re friends, after all, after chatting for over two hours… Now Bold gets less bold and wants to ‘practice’ with Thom first while Shy gets more bold and kisses me goodbye (one friendly peck on each cheek). After that it’s Bold’s turn (he gets three). For us, something that would be quite normal taking leave of our friends, for them it’s really shocking to shake hands with a woman and touch cheeks — even when that woman is old enough to be their mother. It makes me wonder how young men grow up here: they can’t really learn to handle emotions of affection or friendship with a woman — what will happen when they’re finally ready to get married?
We have to be let into the hotel by the night watchman when we return at quarter to midnight.
Wednesday 2004-06-02 - Yazd, Iran
Getting lost
First priority this morning in Yazd is changing money - I’ve already borrowed some from Thom and Carla. So we head for the old town where the bank should be near the mosque and next to the post office. According to our city information, it’s very easy to get lost in the old town — and getting lost is exactly what we do. Not a real problem: the old town is quite beautiful and reminds me somewhat of the old town of Bukhara with its network of alleys and mud-plastered walls. When we finally find ourselves in a ‘real’ street again we find we weren’t even far off: we actually already passed the back of the Jame mosque (I even took a picture without realizing it was this mosque) and once we’re in the right street, the post office is easy to find — but where is the bank?? After walking up and down the street and asking several times we find we walked passed it at least twice already: the bank building is on the corner and they’ve just built a new wing; they are now renovating the main building - meanwhile neither building has a sign this is the bank!
We have to practically walk through a building site to get to the money-changing desk in the new wing. Changing money is a complicated affair with three forms, showing your passport, signatures and stamps, and then going back down to the other building to do the actual exchange at the cashier’s. While working through all the forms the bank employee who helps us chats with us a bit and tells us they actually do a lot of business with people from the Netherlands: Iran is importing a lot of seeds from seed growers in the Netherlands, such as for cucumber and carrots.
The Jame mosque, of which we already had a glimpse, turns out to be one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, with splendid tile work. It’s also a nice, cool space and we see how several students take advantage of this and sit around on the carpets and against the tiled walls with their study books.
Thursday 2004-06-03 - Kermān, Iran
Best bazaar so far
After a nice ride through — again — a beautiful landscape (with many pistachio orchards in this region) we arrive around lunch time in Kermān. The idea was to have lunch in a restaurant in the bazaar here where live music is performed in the afternoons. Alas, today is the anniversary of the day Emām Khomeiny died: an official day of mourning and nearly everything (official buildings, museums, most shops, even many restaurants) is closed — including the restaurant we wanted to go to.
We spread out in the Vakil bazaar, some in search of the ingredients of our picnic lunch tomorrow, others in search of lunch. Carla and I find a good sandwich at a small shop near the main entrance of the bazaar and then walk back to have a good look around. Although small, it’s one of the most beautiful bazaars I’ve seen so far in Iran with wide vaulted ceilings from brickwork, some plastered; some domes even have frescoes inside, including a very interesting one at the entrance of the Ganj Ali Khan Hammam museum (closed today, of course) depicting many bizarre animals (like an elephant with mouse ears taking a man between its pointed predator teeth) and elaborate hunting scenes. Opposite the museum is the large rectangular Ganj Ali courtyard, a beautiful space with much greenery and at the end a medressa which is being restored (no entry).
In spite of regulations, some shops in the bazaar are open anyway and some vendors sit around in front of closed shops (some shopkeepers probably can’t afford to close up for a day and this seems to be tolerated). There’s a very nice atmosphere here; people are nice and friendly, too. We also note many with Pakistani clothes (though for all we know they might be Afghans - it can be hard to tell the difference). Although the bazaar in Tabriz is very beautiful, too, and this one is much smaller, I actually like this one better with its unique frescoes in the domes.
Sunday 2004-06-06 - Shirāz, Iran
Meeting in the mosque
The bazaar in Shirāz is nice and roomy, with vaulted brick ceilings much as we’ve seen elsewhere but wider and higher (so it’s cool); shops are larger, too. The effect is quite pleasant and relaxed, though it’s easy to get lost in the labyrinth of streets and alleys. Inside the bazaar is the Vakil mosque where Carla and I go first. It’s not in use at the moment, seemingly having been neglected for a long time: we see the brick and tile work is quite dilapidated in places, and plants grow between the stones in the courtyard. But (of course) they’re hard at work with the restoration. The building dates from 1773 but most of the present tile work was added in 1820 — the strange result can best be seen in the courtyard with two styles mixed together but alas not quite in harmony: styles and colors clash. At the back of the courtyard is a large open prayer hall that’s quite nice though with its many thick and spiraled stone pillars.
When we stand looking around in the prayer hall, suddenly a man approaches us asking whether we speak German (we do) and then if we speak English (as well); his son speaks better English, he explains, but actually his English is quite good. It turns out the family (father, mother and son) are back in Iran for a visit after having fled the country 16 years ago, first to Germany where they lived for many years, then on to Canada where they live now and where the son is studying tourism. Part of the reason for the visit is a study trip for the son: he may be wanting to take tour groups here. Their view of Iran, after 16 years outside the country, forms an interesting contrast with that of other Iranians we spoke to: many people here mention the lack of information and a move back lately from earlier more relaxed rules while this family (father and mother) takes a longer-time view and note that people actually have it better than when they left; there’s more and better food and other goods, and it’s more relaxed now than it was then.
Hopefully this longer-term trend, even though it’s three steps forward, two steps back, will continue.
Religious education
After the mosque we want to visit the Madrasseh-e Khan, which we find only with the help of some Shirāz locals (it’s also in the easy-to-get-lost-in bazaar, and the map in the Lonely Planet is useless — as they are for many bazaars). Normally the public isn’t let in in this Madrassa since this is a functional religious school but after a chat with a nice young Mullah at the entrance we just walk in and aren’t stopped.
Young men sit around with study books, and at the end of the courtyard is an open hall where many Mullahs sit together in a circle for a group discussion. The tile work of the building, almost baroque in style with its many floral patterns, is superb and because here it’s all from the same (Safavid) period, forms a more balanced whole than that in the Vakil mosque. The courtyard is a beautiful space, too, with a small central pond and many shade trees and orange trees and flowers: a very pleasant place to study!
Tuesday 2004-06-08 - Esfahān, Iran
A dream come true
At the end of the afternoon we arrive in Esfahān; our hotel is conveniently located both for the city center and for the river which has several old bridges which I must see. Carla and I decide to walk to the Emām Khomeini square - the place I dreamed about before visiting Iran.
The square, with 500 x 160 m one of the largest in the world, is a sublime example of town planning - it dates back to 1612 and was designed and built as a whole. In spite of its huge size it’s a very pleasant space, surrounded by galleries, some mosques and a palace. It’s all at a very human scale: you don’t feel small here, you just experience a large but pleasant space around you.
At this time, in the early evening, the warm sunlight is still on the square, and it’s lively with people strolling, picnicking, flirting, biking, playing in the pond with its many fountains, taking a ride around the square in a horse-drawn buggy. While Carla goes off to have a look at the shops, I just sit on a bench for a while, feeling the space and drinking in the atmosphere, completely happy to finally be here — and just sit.
Later, we chat a bit with a woman (wearing a nice shawl around her head) who asked where we come from - as many Iranians do. She lives in the US now and is visiting, but originally she’s from Esfahān - here to show the city to her two young daughters. When we say goodbye, she touches my Aussie hat and says: “I love your cover-up; better than mine!”
Wednesday 2004-06-09 - Esfahān, Iran
Thirty-three arches
Esfahān is famous not only for its Emām Khomeini square, but also for its bridges over the the Zāyande river. Late afternoon, with the sun sinking and just at the right angle, Carla and I walk to the Sī-o-Se bridge which is so named because of its 33 arches (sī-o-se means 33 in Farsi). This pedestrian bridge was built in 1602; double arches on two levels give it a remarkable style and texture, enhanced in the late light, and always provide some shade regardless where the sun is. We admire it first from the northern shore of the Zāyande river, with the huge fountain and ‘swan’ water bikes in front, then experience it by walking all across it. On both sides of the river are parks with shaded walking paths, another area where a lot of people come to relax and play after work.
Of course, being a real bridge nut, I take a lot of pictures of the huge bridge and its surroundings. Afterwards, we sit on a low wall at the river shore with a (non-alcoholic) beer and a bag of chips, just watching and enjoying the sunset.
Thursday 2004-06-10 - Esfahān, Iran
Singing under the bridge
Looking at the map of the city, I had reasoned that the bridges for which Esfahān is famous should be at their best in the early morning or evening, with a low sun at the best angle. So: we get up at 5:30 am and at precisely 6 walk out of the hotel. The streets are very quiet now (it’s no longer risky to cross the street) and you can hear the birds singing. I always love to see a city before it fully wakes up.
We walk to the Zāyande river and then left (East) along the northern shore. People are walking along the paths to their work, others are jogging or doing gymnastics. At 7 we’re just past the Khāju bridge which was built to double as a dam (the square notches that once held the sluice doors are still visible) and has nice 17th century paintings and tile work. We’re just in time: the light is indeed very beautiful. Unfortunately at the moment you can only walk along the bottom of the bridge: they’re reconstructing one of the ramps to the upper level. Under the bridge is a long row of arches: you can look through all the way to the other end of the bridge. At the other end a number of men are sitting; nearby others are doing gymnastics. We walk across and find out the men at the end are the public for a man who’s singing — a capella, taking advantage of the acoustics of the stone arches. He has a good voice and sings classical Iranian songs; the songs are full of emotion, a bit like Portuguese fado, although we can’t of course understand the text. When he stops after a while, another man under the next arch takes over, and we walk on.
Friday 2004-06-11 - Tehrān, Iran
A hasty taste of the capital
For some reason we couldn’t get a flight from Esfahān to Mashhad as planned, so today we first take a flight to Tehrān and fly on to Mashhad in the evening, which gives us a chance to spend a little time in the capital. It’s not an attractive city, we’re told, but at least there are some good museums — some of them closed today because it’s Friday. We make the best of our time here. On most days, traffic is deadly here in this city of 15 million inhabitants, but since it’s Friday most businesses and shops are closed, and crossing the street isn’t a gamble.
Our first stop is at the Historical Museum and the Museum for Islamic Art next door (one ticket for both together). We have only two hours — much too short, 3 hours for each would be normal — but it’s still worth the entry price. The Historical Museum with its superb exhibits in chronological order helps to put into perspective all the things we’ve seen from different periods during the last weeks in Iran. The prehistoric finds, refined figurines and delicately decorated pottery (many pieces depicting ibex) are very interesting, too. Far too little time is left for the Museum for Islamic Art but they have some spectacular exhibits as well. Definitely a place to come back to, with enough time to spend.
After that, a visit to the mountain (hidden here under a multitude of restaurants and teahouses around a stream full of empty bottles) where Tehranians come for the fresh air — and some to do some real mountain climbing farther up; a park (no grass here on the mountainside, but plenty of trees and many seats in the shade, most of them occupied of course); and finally a modern shopping center where the (expensive) shops are actually open.
After that tour we leave for the airport again for our flight to Mashhad and have a nice Iranian dinner on board.
Friday 2004-06-11 - Mashhad, Iran
Hajj
On arrival in Mashhad, one of the three holy cities of Iran, it suddenly becomes clear why we couldn’t get a direct flight here: Everything must have been solidly booked because it’s ‘Hajj time’ — there are many, many pilgrims already here and more arriving; many families are camping out everywhere in the open in the parks, with nothing but a blanket, sometimes a little gas burner to make tea or cook some food. Our bus at the parking lot before the airport is blocked, there are so many cars; some have to be literally shoved aside before we can leave for our hotel.
Sunday 2004-06-13 - Aşgabat, Turkmenistan
One of the weirdest cities in the world.
In 1948 practically the whole city of Aşgabat was flattened by a huge earthquake (9 on the Richter scale); 160,000 died. The last two buildings left standing were taken down as well — only the Lenin monument was spared and restored at the request of the people: not because they liked Lenin but because they (rightly) liked the monument.
The city was rebuilt completely on a grand new plan, with wide avenues, monumental buildings and mostly ugly monuments (with one exception). Building still continues: 127 new apartment buildings will be built, even though most people in the city cannot afford the steep prices for the (completely furnished) apartments. Not that people from outside will take up the slack: the city is “closed” and people from other areas are not allowed to move in, even though only about 600,000 live here. The townscape is a strange combination of Soviet and Turkmen and some imported styles (architects are hired mostly from Turkey and France), as well as a lot of pleasant and carefully tended greenery; but most trees are still young: they’ll need to grow a few more decades to provide the planned shade. While some inhabitants say their city is the most beautiful one in Central Asia, they don’t use the parks like people do in Iran, where people use the parks to relax after hours — to relax, people here tend to go outside the city into the mountains to the South where it’s cooler in summer.
The Independence Monument (independence from the Soviet Union is a big issue in all Central Asian former Soviet states) is incredibly ugly: a huge tower (over 100m high) with a lot of ornaments made with real gold, worth a stunning amount of money that could have been spent so much better on really useful things like roads…
Noticeable is that the ubiquitous portraits of president-for-life Turkmenbashi which adorned nearly every building just two years ago have now mostly disappeared. No one really knows why but rumor goes pressure from the United Nations played a role.
Tuesday 2004-06-15 - Bukhara, Uzbekistan
Like coming home
A little virtual elastic band ties me to Uzbekistan and especially Bukhara. Last time, two years ago, I found coming here was like coming home. This time, my third in Bukhara, I wake up when we enter the city and it’s no different. When we get to the center of the old town, I recognize the women selling bread from my photographs: they’re still here! Only at the other side of the street, in the shade now. They have a surprise waiting for them.
Our hotel, “Lyabi House”, is quite close to the Laby Hauz complex with its centuries-old pond and trees and the three madrassahs. It’s one of the old Jewish merchant’s houses turned into a comfortable hotel, like many here in the old Jewish quarter. There are tapestries on the wall in each room, one of them in ours I immediately recognize as Turkmen. While I lay down to rest, Carla goes out to change money for both of us and brings back water, cola and cherry juice for me, to help bring back my inner plumbing under control. Later, we walk to Laby Hauz where we have a light meal at one of the restaurants near the pond: delicious and healthy yogurt for me!
Wednesday 2004-06-16 - Bukhara, Uzbekistan
Jewish Quarter
When we arrive near the Synagogue, just one street further off Laby Hauz, a young man approaches us. It’s closed now, he explains (we can see the big lock on the door), but if we can wait a bit he’ll ask the rabbi to open up for us. While it’s new for Carla, I’d like to see it again: last time I was here they were busy restoring it so I’m curious what it’s like now. A few minutes later the young man comes back; the rabbi will be here in 20 minutes, he says, would we like to see the old synagogue in the mean time? I didn’t know there was another one here! So yes. On the way through the labyrinthine streets of the old Jewish quarter he tells us he’s a Jew himself and while his relatives would like to emigrate to the US (not Israel), he wants to stay here and work as a guide. We pass a small market (empty now) with stone benches to displaying the wares, where kosher meat is traded, and a small kindergarten where we’re allowed a peek inside. The children are just having a bite and a drink, and are quite curious to suddenly see a pair of strangers. The elementary school nearby is empty now (the kids have vacation from June through August) but we can have a look there, too: they’re busy restoring it but it will be ready for the new school year in September. 600 Jewish families still live in Bukhara, our guide tells us. He speaks Tadjik with friends he meets on the street, so he could be qualified as a ‘Jewish Tadjik Uzbek.’
At the Synagogue we can look inside; downstairs, there’s a row of chairs for older women, otherwise the men sit here; younger women sit upstairs om the balcony. There’s a homely atmosphere, it looks and feels very much like a religious home for a small close-knit community — an atmosphere very similar to the Armenian churches we’ve seen in Turkey and Iran. When, after a short visit to the young man’s home where we get a cup of tea and I buy an old book, we finally get back to the ‘new’ Synagogue, it’s closed again: the rabbi must have gotten tired of waiting since our tour (with me walking very slowly and much farther than I’d planned) took a lot longer than 20 minutes.
In the city, it’s hot (“it’s cool now,” says our guide) but the smell of hot dust is relieved here and there by the aroma of freshly baked bread — the best bread in all of Central Asia — somehow the combination is typical Bukhara. After a cool beer at Laby Hauz we go back to the hotel so I can rest my foot and put more ice on it. I’m a bit less worried about it now: it’ll be very uncomfortable for a while and I’ll be slow but at least I’m mobile. It’ll heal.
Thursday 2004-06-17 - Samarkand, Uzbekistan
Evening light
At 4:30 we arrive in Samarkand, in Mr. Furkat’s pleasant family hotel: a shaded courtyard with fruit trees and seats with fresh fruit (small apples, apricots and prunes all from their own trees) and nuts on the tables — a real Uzbek tradition — and free coffee and tea. And it’s at a very short walking distance from the Registan complex making it an ideal location to stay in Samarkand. Carla and I first walk to the Chorsu cafe, on the corner of Tashkent street and just around the corner from the hotel, for a (draft) beer on the terrace: this is my favorite place to sit and watch people in Samarkand where mainly locals come to eat, drink and sometimes play a game of chess, and many people walk by on the way to and from the bazaar.
After that, we stroll to the Registan complex, just now basking in beautiful evening sunlight, where we enter (without buying a ticket) through one of the ‘secret’ back entrances to make pictures. A watchman approaches us — not to chase us away but to tell us we should climb the minaret (we decline) and feel free to take pictures now; and if we want, we can come back early in the morning (between 5 and 6) and will get in for free, too, he assures us, so we can take pictures in the morning light. Like last time, I take a lot of pictures, it’s very beautiful in this warm evening light.
Saturday 2004-06-19 - Samarkand, Uzbekistan
Catching up
We’ll be leaving for Tashkent only after noon, so I have time to try out an Internet cafe in Samarkand; there’s one on Tashkent street just around the corner from the Chorsu cafe. Many young boys sit around here and play games (suggesting they have fast and modern machines). Access speed is reasonable — I don’t need much for my travel blog email anyway: most of the time I’m just typing. One of the young boys seems to be managing the place, redialing the modem when necessary, and taking in payments, although an older man is around who seems to be the boss. I manage to catch up with my blog until arrival on the Turkmen border; for the 1:45 hours I pay only 900 so’m: less than a dollar.
Sunday 2004-06-20 - Osh, Kyrgyzstan
Getting used to camping
Osh, geographically still in the Fergana valley although thanks to Soviet administrators it’s part of Kyrgyzstan now, not Uzbekistan, is not far from the border. We go straight to our ‘hotel’ first: it’s what used to be a sanatorium in Soviet times but turned into tourist lodging - and very basic. There are simple rooms (though with decent beds), with shared bathrooms and washrooms for every couple of rooms. This serves as a good preparation for the next four nights when we’ll be camping in nature, without any facilities at all…
After we’ve checked in, the “truck bus” takes us back into town where we have some time to change money (there are a lot of money changers on the market — as expected at a typical border town) and then roam over the big market which covers a long stretch along the river, at some places on both sides. It’s a nice market, once of the largest in Central Asia in fact, and apart from a few things we buy for dinner (it’s too early for us to eat dinner now), I do a bit of other shopping as well. There’s even time to take some photographs although by six the market is beginning to close down.
Osh is not only a bustling border town but a smuggler’s center as well where a big part of the opium trade passes through. Looking around it’s not only obvious a lot of Uzbeks live here among the Kirghiz — there’s a lot of money around here as well although most people doing business on the market are clearly not part of that economy.
Saturday 2004-06-26 - Kashgar, Xinjiang (China)
Renovation at breakneck speed
After changing money (first a little at the hotel shop, possibly illegally, then after some false tries at other banks more at the main branch of the Bank of China which is indeed open) we walk in the direction of the Id Kah mosque in Kashgar. The first thing I note, a way before we get there, is a big poster depicting the future of Id Kah square: all new design, rows of new shops all around … but when we walk on we find this vision isn’t that far into the future — in fact it’s nearly finished! A large chunk of the old town around the mosque has been torn down to make place for the fancy new buildings, some in quasi-Uyghur style. There’s a fence all around the are but we notice locals walking through various openings and doors in the fence to avoid making a long detour. While we’re watching this, a woman simply waves us through and we find ourselves on the eerily empty new square. We can walk around unchallenged. The new square pavement is nearly finished but it looks very strange without all the usual bustle and market stalls. After walking around some and taking pictures, we leave the building area again through a a half-finished building and another opening in the fence. Then we try to find another way into the old town — or what’s left of it.
Vegetable Market Road is open and physically unchanged but much quieter than I know it, probably because part of the market crowd has disappeared with part of the old town where all the shops and stalls used to be. Farther on, the old houses still stand, but they’re working on completely new road pavement. I wonder if these houses will disappear as well but at least the new pavement follows the old road pattern. Maybe not — or not yet?
China is busy renovating all of its cities in preparation for the 2008 Olympics but here in Kashgar there’s an cynical twist to it: the process of renovation (or ‘renovation’) has been going on for years already, driving the Uyghurs out of the city center to new flats at the outskirts of the city, and letting Han Chinese into the city (though their apartments aren’t all that much better). On the one hand, living conditions for the Uyghurs should be better in a practical sense, providing them with water and (better) sewer systems; on the other, culturally they are much worse off: they no longer have their old neighborhood mosques nearby, let alone the Id Kah (a Friday mosque); and if they’re not living on the top floor of the high-rise apartments, they have other people walking above them — something quite disconcerting for people who normally live in family dwellings around a courtyard. I feel that in a sense, it’s taking the heart out of their culture. This may not even be intentional: the supremely pragmatic Han seem to have no sense of the value of a cultural heritage.
Even two years ago, we found half of a large cemetery had been razed to make place for new apartment buildings (I was happy to have seen it before it was destroyed — it was quite impressive then). Now, the Olympics form a good excuse to speed up this renovation process. I can’t help but wonder what will be left here in four years’ time, and how far the Uyghurs still living here will then have to travel to go to the Id Kah mosque on Fridays. (The mosque is also used by Hui, Muslim Chinese, but they are a very small minority here.) Still, at least the mosque itself will be spared; two years ago even that wasn’t certain. But one of the charms of Kashgar was the contrast between the old Uyghur center and the new Chinese town growing up right next to it; at least some of that is disappearing now. It makes me sad — and makes me wonder what’s happening in Tibet now…
The largest mosque in Xinjiang
The center of Kashgar has turned into a huge construction area (the preceding destruction seems to be finished already). The main entrance of the Id Kah is closed while ‘renovating’ the square in front of it, but the mosque is still open. We locate a back entrance I hadn’t noticed before and find ourselves right at the wide, open prayer hall at the back of the large courtyard. Pillars and roof beams are made of wood, decorated with carving and painted in various bright colors; there’s some decoration on the walls as well. The whole of the huge courtyard is shaded by a mass of poplars also lining the ponds. As a result, it’s always cool and pleasant here, a spot to quietly sit and ponder the world and whatever upper being(s) you believe in. Now, it’s also like a peninsula of the old Kashgar in a sea of modernization. A spot to find your inner peace again, just sitting under the rustling poplar leaves.
Just when we sit down, a man approaches us and asks if we have a ticket — well, no, we entered at the back, there’s no ticket office there. We’ll buy one, of course. No problem, you can stay where you are, just give me the money (10 Yuan), he suggests, which we do. A little while later the friendly man comes walking back to bring us the tickets and tells us they’ll be closing in a few minutes. We ask and get permission to walk a little around the courtyard before actually leaving!
This mosque, with its huge poplar-shaded courtyard is not just unique: it’s also the largest mosque in all of Xinjiang; originally built in the 15th century, it was extended and renovated later. Also interesting is that (as I noted when I was here before) not only Uyghurs come here, but Hui (Muslim Chinese) as well. I’m glad this very special bit of Kashgar will at least remain.
Sunday 2004-06-27 - Kashgar, Xinjiang (China)
No Sunday market
I wake up with a cold, and my foot still hurts after our rather long walk yesterday, so I decide to pass up on the Sunday market today; after all, I’ve been there already, I don’t feel as though I’m really missing something. After dozing a bit longer, I go outside and sit at a table on the terrace at John’s Cafe to catch up with writing my journal, strengthened by a large pot of jasmine tea (free). That may have been a good choice: when the others come back I understand not only were most disappointed at the animal market (as I was two years ago, when it had already been moved to the outside of the city) but the Sunday market is now in a brand-new building — another sign of the breakneck speed at which Kashgar is changing — I can keep my memory of the way it was.
The drummer gets his portrait, too
I’ve gotten fidgety after sitting and writing all morning so after lunch I decide to go out for a little walk. I’m curious to see what’s left of the old town of Kashgar East of the Id Kah square, behind the department store building, so I head in that direction. Besides, last time I photographed two Uyghur musicians in that building — I’m hoping (vaguely) to find them back. And I’m lucky today: when I arrive at the building I hear drums, though the sound is coming from the other side of the street; I look over — and immediately recognize the drummer from my picture. Different doppa but on the same head, similar old-fashioned jacket, same way of moving and drumming — there’s no doubt in my mind: it’s him; he’s drumming together with a young boy. The department store has an underground floor which goes under the street and further below the Id Kah square, so I use it as an underpass and go to the musicians. Like last time, the old man is instructing the youngster at the large drum (good to see a bit of culture being passed on); I stand aside and smile at him, waiting for a break in the music. He smiles back, and plays on; and on. The young boy at the big drum is actually quite good and eager to practice but after a little while an older boy takes over from him — he constantly misses a beat. Finally, there’s a break, and I show my picture to the old man — his smile immediately widens into a big grin: Yes, that’s me! When I give him the picture, his delight is unmistakable and it’s carefully put away in an inner pocket. He then gestures that the zurna player from my other picture is around here somewhere (his instrument is leaning against the wall right here!) but I don’t see him anywhere; but when I want to walk away, the drummer waves me back: he’ll give it to him. This picture goes into a different pocket.
Behind the department store building I find to my delight that part of the old town is practically unchanged — but for the work going on to put new pavement on the street, and below that apparently new sewers and conduits for cables. Whether the Uyghur buildings will survive, I cannot tell, but (as we saw in another part of the old town) the new road simply follows the old street, curves and all.
When I get back to the hotel, I’m simply too tired to go to the hotel business center to go online - I walked much farther than I had planned but I’m glad to have seen a relatively untouched part of old Kashgar: in spite of the fast changes, and contrary to my initial fears, Kashgar is still a nice town, not in the least because of the very friendly inhabitants.
Tuesday 2004-06-29 - Kuqa, Xinjiang (China)
Uyghurs and Han Chinese
Back in Kuqa, Carla and I first walk around the new part of town a little, checking out the shops. In the evening, we all have dinner together: next to the Min Mao hotel is a well-stocked supermarket and next to that is the “Uyghur Restaurant”.
Although this is actually my fourth visit to Xinjiang, here in Kuqa I see for the first time ‘imported’ Han Chinese interacting normally and friendly with the original local population — Uyghurs here. (Original at least when the Chinese claimed this territory; much farther back in history, the Turkic peoples and Tajiks themselves moved into what is now the Xinjiang province of China.) What I saw until now was two different societies living almost completely separate lives, going to different schools, shopping at different shops and market stalls, eating at different restaurants. Here in Kuqa I’m interested to see a mixture of Chinese and Uyghur on the market, a Chinese woman having a friendly chat with an Uyghur woman on the street corner; and here in the restaurant, run completely by a team of Uyghurs serving both Uyghur and Chinese food, both Uyghurs and Chinese come to eat.
This warms my heart: maybe, given time, these peoples can indeed live peacefully together without the Uyghurs giving up their identity.
The atmosphere at the restaurant is very pleasant, and the food is truly excellent so we end up taking nearly all our meals here.
Thursday 2004-07-01 - Turpan, Xinjiang (China)
Hot!
Turpan lies in a basin, the lowest point of which is at 154m below sea level: the second-lowest on earth and sometimes called the “Oven of China” because it’s so hot. So hot, in fact, even I think it’s hot! (It wasn’t this hot last time I was here, but that was at the beginning of October — now it’s summer.) Our hotel, the Turpan hotel, is along the renovated Nian Qing road though, a pleasant avenue completely shaded by grape vines with walking paths on both sides, and the central road accessible only for public transportation. The hotel is OK, nothing special, but doesn’t offer a place to sit outside in the shade — no problem: the local branch of John’s Cafe across the road does. While the kitchen here isn’t as good as that in the Kashgar branch it’s a nice place to gather for a meal or drink — or just sit and write. After a drink in the shade, Carla and I brave the hot sun to find the bazaar, about the only ‘sight’ in Turpan I haven’t seen yet and rumored to be nice.
The rumor is correct. It’s a really very nice bazaar, and since most of it is covered we can stay in the shade to look around and shop a little. There’s a pleasant kind of organized disorder — or is it disorganized order? Trades and goods each have their own corner or street, a whole hall of restaurants, another with just dried fruit and nuts, a street with shoes, and so on, but it isn’t all straight and new either and large enough to get lost in the labyrinth of streets and halls. We see all kinds of foods that are new to us; frequently we are offered a taste if we just look (pickled whole garlic bulbs for instance — I get a clove to taste and it’s very nice) and we end up buying a bag of spicy rice crackers: nice with a cold beer). The people, both buyers and sellers, are a mixture of Uyghurs and Chinese here, all very friendly. I also get myself a nice pair of red-and-black fabric shoes I can use as house shoes — I can use the salesman’s stool to try them on and they cost me only 15 Yuan (1.50 EUR); I don’t even bother to bargain!
Friday 2004-07-02 - Turpan, Xinjiang (China)
Too hot!
Most of the group has hired bikes for today to see some of the sites around Turpan, planning to leave early. I hate biking — I live in Amsterdam and don’t even have a bike! — and I’ve seen all those sites anyway, so I decline and when Carla leaves at 7:00 I just turn around to get some more sleep. At 10:00 I’m woken up again by Carla returning: they’d seen the Imin minaret and adjoining mosque but then Carla decided it was actually too hot to ride a bike and returned, immediately followed by the others. They’ll get a taxi later in the day to see a few other sites…
Fast Internet
I go to the Internet service across the road (a few houses from John’s) to catch up with my site. I’d asked the lady about the price yesterday: only 5 Yuan per hour (it’s 10 per hour in the hotel). In fact, the shop is a small business center, offering photocopies, fax, phone, and Internet access (from a single machine), apparently competing successfully with the business center in the hotel.
When I arrive this morning, there’s only a young boy in sight, 10 years at most. “Internet?” I ask him. No problem, he turns on the modem, the monitor and the machine and waits until the connection is live: I can now work with Windows XP on a modern machine with a 100Mb ADSL connection. Half an hour later mum returns, switches on the airco for me, and asks if I want to drink something. I end up typing for more than three hours in a nice, cool room, with a large glass of hot green tea beside me — and paying only 19 Yuan (less than 2 EUR) for the privilege. “Tired?” she asks, when I get up to leave. Yes, but I’m not finished yet, I merely need a break; I’ll probably be back in the afternoon, I promise her. I still have a lot of catching up to do!
First a little walk to check out the grand “Tour and Culture Square”: I see not much changed here in Turpan since my last visit: I can find back all the shops I remember and buy some snacks for tomorrow on the train. Then after a short siesta in the hotel, I go back to the Internet service for another batch of items in my travel blog. Three more hours of typing takes care of all of Kyrgyzstan. Then back to John’s cafe for a cool beer. I feel I’ve earned it.
Sunday 2004-07-04 - Dunhuang, China
End of the known world
The section of this trip covering Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan and Xinjiang in China was “the known world” for me: I’d traveled in all these countries before and visited most of the places we visited now (with the exception of Mary in Turkmenistan and Kuqa in Xinjiang). Not that that was a problem though: it was great to be back in Central Asia and it provided some ‘mental rest’ during a trip otherwise rich in new impressions.
Today I’m definitely in a new country: neither in Liuyian nor all along the road through the flat desert to Dunhuang is there a single word to read in the Arabic script of Uyghur as was the norm in Xinjiang where practically everything is bilingual. We’ve left the Turkic languages and peoples behind now: I’m in the ‘real’ China at last.
Looking out of the window of the bus that takes us from the station in Liuyian to Dunhuang, the landscape isn’t very interesting at first: just very flat and almost completely bare desert and a very straight road. After about an hour of this, we see a slight dip in the desert ahead of us and when we get close it suddenly gets a lot greener, obviously because the water table is closer to the surface. First, tamarisk appears, always a sign of the presence of a little water; later, we see irrigation channels and fields; even tree-lined roads. Checking my map: this must be the area of the Shule He (He means river, but I don’t know what Shule means). When we leave the oasis behind, the ground stays a little greener than before, until we reach the outskirts of Dunhuang and we see fields and trees again.
Dunhuang, my first contact with a real Chinese town, has a friendly provincial atmosphere, immediately apparent when arrive after the two-hour bus ride. This town (population: 100,000) at the edge of the feared Lop desert was originally at the extreme western border of the Chinese empire — its name means “Blazing Beacon” — and the Great Wall was extended to here.
Our hotel, Fei Tian, is unremarkable but we have a comfortable little room — and John’s Cafe is right next to the hotel’s forecourt, along the street.
Market instead of Internet
After lunch at John’s I asked one of the guys there for the Internet Service; they don’t have it here, he says (and neither does the hotel, as I already found out) but he gives me directions where I can find several Internet cafes; “slow”, he warns. Slow is no problem - I’m typing locally most of the time anyway. First I go to the hotel lobby where I sit down at a table and write a bit more; then, accompanied by Carla, who just wants to walk around Dunhuang, I follow the directions given.
At the first Internet cafe, soon found, I am studiously ignored completely, so I walk out again. Not much farther on is another place, like the first with a lot of work stations, but here they’re more friendly. The young man (who tells me it costs 2¥ (Yuan) per hour) shows me to a terminal and starts up Internet Explorer for me. That’s fine, but I need Notepad as well, I try to explain. He doesn’t understand what I mean, so I just sit down and poke around for a while; it’s hopeless — this is a completely customized shell under Windows 98 (I do find out that much) but all menus are non-standard, completely in Chinese, and in fact there are several virtual desktops, it seems. Notepad can’t be found; it’s probably never used — can one even type in Chinese in Notepad, I wonder? I have no idea. I don’t see Wordpad either; I’m forced to give up after a few minutes. I raise my hands in defeat. “No problem,” gestures the young man when we leave.
I give up the idea of updating the travel blog from Dunhuang, and decide to walk around town with Carla instead. In a nice pedestrian street with a lot of stalls with souvenirs we shop around a little, take a peek in yet another Internet cafe (I recognize the same customized shell, so I’m out again very quickly) and then find a nice vegetable market where we roam around a while, and I take some pictures.
Tuesday 2004-07-06 - Lanzhou, China
“Handle be on worth”
At 7:00 we arrive at the station in Lanzhou, on the banks of the Huang He (Yellow River), where we need to change trains. Not immediately though: our next train leaves only at midday so there is time to go to the hotel across the station square: we can park our luggage there and those who want it can have breakfast (I pass and sit and write my diary instead).
In the hotel lobby, next to our pile of luggage, is a desk with a little sign sitting on it; some Chinese characters (which I can’t reproduce) and English words: “Handle be on worth”. Yes, I swear that’s what it said — I’m not making this up — although when we get down from the restaurant after breakfast there is mysteriously a new sign on the desk saying “Assist. Manager” (not that any manager or even assistant is in sight). Sometimes “Chinese English” can provide a surprising insight in how different both languages are, showing how the Chinese language associates and arranges concepts in a way very different from European languages to convey meaning. But possibly as a result, occasionally the Chinese-to-English translation process derails completely, leaving a meaningless arrangement of words. I’m sure the Chinese on the sign was actually meaningful, but I sure can’t parse the “English” phrase…
After breakfast, I go for a little walk around Lanzhou with Carla who actually has a little map even though our itinerary didn’t indicate we’d stop here; alas, it turns out to be not very accurate: the department store we wanted to have a look at seems to have never existed. With my still-painful foot, the Huang He is out of reach, so we stay a bit closer to the station. Still, it’s fun and I take my first pictures of a big Chinese city (including some on the market, of course): Lanzhou has a population of nearly 2 million. We also have a chat with a couple of local young men and discover they speak with a very different accent here than in Dunhuang: they have a sort of twang, not clearly pronouncing the ‘n’ at the end of a word, for instance.
Wednesday 2004-07-07 - Xi’an, China
Relaxed metropole
After our long train ride of yesterday, Carla and I make a late start today with a nice plate of noodles for breakfast at the little restaurant around the corner from the Jie Fang hotel. Then we set out to walk to the center of the old city of Xi’an. For a city of millions (6.62 is what I found), the atmosphere here is surprisingly relaxed, reminding me somewhat of Damascus, our first city on this nine-week trip. Traffic is lively, with a wide variety of public transportation ranging from buses (quite a lot) to little red motorized open carts for two to four passengers, a bit like bike taxis except they’re motorized. But no one actually seems to be in a hurry; people don’t walk fast either, the right strategy in this climate since it’s quite hot here. We haven’t walked 100 meters yet and I like Xi’an already.
Although people do look at us strangers, they don’t stare, obviously used to foreign visitors. Still only a few people approach us to speak English to us; very few actually know enough English for a chat, it seems.
When we arrive at the Bell Tower, marking the very center of the old city, we find it’s in scaffolding and closed for restauration. As an alternative we make a short visit to the huge modern department store at the corner of the square: a nice contrast between ancient and modern China. It’s easy to spend half a day or more here, but we have other plans.
After a short rest with some fruit juice in a sort of food court in the basement we leave super-modern China behind for a while and walk on to the Drum Tower. No scaffolding here but although supposedly the tower is in use again, we see no activity. The tower is also a gate building, marking the entrance to the old muslim quarter of Xi’an.
Along the main street, especially near the Drum Tower, there are many souvenir shops and tourist restaurants but when after a while we turn left into a smaller street, in search of the Great Mosque, this abruptly changes: We’re in a normal street in an old town now, a street where people live and work and have businesses catering to locals rather than tourists. This feels like the ‘real’ old Xi’an. I’d like to roam around more here, but my painful foot doesn’t agree.
Handicapped in China
There’s no way I’m going to walk back all the way with my by now tired and painful foot. A taxi would be nice — one of those little open red carts we’ve seen even nicer. But apart from ordinary taxis there’s nothing near the Drum Tower. I decide I can still make it to the Bell Tower; but there’s nothing there either, nor along the main street where we see only buses. Finally, we turn right and at the next corner we find a (very) little red cart.
The driver turns out to be handicapped, with two crutches propped up beside him in what is essentially little more than a motorized wheelchair with a backseat that will hold two passengers (just). I show him the hotel card: yes, he can take us there for 10 Yuan, he says. That’s probably too much, but I agree without bargaining: let him have a good day — I’m certainly not going walk much further. So we squeeze ourselves into the little seat and off he goes. We have to hold on to our hats, but it’s fun! He’s fast and very agile in the busy Xi’an traffic, narrowly but surely avoiding taxis and bikes; when the light changes at one crossing even zooming diagonally across to the parallel road on the left. At the same time he takes care to avoid potholes and bumps in the road, giving us a smooth but nonetheless exciting ride back to the hotel — and a very different view of Xi’an.
Our fun drive in the back of a motorized wheelchair makes me think about the position of people with a handicap in China. We’ve seen other carts like this one (most a little larger) serving as taxis, some with a sticker on it with the international “wheelchair” symbol on it; but not all of them carry this symbol — maybe not all of these taxi drivers are handicapped but some clearly are: it looks as though they can get a special license to operate a taxi like this and thus obtain an income.
I don’t have any more hard facts but did make some more observations which suggest that in China handicapped people aren’t totally left to their own devices (as is the case in many other countries I’ve visited). Whether they have (or can have) some sort of social security isn’t clear to me though. I’ve seen people begging, too, although this is officially forbidden. On the other hand, on the corner near the hotel last night was a street musician: a Chinese albino, obviously blind as a result of his condition, drawing quite an audience with his music. Again, at least that’s a way to obtain an income — but could he live on it? One more observation: the sidewalks along (at least) the main streets in every Chinese town and city we’ve been in now are not only paved nicely with tiles, but also have ridged tiles to guide the blind, as well as curb cuts in the sometimes very high curbs: something that wasn’t the case yet in for instance Kashgar two years ago. So maybe things aren’t yet as good as they might be but there’s definite and visible progress. Still, by the time we’re back in the hotel I’m left with more questions than answers about what it’s like to be handicapped in China.
Friday 2004-07-09 - Beijing, China
Broke in Beijing
I wake up before five; I slept well but not long enough. An hour later the train attendant comes by to wake us up (if necessary) and swap our little cards for our train tickets. We arrive in Beijing at 6:40.
I’m so tired after my too-short night, the first thing I do when we get our room in the Dong Fang hotel is go to bed for a nap — while Carla goes out with Thom to the Forbidden City. We were told that to view the Forbidden City you’d need to walk around some four or five hours, something I’m sure I can’t manage anyway with my still-hurting foot. When I wake up again it’s 12:30. I’d like to go out for a short walk, but first I’ll need some cash: I’m nearly broke. But before that — and before I can go out at all — I’ll need to have my passport (left at the check-in desk for registration), and I can’t get cash without a passport either.
When I arrive in the lobby and ask for my passport, explaining why I need it, a small opera results: our passports are locked away, it seems, and the lady who has the only key (really?) has gone to the bank to get cash, I’m told; she’ll be back in an hour. I insist they just cannot ‘lock up’ their guests by holding on to their passports: the lady with the key should have left that key behind so guests can have access to their passports. Obviously, things don’t quite work like they try to make me believe: apparently no one present has sufficient authority to open the (locked?) drawer with the passports. When I propose the assistant manager (“#0059” says his name tag, he doesn’t seem to have a name) call the lady with the key that seems to give him an opening; he suggests I sit at the lounge bar to wait … and less than 10 minutes later a bell boy appears to tell me my passport is here. Of course the lady with the key (does she even exist?) is nowhere in sight; I suspect they just decided to open the drawer, maybe without proper authorization.
Anyway, that’s really just the short version of what happened; then actually getting cash involves one non-functional ATM (in the hotel), one broken ATM (at a bank) and a bank teller at yet another bank. But I have my passport, and cash, and now I’m ready to explore Beijing a little — at my snail’s pace.
Not the temple I was looking for…
The little map on the back of my hotel business card indicates the location of the Tian Tan temple, which seems to be one of the must-see places in Beijing. It seems close enough for me to manage, so I set out in that direction. The little map is a bit sketchy though, and certainly not to scale; after passing the Friendship Hospital and turning to the right I do end up at a temple but a very different one — quite a find: my travel guide doesn’t even mention it.
I’m finding myself at the Xiannong temple complex, originally from the Ming dynasty period (started in 1420) and used by both Ming and Qing emperors. Offers to the god Xiannong were made here, and they celebrated the ‘ceremony of the planting’ to ensure a good harvest. The whole complex consists of several beautifully-restored buildings, observation platforms and shrines. It now houses the Beijing Museum of Ancient Architectures. I roam and sit around for quite a while (never going inside any of the buildings) before turning back to the hotel.
“Beautify the environment, Welcome the Olympic Games”
On the way back to the hotel I’m reminded how fast China is changing. Possibly stimulated by the upcoming Olympic games in 2008, China is becoming quite environmentally conscious. Recycling is stimulated: along the streets, the waste bins have separate compartments for different kinds of waste; spitting in public places is discouraged and frowned upon now; public toilets are much cleaner than they used to be. We’ve seen solar-powered hot water installations. In the desert we saw huge wind parks (one still under construction), as well as cell phone antennas powered by solar cells.
What reminded me of all this was the blue Beijing street sweeper’s cart I saw parked along a street near the hotel; on the sides (Chinese on one, English on the other) it bore the slogan “Beautify the environment, Welcome the Olympic Games”.
Saturday 2004-07-10 - Beijing, China
Delicious bread and a knife
Carla and I make a slow start this morning and leave our Beijing hotel without breakfast; we’ll buy something on the way to the Tien’anmen Square, our goal for today.
It’s a pleasant walk, first across the big road over a pedestrian bridge and then through the lively hutongs of the old center in the direction of Qianmen Dajie (Tianmen Avenue), the wide and fashionable shopping street that leads straight to the square and the Forbidden City beyond that. In the hutongs I note — as I did on my solitary walk to the Xiannong temple complex yesterday — that many of the houses have little low buildings tacked onto them, sticking out into the street. It reminds me a bit of what is called a “pothuis” in Amsterdam, where such buildings are built onto a half-subterranean kitchens and used to store the pots and pans. Except there are no subterranean kitchens here, and they all have a low (padlocked) door set into them on the street side. I make a wild guess: imagine an old town without plumbing — perhaps they attach to a bathroom (instead of a kitchen) and house a barrel for human sewage, to be picked up and exchanged for an empty one using those little doors. I remember this was still the practice in some old towns in the Netherlands during the 1950s where there was no mains water. I never find out whether my guess is right, or they are something else entirely.
Soon we turn right in the direction of Qianmen Dajie we find a place where they sell the type of deep-fried round bread with spring onions or other spices that I’m so fond of. We each get one for just 5 ¥ - in a little plastic carrier bag: they’re piping hot, too hot to eat immediately. As we walk on, the old hutong shopping street metamorphoses into a modern shopping street, where we go shopping, bread bags in hand. Here we come across a shop specializing in kitchen knives (nothing but kitchen knives!) and I can’t resist: I’ve long been looking for one of those large Asian kitchen knives to chop vegetables with and they have dozens of models and sizes here. The lady who helps us (Carla buys two as presents to bring home) does not speak a word of English, but firmly and expertly explains to us with some gestures and mime what the different knives are for (I don’t want a meat chopper!) and what is good quality and why: she clearly wants us to leave the store with a purchase we’ll be happy with for many years. The knife I get is heavy (but not too heavy for my small hands) and at 146 ¥ costs a fraction of what a knife of similar quality would cost in the Netherlands. Happy with our purchases, we sit on a stoop in front of an empty shop across the street to eat our bread: still hot but by now at an edible temperature and quite delicious.
Day off
Once in Qianmen Dajie (Tianmen Avenue) I’m disappointed that what on the map looks like a straight line all the way up to the Forbidden City (this part of Beijing clearly was designed that way, with a long, clear line of sight) is not actually navigable in a straight line now. But after some detours and underpasses we finally arrive on Tien’anmen Square. It’s quite large and impressiive, and busy with lots of predominanty Chinese tourists, despite the dark, hazy weather today. We walk all around, feeling the space and watching the monumental buildings around it — but also the tourists, ranging from lines of children clothed in modern ‘red brigade’ T-shirts to gaping visitors from the provinces; watching the peddlers selling trinkets and kites (flying some to attract attention), and the little girl running and delighting in her graciously flying string of kites; having our pictures taken for a change and taking a picture of the girl and her mother in return; watching the Chinese snapping away with their cameras (no camera? you can buy them right here, and many do so).
On the way back a girl starts chatting to us (she’s not the first): a lot of students are approaching tourists trying to persuade them to go to their art exhibition. When she gathers we’re travelling with a group (but with no group or tour leader in sight) she asks: “Is this your day off?” It takes a few seconds before it registers what that implies; it’s a nice illustration of the Chinese way of tourism. Our explanation that every day is a “day off” because we’re always free to wander around whenever we stay somewhere meets with a blank stare…
On the corner of Qianmen Dajie we share one (large) portion of duck and one (large) beer: a delicious lunch in front of a window watching the crowd go by. Further on in the street we find a bookstore that has maps. I love maps and can’t resist a (bilingual) map of Beijing and a (Chinese) map of the world. Then we go to our hotel to drop our purchases and give my still-hurting foot a rest.
No. 107 isn’t leak-proof
I read somewhere that Beijing’s air is so heavily polluted that one rarely sees a blue sky and Beijing’s children have never seen a starry night. It’s believable: all morning it’s been dark and hazy (although it was much better yesterday — and I now regret not taking a picture of the view from our hotel window then). But when we venture out again after dropping off the morning’s purchases, the sky has become even darker. Our plan is to visit Tiantan: the Temple of Heaven, which I didn’t find yesterday. Just before where we think we should turn right, the sky gets inky; moments later very large drops of rain start to fall.
Together with others we flee to shelter under the overhanging roof of a small restaurant on the corner: No. 107 (I’m not sure whether it has a name or whether that is the name). But the stoop is narrow and the roof doesn’t give much protection: we’re getting wet so we flee inside. The woman who runs the restaurant is calm (as if she’s seen this many times before) and tolerant: she doesn’t come bothering anyone if they want to sit down or eat or drink anything. Carla and I sit down at a table, order a beer, and prepare to watch the fun from our safe vantage point at the window… We soon are reminded of the downpour in Antakya: the road turns into a river, almost knee-deep in places; cyclists suddenly are all wearing rain ponchos (are they always so prepared?), some wading through the water next to their bikes, others managing to cycle through the stream.
Crack! That was a direct hit of lightning nearby — the Friendship Hospital a bit back down the road still has power, but all around it’s suddenly very dark. The wind now becomes stormy, and across the street captures a huge parasol with a heavy foot and drops it in the middle of the street.
Splat! The roof of No. 107 starts to leak — just over our table. We move over to the next one with our beer. Puddles start to form on the floor. Splat! It’s not just water coming down any more: wet plaster is coming with it, leaving white marks all over the tables and chairs near the window. We have to give up our view and move again. At a large table next to us a family is eating together, enjoying themselves and seemingly oblivious to the weather. After half an hour it lightens up a bit and the water level is down, we can see the side walk again: it looks like we might be able to reach the hotel without getting wet feet. For the beer, we only pay 2 ¥ — not sure whether it’s normally that cheap or whether we got a discount for the wet-plaster rain.
Tomorrow we fly back. The Tiantan will be waiting for us to return to Beijing some time…
Sunday 2005-09-18 - Beijing, China
Preparing for the Olympics
In spite of the two-hour delay leaving Frankfurt the plane arrives only 15 minutes late in Beijing where Marie Josee, our travel companion, is waiting for us. Great to see her again — I give her a big hug. We’re at the hotel at noon, in a familiar neighborhood: our Rainbow hotel is only one block south of the Dong Fang hotel where we stayed last year (it’s being renovated now). Both hotels are in an area with relatively untouched hutongs: the old neighborhoods of Beijing — once all of Beijing was like this. To us it has a “fifties” atmosphere.
After getting Yuans and a delicious lunch with Carla and Gwendoline at a familiar neighborhood restaurant, The Tian’anmen square is next on our program for the day. We walk there through the hutongs and the modern shopping street Qianmen Dajie. It’s fun because today is a holiday, and nearly everyone has the day off: lots of people walking around, shopping, and just enjoying themselves on the Moon festival.
When we arrive at the square, there’s a difference, however: Next to the square, on the facade of the museum, there’s a huge display counting down to the 2008 Olympics and on the square itself lots of people are at work building enormous displays with sports themes decorated with lots of potted flowers: no day off for these people. China is preparing for the Olympics at a furious pace. The Olympic village is already built and ready — in fact it’s been standing empty for so long already it’s beginning to look dilapidated and will need some sprucing up before the games begin. The Beijing skyline is a wood of building cranes. In lots of other cities renovation (read: destruction of old buildings to be replaced by new ones) is going on at breakneck speed. Hopefully some of the hutongs in Beijing will be spared.
In the evening we go with the whole group to a hutong restaurant (a loose collection of tables and stools out on the street, and different vendors selling different dishes); we have Muslim mutton kebabs (hot!) and garlic kebabs, and a variety of vegetables, accompanied with a nice beer. A delicious meal for next to nothing.
Monday 2005-09-19 - Bejing, China
Imperial Palace
I wake up with a fever: my cold is getting a hold. I still want to go out though: I’m not feeling that bad. Together with Carla and Gwendoline I go to the Imperial palace today (also known as “The Forbidden City”; officially it’s the Palace Museum), right in the center of Beijing. Once we step outside, we find it’s chilly, quite a change from yesterday: we go back to our rooms to fetch a jacket and note most Beijing citizens are wearing long sleeves today as well. The atmosphere in the streets today is clearly different from yesterday when it was a holiday: now we see people going about their business instead of whole families strolling about lazily.
To my surprise we don’t have to pay right at the first gate (the one with the big portrait of chairman Mao above it) but walk right through onto an enormous courtyard, then on through another gate onto another courtyard. Only there we have to pay (60ұ) to go on into the complex.
What follows is quite impressive: one courtyard after another, all large or very large, with marble bridges over a little river and beautifully carved marble stairways; the buildings surrounding the courtyards all have brick-red painted walls and elegant roofs of yellow-glazed rounded tiles, topped by beautiful animals on all corners; the woodwork (especially below the roofs) is beautifully decorated with multi-colored paintings. The effect is quite pleasing, in spite of the enormous size of it all. Lots of potted plants stand around, there’s a pond full of lotus plants, here and there big bronze and marble sculptures of mythical beasts, and big bronze vats (purpose unknown). A few halls have impressive thrones but unfortunately you can’t go near, only peer at them from the entrance of the halls, and it’s rather dark inside.
It’s rightfully called the forbidden city: not only were ordinary Chinese citizens not allowed inside the walls of the palace grounds, but the whole complex — itself just a small part of metropolis Beijing — is indeed big as a city: I reckon he whole inner city of Groningen would easily fit in this area.
It’s a pity the restoration of the complex is still going on: many buildings are still in scaffolding and whole areas of the complex closed to the public. It will surely all be ready before the 2008 Olympics: maybe we should come back in the spring of 2009 to see it in its full glory.
Mask
On the way back from the Imperial Palace we decide to have lunch near Qianmen (south of Tian’anmen square), where Carla and I had lunch last year. I’m not hungry since I already had a bowl of noodles at the Forbidden City so I only have a beer while Carla and Gwendoline share a dish of sliced duck with onions (a kind of long, thin leek, actually).
From our table at the window we watch Beijing coming by.
I note a man coming from the underpass wearing a green surgical mask: not such a bad idea in Beijing with its polluted air, where the sky is rarely blue because of the smog. The sight of the mask reminds me of a comment from a Chinese I noted on an online forum that the TV news coverage of the SARS epidemic was rather biased: we were shown images of people walking around in masks, as if that was all because of the epidemic, while in reality it was already quite common. That brings to mind how the Chinese have had several campaigns to promote hygiene, for instance to discourage spitting in public: it used to be quite common just a few years ago but it’s rare now; no doubt the SARS epidemic helped bring that message home.
Having just arrived at this point in my musings about Chinese hygiene, I see the man unhooking the mask from his right ear, holding it aside, spitting a thick wad onto the pavement, and smoothly putting the mask back into place. It’s an exception. Really.
Sweeping a waterfall
A while later I note two young men standing outside, laughing, looking up: a waterfall is coming down right in front of the restaurant entrance but we can’t see what’s causing it. A girl from the restaurant goes outside with a mop and starts sweeping the water off the steps — rather futile since the water keeps coming down. Soon she’s joined by a colleague with a broom. Gradually the flood eases a bit and together they manage to sweep away most of the water from the entrance steps — only to have the waterfall start all over again. By the time we leave it’s almost stopped, but the steps are still slippery wet.
To the Opera
In the evening we go with most of the group to the Beijing Opera. Unlike last year, we go to the actual Beijing Opera house: a small building that’s over 400 years old, with quite beautifully decorated woodwork inside. A pity we have places on the balcony, on the side: we don’t have a very good view of the stage; also the explanation of the performance is not as good as we had last year. The performance itself is sublime though and the piece after the intermission is especially interesting for us: the star is the Monkey King — after whom our travel organization (Koning Aap) is called.
I know the film in my camera is not fast enough to be able to take pictures in the theater so I didn’t bring it. But a digital camera usually has a much wider range, so I try to do something with my brand-new camera phone. It’s just an experiment, but you never know: just one good picture would be nice to have.
Afterwards we all go and have a beer together in the hutongs before returning to the hotel. All in all a nice and interesting evening out.
Tuesday 2005-09-20 - Beijing, China
Morning Activities
Many Chinese get up early in the morning and go outside for some gentle exercise. One favorite place in Beijing is the Tiantan Park with the Temple of Heaven, a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1998. Although the main temple is closed at the moment and in scaffolding for restoration, we get up early to go to the park for some people-watching. It proves to be quite an experience, well worth getting up early for.
The huge park itself is an oasis in the big city, with many trees and a chorus of chirping cicadas almost masking the music of the singing birds. Although the park itself, laid out in a formal geometrical style, and the buildings within it are quite interesting, it’s the people that really take our interest. People do all kinds of exercises such as Tai Chi (often with a teacher) but also other types of exercise, all gentle, such as a kind of dance with fans, or marching in figures with pompoms and fans as if it’ a band of cheerleaders — except most in the group are actually middle aged… We also see a group being taught western style dancing. Most of these activities are accompanied by music coming from loudspeakers placed at regular intervals but some (such as the cheerleader group) have live music.
Then there are all kinds of ball games, like badminton, or kicking around a kind of feather ball (people kick it at each other and it should stay in the air as long as possible, apparently). There’s also a ball game with a soft ball ans a round racket with which the ball is caught and thrown back (not hit) all in one fluid movement. Other people do stretching exercises, or walk backwards a long way, using a marble strip in the pavement as a guide.
Harmony is important for the Chinese, and one way or another all this is about harmony; exercise can become a kind of meditation, but we see other forms as well: some people are practicing calligraphy writing with big brushes and water on the pavement; I also note a man flying a kite, accompanied by soft music. His mind is clearly far away, too, and he doesn’t notice us watching. Even a choir is using the park for their practice sessions, accompanied by an accordionist.
Friday 2005-09-23 - Xi'an, China
Fake violin
Our next stop is at the Bell Tower of Xi’an: last year it was closed because of restoration, and in scaffolding; this time we can see it in its full glory. We take some pictures but don’t go in: we’ve had quite enough steps yesterday on the Great Wall and our thighs are still hurting. Then we go into the ultra-modern shopping mall on the corner of the square hoping for a cup of coffee in the basement near the golden statue of the Monkey King but are sorely disappointed: not only has Monkey king disappeared to make place for a stand promoting a new cosmetics brand, but they’ve run out of coffee as well. I settle for a can of what I think is juice but turns out to be almond milk — delicious!
We sit, watching the goings-on at the cosmetics promotion. A girl appears, in a beautiful dark red dress, carrying a violin case. Then a microphone is set up on the stage, and there’s a lot of juggling and running around with some CDs. They try several CDs, with different types of music, including a violin concerto which makes place for other music again. Finally, the girl in the red dress climbs the stage, the music stops, and the violin concerto comes on again – false start. They start again, and now she seems to play along, but inaudible: maybe she’s just play backing. Someone gestures she should be closer to the microphone, she stops playing (while the violin on the CD plays on), steps closer, and starts playing again. All very weird, but no one seems to mind. But when she steps down from the stage she doesn’t look very happy either.
Hui quarter
Next we walk to the old Muslim quarter of Xi’an, where the Hui (Muslim Han Chinese) live and have their businesses and mosques. The part near the Drum Tower — the entrance gate to the quarter – is quite touristy, but that’s just a small part of the whole area. We head straight for the Great Mosque first (entrance 12Ұ) where you hear no more traffic, only twittering sparrows and cooing pigeons. The complex, with five consecutive courtyards full of greenery, is a beautiful mix of Chinese and Islamic architecture. At one point we also hear music, coming from a pair of speakers, but here and there some old Muslim men, here to pray, are singing along. It’s all very peaceful and relaxing.
Then out we go again, avoiding the tourists’ corner now, to roam around the quarter. It’s even larger than I expected; you can easily spend several hours roaming through the narrow crowded streets lined with local shops and workshops. Almost no tourist in sight: only once do we see a small group of Chinese tourists. It reminds us a little of the souks in the Middle East, with some streets dedicated to particular trades. We come through a butchers’ street, with piles of liver on the as well as stomachs and other animal parts we don’t recognize on display on the counters in the open air; butchers are art work in their workshops open to the street, flies buzzing around busily. It looks almost medieval. A customer comes to a store an asks about the liver; the butcher’s wife cuts off a slice and hands it to her, she takes a bite; apparently all the liver is cooked already. At a shop seemingly selling something else entirely, a little pile of raw kidneys is sitting on the counter. In another street we see lots of sweets ands pastries: they look very appetizing, at least.
When we are tired of walking around, we take a taxi back to the hotel — with the help of a girl that hastily comes to our help to translate: the very friendly driver doesn’t speak any English. He lets us out on the taxi stand near the station: with gestures he explains that he’s not allowed to drop us off right in front of the hotel — and they’re being watched with cameras: they’ll get a big fine if they’re caught.
Thursday 2007-04-05 - Sana’a, Yemen
First impressions of Sana’a
The old city of Sana’a is easy to get lost in: there are no right angles to be found in the street pattern. To give us our first feeling for the city, Marie Josee, our tour companion, takes us on a small walking tour, and shows us a good (Palestinian) restaurant, two money changers where we immediately get our first Yemeni Rials (YR) at a much better rate than at the airport of course, the post office, next door to the Internet cafe; in the old city she points out where the different suqs are (sorted by trade), and we make a reservation for dinner at a nice restaurant, Marie Josee skillfully haggling to get us a good price.
Then we walk on the Bab al Yaman, the old gate into the old city, where we all sit down at a little sidewalk cafe for a cup of tea and to watch the crowd. The metal tables and benches are under a tarpaulin — good thinking, because the clouds that had been gathering for an hour or so choose this moment to release their load. We sit dry, sip our tea, and watch how the locals deal with the downpour: a little girl with an enormous umbrella is skipping around, little boys playing in the puddles; men gathering their robes and hooking them over their jambiya (the traditional Yemeni knife), showing a good deal of leg (often skinny leg), and some of their shorts; some men taking of their sandals and continuing on their bare feet; women gathering their skirts and showing a bit of their long underpants. One woman stops next to us to wait a bit under our tarpaulin and chat with us, her little boy observing us wide-eyed; then she throws her cloak over him, scoops him up in her arms, and walks away: a two-headed figure in black.
Neither Carla nor me brought along anything for the rain, not expecting any in the morning, normally it rains mid to late afternoon in the rainy season. When the rain lets up a little we get up and walk to our hotel, without a map but I trust my sense of direction will get us there. I want to take a short cut in the direction of the wadi which crosses the street, but first end up in a dead-end street — no problem, we’ll try the next one. When we turn, a man gets out of a car and asks where we want to go; then he asks where we come from — Oh, Dutch? — he continues in German and indicates we should take “eine kleine Strasse links” to get to the edge of the Sa’ila wadi. We thank him politely. When we get to a small alley, I want to turn in but Carla thinks it’s too small. When we turn again, we hear “no, no!” behind us: two boys point to the alley: that’s where we should go. Sure enough, the alley curves a little but takes us otherwise straight to where we want to go.
We have a nice view of the Sa’ila here: it used to be just a river bed, full of water when heavy rains fall, but the clever Sana’ites have paved the river bed, made ramps, and now it’s a through street — as long as it isn’t needed for the water that is. It’s in-between now, with some water flowing along one side but the cars brave it, making some waves. But in the next rainy season in July-August, with much heavier rains, the water can get to 30 centimeters below the top of the wall!
Sunday 2007-04-08 - Shibam, Yemen
Manhattan of the desert
This afternoon we go with the whole group for a visit to old Shibam, which we passed yesterday on the way to Sey’un — I find it unbelievable that a visit to this city, a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1982, was not part of the original planning.
Unlike most cities in Wadi Hadramawt which are built nestling at the foot of a mountain or little way up, the walled city of Shibam is built on a free-standing hill in the valley. Just one square kilometer within the walls, it’s not surprising that the large family houses here are narrow and with even more floors than usual, built closely together. The buildings are even higher than the mosque’s minaret. Indeed, the skyline reminds one somewhat of a city with skyscrapers, earning it its epithet - but there the comparison with Manhattan stops.
Through the single whitewashed city gate one comes onto a square, and from there on it’s a labyrinth of winding narrow streets and alleys and an occasional courtyard, between the high-rising houses. The predominant color is that of the clay tiles the houses are built from and plastered with, but sometimes the upper part of a house is whitewashed, and there are surprising splashes of color: here dark-red window frames, there window niches painted bright blue; bright red or blue curtains (often on the outside of the window frames) flapping in the breeze, the lower part of a wall facing a courtyard painted a very bright green. In between all this troops of goats roam around, women go their own way in there elegant flowing black robes (often covering them completely, including a face veil, and often even black gloves), children are cheerful, and sometimes eager to be photographed (but not all). One can roam around here for hours and never be bored: it’s feast for the eyes.
Suddenly we hear music and follow our ears — we’d spread out as usual, but now we all arrive where the music is. There’s a growing crowd in the street, a little procession with musicians in front walks up and down — what’s happening? After a while it becomes clear: another wedding is taking place, the first day of it here. I don’t manage to catch a glimpse of the groom (or bride) but after walking up and down several times the musicians sit down at the edge of a big carpet spread out for them in the middle of the street. This becomes the dancing floor where the men dance, in small parties, taking turns. Unlike in Sana’a though, we’re not treated as special guests, and have to find our own (polite) ways of catching some glimpses. Still, most of us hang around for quite a while until it’s nearly time to go. The music and dancing made our visit to Shibam extra-memorable.
Wednesday 2009-05-20 - Esfahān, Iran
Where is the river?
In spite of the long trip yesterday, it was quite beautiful, and I´m glad we saw the petroglyphs hardly any traveler gets to see, so I don´t regret we gave up one day of Esfahān for that. But what´s left turns out to be much less than a day: instead of having a flight to Mashhad at 20:00 from here, we actually have a flight at 16:00 to Tehrān and fly from there to Mashhad, which means we have to leave the hotel already at 13:00. And with the very late night we had, we´re not getting up very early either. I totally give up my plan of walking along the Zāyande to the farthest bridge (a walk of at least two hours to get there): I’ll have to do that whenever I get back to Esfahān.
Before breakfast, I ask at the hotel reception desk about an Internet cafe. To my surprise, they tell me they have Wifi in the hotel lobby. I quickly get my netbook, and try. Sure enough there´s a signal: I just have to ask the receptionist for a WEP key (a password for the connection), and I´m in. I immediately log off again: I´ll check my email for any news from Mashhad when we get back. We quickly have breakfast, and head out for a walk: Carla, Uke, Ank and I.
Our first goal is the beautiful Si-o-se bridge (named after its 33 arches): beautiful as ever — but the river is not: it´s just not there any more! There is nothing more but a few small ponds of water, the swan-shaped water bikes resting sadly and uselessly on the mud. People are actually crossing the river across the bedding: it´s quite dry enough to walk on easily. What a strange sight! Since we have just a little time, we walk across the bridge, have a closer look at the river bed and the swan boats, and then walk back leisurely, taking quite a few pictures (at least I do, trying to catch the strange sight of the bridge crossing a disappeared river). We find out there hasn´t been this little water in 7 years: they closed the locks farther upriver so there would at least be water for agriculture, where it´s needed most.
From the waterless Zāyande we walk to the big Emām Khomeini square — one of the largest in the world an the most beautiful one I know. There’s no time to walk around (though I´d love to do that again): we have to pick and choose, so we go the big Emām Mosque. We walk around there, enjoying the spaces and unique tile mosaics here (with a bright yellow that really stands out and I don´t remember from anywhere else) — and then suddenly it´s 12:10 already and I have to rush off to the hotel to check my email before we leave. The good news is there is no mail from Mashhad, so our meet-up is supposed to go as planned (more about that tomorrow). The bad news is there is an email from SmugMug that my account there needs to be renewed by June 4th, and my credit card data is no longer valid so I need to update my account data: no problem — if only I had thought to bring my SmugMug password… that turns out to be the beginning of a long story that will be told in its entirety later.
Wednesday 2009-05-20 - Mashhad, Iran
This looks familiar
At the airport our bus is waiting for us; fully in style for Mashhad as an Islamic religious center, the bus is green — very green: not only green on the outside, but the curtains and lighting inside are green as well. Our driver wears a green shirt.
I can remember very little from our last time in Mashhad, except for the crowdedness of Hajj, with people picnicking outside everywhere, not just in parks, but even on the strips of green between the road lanes. That, and the inside of our hotel room, where I sat down at a little desk and Carla took a picture of me writing — but not the name of the hotel. This time, it´s not Hajj time and there aren´t such big crowds but still here and there people are picnicking (Iranians seem to like to do that). The hotel lobby has old-fashioned but rather comfortable chairs. When Carla and I inspect our room (quite roomy, but with old-fashioned furniture), we suddenly note that the little desk and the wall paneling around it, look quite familiar: the layout of the room is different, but that little hand-made desk is exactly the same shape: we must have ended up in the same hotel: the Pardis hotel.
